Le Boulangerie (6) Peach Cobbler

February 7, 2017June 15, 2017 ~ Meg ~ 43 Comments

To accompany my novel in progress: Breaking Bread, welcome to Le Boulangerie.

I planned this post to align with this past weekend’s Super Bowl game. It would either be a celebration or a consolation to the parts of the country hoping for an Atlanta Falcons victory. Well, consolation it is… they lost and in a most heartbreaking fashion. Giving up a commanding lead and ultimately losing in the Super Bowl’s first ever overtime. Here’s to you Atlanta, Georgia. Have some cobbler.

For those of you outside the United States, cobbler is essentially a deep dish fruit pie. Instead of a traditional pie crust, fruit is baked with a sweet batter in a baking dish instead of a pie plate. The dessert originated in the American Colonies while still under British rule. The early settlers, with lack of ingredients and improper tools for cooking and baking, had to improvise. Thus the ‘cobbler,’ possibly derived from the old term: cobeler, which means wooden bowl, was created by stewing fruit, topping it with batter and baking in cook pots rather than pans.

Here is a recipe adapted from one of my Nana’s recipes for apple cobbler. I wanted to make peach, for Georgia after all. (Even though fresh peaches aren’t in season and really that would be the ideal time to make this…)

Ingredients:

1/2 cup butter
2 cups sugar, divided
4 cups peaches, fresh or thawed frozen (I used frozen)
1-2 tablespoon lemon juice
1 cup all purpose flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
1 cup milk
ground cinnamon

Method:

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Melt butter in a 11X13 baking dish in oven. Remove from oven when melted.
Mix flour, 1 cup of sugar, baking powder and salt in a small bowl. Add milk and mix until just combined. Pour batter into baking dish on top of butter. Do NOT stir.
Bring peaches, remaining 1 cup of sugar and lemon juice to a boil in a medium sauce pan. Pour peaches over batter (they’ll sink in). Do NOT stir. Sprinkle with cinnamon.
Bake for 40 – 45 minutes until the top of the cobbler is golden brown.
Serve with vanilla ice cream.

My condolences, Atlanta. I hope this helps.

Casting the romantic lead

February 1, 2017February 1, 2017 ~ Meg ~ 52 Comments

Oh this is a very silly post… I have written before about how I ‘see’ the stories I write as films playing in my mind. I’ve often wondered if maybe they would make better screen plays than novels. Television miniseries or something. Trust me I don’t have any illusions of them becoming big Hollywood films or anything…

One of the devices I use to help me see the action in my head is to cast actors as the characters in my story. For example, in Breaking Bread, the roles of Maya, Olivia, Leo Donovan, and Detective Jack Staley I’ve cast the following:

For some reason, I’m not satisfied with my initial choices for the characters of Brad and Juan Paolo and it’s nagging at me that I can’t see them in their roles. So, my friends and loyal readers I would like to ask: Who do you ‘see’ playing Brad in the screen version of Breaking Bread. How about Juan Paolo?

Elusive Words

January 30, 2017February 8, 2017 ~ Meg ~ 62 Comments

Since I’ve been writing, I’ve started looking for inspiration everywhere. I find inspiration in music, in art, and I draw on my own personal life experiences. Having your senses fired by external stimuli, often fuels your creative process. Nevertheless, some days the words just won’t come. Life, with all its anxieties can drown out the Muse, if he’s still talking.

My life has been especially busy and my mind has been a very noisy and messy place. It feels a little like I can’t catch my breath. Maybe even like I’m under water, trying to claw back to the surface. I can fix this, I know I can. Yet, I ignore my own advice.

It’s time to take a break and find some quiet time. For me, that means getting outside, no matter the weather. Walking the country roads past the crumbling old walls that line the pastures, I let my mind wander. There’s a fallen down barn on the dirt road about a mile away. The red-tailed hawks perch on the half-rotted beams and watch for field mice and rabbits in the tall grass. The wind sighing, the birds singing, the chatter of the squirrels is the only music to my ears. Cross the creek, rushing with last night’s rain. The smell of damp leaves, the mud, all loamy and decayed.

Even better, when the world is quiet after a new fall of snow. It crunches beneath your boots as your feet plunge through the sheen of ice on the surface. When the sun returns, it sparkles like a spray of tiny stars on a field of white instead of black. The air freezes your nostrils but it feels clean and purifying. The red of the cardinal is in sharp contrast to the brilliant white of the snow clinging to the tree branches.

Breathe it in deeply. Inspire… Now, to go home and write something beautiful.