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Down East Blueberry Buckle —rsquo; The Cobbler in the Oven When Mama Died

Mama died on Tuesday morning, April 11th, 2023. She was eighty years old. Ruth was with her. I was at the library — twenty minutes away — and I drove to the house in a blur of tears and disbelief and the particular anger that arrives when the thing you have been preparing for for seven years happens when you are not in the room, because you stepped out, because you went to work, because you thought you had one more morning.

She was in the guest bedroom. The room where she has slept since she moved from Beaufort. The room with the window that faces the garden Robert planted. The room where Ruth braided her hair every morning and Gloria read to her every evening and I sat with her every night and held her hand and felt the squeeze that became a whisper that became a stillness.

Her hands were still warm when I arrived. I held them. I held them for a long time. The holding was the goodbye, and the goodbye was the holding, and the two were the same thing, the way cooking and loving are the same thing, the way the roux and the stirring are the same thing, the way a mother and a daughter are the same thing when the daughter is holding the mother's hands for the last time in a room that smells like the parsonage in Beaufort because the cast-iron skillet is on the stove and the cobbler is in the oven and the cooking did not stop because Mama died. The cooking cannot stop. The cooking is the life. And the life continues even when the woman who started it does not.

The funeral was at Tabernacle Baptist Church in Beaufort. I read Psalm 23 and did not falter. The not-faltering was the composure that Mama taught me and that I perform in her honor: you stand. You read. You do not falter. And then you go to the kitchen and you make the she-crab soup that she taught you and you stir the roux that she showed you and you taste the soup and you taste the woman who made it possible and you taste the love and the love is on your tongue and the tongue is the memory and the memory is the soup and the soup is the woman and the woman is gone and the soup is here and the here is the carrying forward.

I made she-crab soup. I made it on the night Mama died. I made it because I had to. I made it because she would have wanted me to. I made it because the making is the mourning and the mourning is the making and both are the love.

The cobbler was already in the oven when Mama died — and that detail has never left me, because it meant the kitchen was already warm, already working, already carrying us forward before any of us knew we needed it to. When I think of the food that held us in those first hours and days, I keep coming back to this Down East Blueberry Buckle, the one she kept in her recipe tin from Beaufort, the one that tastes of the coast and of summer and of every kitchen she ever stood in. It is not complicated. It does not ask much of you. And that is exactly the point — when your hands need something to do and your heart cannot hold another thing, you make the buckle, and the buckle holds you back.

Down East Blueberry Buckle

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 45 min | Total Time: 1 hr | Servings: 9

Ingredients

  • 2 cups all-purpose flour
  • 2 teaspoons baking powder
  • 1/2 teaspoon fine salt
  • 3/4 cup granulated sugar
  • 1/4 cup unsalted butter, softened
  • 1 large egg, room temperature
  • 1/2 cup whole milk
  • 2 cups fresh blueberries (or frozen, not thawed)
  • For the streusel topping:
  • 1/2 cup granulated sugar
  • 1/3 cup all-purpose flour
  • 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
  • 1/4 cup cold unsalted butter, cut into small cubes

Instructions

  1. Heat the oven. Preheat oven to 375°F. Grease an 8x8-inch or 9x9-inch baking pan with butter or nonstick spray and set aside.
  2. Make the streusel. In a small bowl, combine 1/2 cup sugar, 1/3 cup flour, and cinnamon. Add the cold butter cubes and work them in with your fingertips until the mixture resembles coarse, clumpy crumbs. Refrigerate while you prepare the batter.
  3. Whisk the dry ingredients. In a medium bowl, whisk together 2 cups flour, baking powder, and salt. Set aside.
  4. Cream butter and sugar. In a large bowl, beat the softened butter and 3/4 cup sugar together with a hand mixer or wooden spoon until pale and fluffy, about 2–3 minutes. Beat in the egg until fully incorporated.
  5. Combine wet and dry. Add the flour mixture to the butter mixture in two additions, alternating with the milk, beginning and ending with the flour. Stir until just combined — do not overmix.
  6. Fold in the blueberries. Gently fold in the blueberries with a spatula, taking care not to crush them. The batter will be thick.
  7. Fill the pan. Spread the batter evenly into the prepared baking pan. Scatter the chilled streusel topping evenly over the surface.
  8. Bake. Bake for 42–48 minutes, until the top is deep golden and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean or with a few moist crumbs. If the streusel browns too quickly, tent loosely with foil after 30 minutes.
  9. Cool and serve. Allow the buckle to cool in the pan for at least 15 minutes before cutting into squares. Serve warm or at room temperature, plain or with a dollop of whipped cream.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 325 | Protein: 4g | Fat: 10g | Carbs: 55g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 175mg

Naomi Blackwood
About the cook who shared this
Naomi Blackwood
Week 351 of Naomi’s 30-year story · Charleston, South Carolina
Naomi is a retired librarian from Charleston who spent thirty-one years putting books in people's hands and now spends her days putting her mother's Lowcountry recipes on paper before they're lost. She survived her husband's affair, her father's sudden death, and the long goodbye of her mother's final years. She cooks she-crab soup in a bowl that Carolyn brought from Beaufort, and in every spoonful you can taste the marsh and the memory and the grace of a woman who chose to stay and rebuild.

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