#89, Make a Blueberry Buckle
I have always liked the name Blueberry Buckle and for many, many years I have wanted to make one. Maybe it’s just the old timey feel and the alliteration that entices me, but it does seem to put me in the most romantic frame of mind.
First, I’ll find the recipe. Next, I’ll set out an old Blue Calico plate from the cupboard. Then… I’ll pause and look out the window at the rosebushes. My gaze will fix on a bloom, and all at once…
We are on a picnic sitting on an old quilt in long grass. It is a warm summer day. I wear a gingham skirt. He laughs while dragging a daisy across my face. We point to the clouds and see a giraffe, then an apple, then a heart. We munch egg salad sandwiches wrapped in wax paper and drink cold lemonade from a thermos. He tells me about a dog he had as a child. I tell him about my fear of lightning. We step into the creek and let the cool water swirl around our feet until the gnats bite. We run, hand-in-hand, back to the safety of our quilt and the blueberry buckle comes out of the basket. We share a thick slice wrapped in a piece of muslin. He grins at me with a blueberry smile. I swat at him and swoon. The breeze is gentle as it moves against us. The sun hides behind the branches of an old sycamore. We shake off the crumbs and make space to stretch out. He lays his body flat and pats the space beside him. I lie down and rest my head against his chest. In a voice I can barely hear, he says, “this is everything.” I kiss his cheek and his skin is warm and rough against my lips. We close our eyes and the sparrows move in, hopping softly at the edges.
See? This is what happens when you are raised as an only child who spends all your free time reading English novels, collecting ceramic kittens, and looking through the rose-colored glasses that you refuse to remove. Even the words Blueberry Buckle becomes a sequel to A River Runs Through It, starring you.
Well, today, I made that Blueberry Buckle. There was no picnic. There was no long grass and no handsome man twirling my hair between his fingers.
But the cake? It was good. It was quite good.
I found the recipe in one of my favorite old cookbooks, Country Desserts by Lee Bailey.
I like this version because it is baked in a springform pan. The cake has nice height and no streusel is lost turning it out from a cake pan.
It tastes like a big blueberry muffin and is great served warm from the oven with freshly whipped cream.
Do the names of dishes beguile you too? Do you read a recipe for Floating Islands and feel the waves of turquoise seas lapping against your ankles? Does Toad in a Hole land you in a Beatrix Potter book taking tea with Mr. Jeremy Fisher under a riot of wisteria?
No? I guess it’s just me.
296 days to go!