My hands-down, all-time favorite dessert is, as a matter of fact, peach cobbler. I rarely eat an entire serving, but the sugary, doughy, crunchy-crusted peachy loveliness is what makes me most happy after a meal. And, I like it straight up - I've never been an à la mode kind of girl, and I tend to like things in their simplest form because all that extra nonsense is just cause for distraction. And I don't like to be distracted when I'm eating.

So, all these ripe peaches have been seducing me as I walk past them sitting on the counters of the lively market stalls - just begging me to take them with me to savor their juicy goodness. How could I to deny them their fair shot at making it into one of my might-be-disastrous cooking endeavors? Lucky peaches.

I can't remember where I got the idea for peach cobbler - maybe I was reminiscing about eating one of many Lenten catfish buffets at the Manchaca Fire Hall that I almost always followed up with a peach cobbler; or maybe it was the famous Hill's Cafe that I remember regularly going to when I was growing up. I don't even know if they serve peach cobbler there, but I must have been thinking about one of those comfort-food havens to remind me of my undying affection for a homemade peach cobbler.

Despite the soaring temps, I fired up the oven after scooping up a kilo (or something) of ripe yellow peaches, and challenged my craving with one simple recipe. It all seemed to be going well...until I got to the part where you have to pour the "batter" into the pool of melted butter. Easy enough, non? Well, yeah, it was easy to do, but the way it looked was not easy to stomach.
Blech! I thought I'd surely ruined a recipe this time - dude, why can't I bake with confidence? So, I reluctantly tossed it in the oven, set the timer and didn't even peak until I heard the "ding."

And that's when my frown turned upside-down, friends, and I saw and smelled the most delectable thing I've ever attempted to make in my life. It took everything I had to let it cool a bit before serving myself a heaping scoop of heaven. I even waited until after dinner to try it out, and boy, was it worth the wait! Gui decided he wanted some vanilla ice cream distraction, so I served him two scoops and he was a happy (stuffed) husband.

I ate this cobbler for an entire week - with coffee for breakfast, as dessert at lunch and dinner, with tea after dinner, for gouter, and as a meal replacement in and of itself. This will be on the table at the next Thanksgiving dinner, and I will be calling dibs on being served first.

As for my baking abilities, I learned a valuable lesson that I will remember for all future baking experiments ventures: the oven is a magical contraption that turns oozing piles of goo into yummy piles of perfection - never doubt its powers.



Stick o' butter.




Heaven.


Gui's plate.