Every week we’ll post a recipe that we both made. This week’s recipe was Easy Peach Cobbler. Printable recipe can be found at the bottom of this post.  The original recipe can be found over at MyRecipes.com.

Robyn’s Take:

This week’s recipe was submitted by Elaine. We actually had a different recipe slated for this week, but Elaine happened to submit it at just the right time – peaches are everywhere you look right now – so we opted to kick the other recipe to a later date.

I’d love to tell you that we used peaches from our own trees, except that we are TERRIBLE when it comes to growing fruit, so we didn’t get any peaches this year. That’s okay, though – we have a farmer’s market a 10 minute drive from home, so we went there to buy some locally-grown, super-fresh peaches. (If all our fruit trees ever start producing fruit all at once, we will be SO screwed. We have a zillion fruit trees – apples, peaches, plums, pears – and just bought two fig trees over the weekend. We also have grape vines growing around our back yard fence, and Fred should be harvesting Muscadines (wild grapes that grow here in Alabama; don’t feel bad if you’ve never heard of them, I hadn’t either before I moved here) soon, which is the one fruit we CAN seem to grow. We’ll probably get 20 pounds of Muscadines and guess what you make from Muscadines? Muscadine jelly or Muscadine wine. Neither of us drink more than once in a blue moon so guess who gets to can up 7,000 jars of Muscadine jelly? It ain’t Fred, I can tell you THAT.)

Oh, excuse me for a moment while I tell Fred that he needs to take those catfish he just caught and cleaned and stuff them up his ass. Okay, done.

(Don’t you even start with me on the “At least he cleans them!” because there is ONE OF US who loves catfish and fishing and THE OTHER OF US who loves seafood and is not so crazy about catfish. I leave it to you to guess who’s who. If I could have a shrimp pond out there in the back forty, I’d GROW them, I’d CATCH them, I’d CLEAN them, and then I would COOK them, and I would do so happily. So you’re goddamn right he cleans the catfish because I’M NOT GONNA. I’m pretty sure I’m the one who deserves the medal, here, because I’m the one who cooks the damn stuff.)

ANYway. Where was I? Oh, right. Peach cobbler!

Your ingredients:

Butter, flour, sugar, baking powder, salt milk, peaches (duh), lemon juice, and cinnamon (you could use nutmeg if you’re so inclined. I prefer cinnamon.)

Melt your butter in a 13×9 inch baking dish. I don’t know if this is how you’re supposed to do it or not, but I put the butter in the baking dish, and stuck it in the oven, which was preheating.

While it was melting, I sliced up my peaches. You need four cups of peaches, and I thought that three of the baseball-sized peaches would give me about four cups. And I was right.

Aren’t they pretty? These are Freestone peaches, by the way. Not that I’d know if they were some other kind of peach, but the farm stand had a sign up that announced that they’re Freestones, so I’m passing the knowledge along. YOU’RE WELCOME.

The butter (in the baking dish in the oven) had melted at this point, so I combined the flour, sugar, baking powder and salt, then stirred in the milk just ’til everything was moistened, and poured it over the butter.

This is the point where I was all “Oh, Elaine. WHAT have you gotten me into? Is it supposed to partially cook like that when it hits the hot butter? Have I fucked this up?”

To my dismay, Elaine did not pop up in front of me like my fairy godmother to reassure me that all would be fine. What the hell, Elaine?!

I tossed the sliced peaches, the rest of the sugar, and lemon juice into a pot. I was supposed to turn it on high heat, but apparently have no idea what “high heat” means (so conFUSING), and turned it on low. I stirred and stirred and waited for it to come to a boil, and it didn’t… and didn’t… and then I realized that I am an idiot. Once I turned the heat up to high, it boiled in less than two minutes.

Meanwhile, Inspector Brandon came up for a sniff around.

Once the peaches/sugar/lemon juice was boiling, I dumped it over the top of the other stuff in the baking dish.

I wished, as soon as I’d done it, that I hadn’t just dumped it all in the middle of the baking dish. But I was afraid to spread the peaches out, because the recipe is VERY stern about not stirring anything together, and so I was afraid that I’d mess it up, and so I left it all piled in the middle like that.

I put it in the oven, whereupon Brandon and his brother Jon Snow watched carefully to let me know when it was done.

“Is it done yet?”

“Doesn’t it smell done? It smells done, right? Should we tell her it’s done?”

“Lady, it’s DONE. You better take it out now!”

I realize now that I forgot to take a picture after I sprinkled cinnamon on top before I put it in the oven, but this is what it looked like when it was done. You see that there’s plenty of cinnamon there.

The verdict? A++, will make again! Fred gave it two thumbs up, too. And, hey – I’ve got another three peaches in the fridge. I wouldn’t want ’em to go to waste!

Great submission, Elaine. Thank you!

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Have a recipe you want us to make? Check out this page (there’s also a link to that page up there under the banner) and follow the instructions to submit a recipe!

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Nance’s Take:

The reason this entry is late is because I might have been too busy dressing Peace up in toddler-sized clothing.

Or maybe it was because I was too busy taking “selfies” on my way to the grocery store since it was the first time I was out of the house all week…I may have been giddy. Please note: Husband is so serious over there that you would think I was out with my cranky Grandpa. Damn, Rick.

Nah, I was late because apparently I love to pile-on and find myself completely surprised when I can’t accomplish my unrealistic daily goals. And who in the hell has daily goals? Who am I anymore? Shut-up, Nance.

Fun fact: I’m slightly allergic to peaches and can usually rate their freshness by how much they make my tongue and throat itch. I suppose a normal person would avoid them, but I can’t imagine a world without peaches. To me, they are the perfect fruit. Which is why I was all about making this particular dish…as soon as my mother skinned those fuckers. If I were to touch one I would become a giant hive. Yes, Nance has to have her mommy cut up her peaches. SHUT THE HELL UP.

I wonder if the first person to eat a peach broke his tooth on the pit? Could happen.  I also wonder why I automatically assumed it would be a guy.  Maybe a chick tried the first peach.  Maybe a chick tried the first peach and broke her tooth!

An entire stick of butter. Hmm. This cobbler just got a little bit more interesting.

Action shot of entirely too much sugar.

No lie – I had my face all up in this shit because hello, fresh peaches!

The cobbler part of the cobbler?

This part makes me nervous. It just doesn’t feel right to not stir things up. And that big ol’ pool of melted butter at the top right? I was fretting about the hot mess that could possibly make.

Throw your peaches on top and pray that nothing boils over.

This is what it looked like when it came out of the oven. OHHELLYEAH. Peaches, sugar, butter…we already knew it was going to be good.

Shirley was going to the grocery store and asked me if I needed anything. I said that I needed a half gallon of vanilla ice cream. She came home with this.

Old people.

So I fired off an email and told Rick to pick me up vanilla ice cream because Shirley is insane. I also asked him to pick up ribs and hot dogs for Labor Day. When Rick came home, NO LIE, he proceeded to stand in our very narrow kitchen where my mother was and announce every single one of his purchases. “I got the ribs and the hot dogs…”

Fucking kill me. Just kill me.

As soon as he announced that he picked up vanilla ice cream I knew I was fucked. “Goddammit, Nance!”

See, there some people in this house (Shirley) that think I’m too particular. I say that I’m not and it’s just that I want what I want. If I wanted a gallon of VALU-TIME strawberry/chocolate/vanilla ice milk product I would have told her to pick that up, right? Of course I’m right. No way in hell did that bucket o’ “light” whateverthefuck resemble anything like the half gallon of vanilla ice cream that I wanted. She’s nuts. And now I have that bucket taking up precious freezer space! And my husband! Way to rat me the fuck out with his little grocery shopping declarations. GAWD.  The entire family is full of crazy.

She insists that she’ll eat it. Damn right you will, Shirley. EVERY.SINGLE.DAY.UNTIL.IT’S.GONE.

So yeah. It was good. And I can see me making this again. But only once a year when peaches come in season.

Sadie likes ice cream.  REAL ice cream.