Peach Blueberry Crisp

Fourth of July. The restaurant closed for one day — just one, because a small business owner doesn't get holidays, she gets choices, and the choice was: close on the Fourth so the family can be together, eat watermelon, watch fireworks from the Hermitage apartment parking lot, and pretend for twenty-four hours that I'm just a mom and not also a small business owner who checks the produce delivery schedule in her sleep.

The cookout: at the apartment. Not at the restaurant, not at Mama's place — at OUR place, the two-bedroom in Hermitage that is small and loud and smells like whatever I cooked last and is HOME. I set up the little charcoal grill on the concrete patio (the patio that is technically shared with the neighbors but the neighbors are a quiet elderly couple who go to bed at 8 PM and have never once complained about my grill or my children or my 90s country music, bless them). Burgers. Hot dogs. Corn on the cob. Watermelon. Mama's potato salad (the recipe she won't write down because she says "you'll know it when you know it," which is not helpful, Mama).

The guest list: Mama, obviously. Kevin drove down from Clarksville with Donna and little Kaden (he's four now, Donna's pregnant with Brianna, due in January — Kevin is going to have two kids under five while still active duty, and I'm choosing not to point out how exhausting that will be because he'll figure it out the way everyone figures it out: by surviving it). And Terrence's contribution was a FaceTime call at 7 PM where Elijah held the phone up to the sky to show him the fireworks and the phone screen was just: blur, light, blur, Elijah's forehead, more blur. Technology has limits. Love doesn't.

Chloe made a red-white-and-blue trifle. Strawberries, blueberries, whipped cream, angel food cake. Layered in a glass bowl so you could see the stripes. It was beautiful. It was Instagram-worthy (she photographed it before anyone could eat it — "HOLD ON, the light is perfect" — this child has become a food content creator and she's thirteen and I'm not sure whether to be proud or concerned, so I'm both). The trifle was: summer in a bowl. America in layers. The kind of dessert that makes you feel patriotic and full, which is basically the same thing on the Fourth of July.

Jayden and Kaden played in the parking lot with sparklers. Jayden held Kaden's sparkler hand steady — the ten-year-old steadying the four-year-old, the cousin-care that mirrors the sibling-care, the way Mitchell children look after smaller Mitchell children because that's what we do, that's what Lorraine taught me and I taught them and they're teaching each other without anyone saying a word. Elijah watched the sparklers and said: "Fire is ORANGE." Fire is orange. The boy sees his color in everything. Even patriotism is orange if you squint.

Kevin and I sat on the patio steps after the kids went inside. He's tired — the Army-tired that doesn't go away on leave, the tired that lives in his posture and his eyes. He asked me how the restaurant was going. I told him: good, scary, good. He said: "Sounds about right." He asked if I was happy. I said: "I think so. I think this is what happy feels like when you're a grownup." He laughed. He said: "Yeah. It's weird, right?" It's weird. Happy is weird when you grew up the way we did. Happy is unfamiliar. Happy is a parking lot in Hermitage on the Fourth of July with your kids and your brother and your mama and your burgers and your borrowed patio. Happy is: this. Weird and real and mine.

Chloe’s trifle was the star of that Fourth of July — layered and beautiful and gone inside of ten minutes, which is the highest compliment my family knows how to pay a dessert. But after Kevin drove back to Clarksville and Mama headed home and the kids were finally asleep, I stood in my little kitchen thinking about that combination of blueberries and summer sweetness and wanting something I could make again on a regular Tuesday, no glass bowl required. This peach blueberry crisp is that recipe: the same warm, patriotic-feeling fruit in a form that doesn’t need to be Instagram-worthy to be exactly right.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 40 minutes | Total Time: 55 minutes | Servings: 8

Ingredients

4 cups fresh or frozen peaches, peeled and sliced (about 4 medium peaches)
1 1/2 cups fresh or frozen blueberries
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
1 tablespoon cornstarch
1 teaspoon lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup old-fashioned rolled oats
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon salt
6 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces

Instructions

Preheat the oven. Heat your oven to 350°F. Lightly butter or spray a 9x9-inch baking dish or equivalent 2-quart dish.
Prepare the fruit filling. In a large bowl, toss the peach slices and blueberries with the granulated sugar, cornstarch, lemon juice, and vanilla extract until evenly coated. Pour the mixture into the prepared baking dish and spread into an even layer.
Make the crisp topping. In a separate bowl, combine the rolled oats, flour, brown sugar, cinnamon, and salt. Add the cold butter pieces and use your fingers or a pastry cutter to work the butter into the oat mixture until it resembles coarse, clumpy crumbs with pea-sized pieces of butter throughout.
Assemble and bake. Scatter the crisp topping evenly over the fruit filling. Bake for 35–40 minutes, until the topping is golden brown and the fruit is bubbling around the edges.
Rest and serve. Let the crisp rest for 10 minutes before serving. Serve warm on its own, or with a scoop of vanilla ice cream or a dollop of whipped cream.

Nutrition (per serving)

Peach Blueberry Crisp — The Dessert That Tasted Like That Parking Lot Summer