It’s been exactly 58 days since I ran that half marathon, and since then my running shoes have seen little to no action. After some (very brief) soul searching, I now say that without a hint of guilt. The race is over. I proved my point. I still don’t love running. Let’s move on.
So move on I did, straight into the loving arms of my kitchen. Christmas time has put me into a baking mood. I didn’t realize how much I missed trying new recipes, getting dusted in flour, pacing in front of the oven, and filling the house with delicious smells … (oh, and gobbling up the fruits of my labour).
Proof of how much I love spending time in the kitchen:
- Guinness Chocolate Cake
- Peach Cobbler
- Banana Muffins (Chocolate and Peanut Butter Optional)
- Blueberry Scones
- Oatmeal Raisin Cookies Gone Nutty
December isn’t exactly berry season, but I got suckered into buying some blackberries a couple days ago. They looked so plump and juicy! All I wanted to do was pop them all into my mouth right away.
So I did.
Then all I wanted to do was spit them out. That was a whole lot of SOUR. Like a punch in the face, that was. I’m all for tart, pleasantly tangy even, but these blackberries were full-on sour. My mouth is sympathy-watering just thinking about it.
There’s only one cure for sour berries. You turn them into jam … or in my case, a cobbler.
A little (read: heaping cupful) of sugar, a squeeze of lemon and those blackberries were bubbling happily on the stove. They didn’t know what hit ’em.
A few minutes on the stove, and those sour berries started looking a lot more appealing.
I just want to pour this over ice cream, but eye on the prize! We have a cobbler to make.
With the berries taken care of, it was just a matter of whipping up the dough (kind of like a fluffy biscuit) scooping it out over this jammy goodness. I was a little upset at this point that I didn’t have enough dough to cover my pan.
I popped it in the oven and it came out looking like this.
As it turned out I needn’t have worried about not having enough dough after all.
And then of course ice cream. Always ice cream. I don’t know what it is but all my favourite desserts always have some sort of hot and cold love fest going on, smothered in a whole lot of sauce. Sauce is a must. Seriously, I’ve been known to scrape down a plate so thoroughly, you’d think it was already washed. (This is done discreetly of course. I am a lady after all.)
Side note: This all happened at about 10 last night. Hey, the baking itch can strike at any time. It doesn’t give two figs about my schedule. I had just come home from the gym though, so I think I broke even.