Skillet Blueberry Slump

Birmingham fall, baby. The first cool morning. The pot of greens on the stove for no other reason than the cool. Tuesday at the church. Bernice's Table fed eighty this week. The kitchen team handled it. I am the conductor and they are the orchestra and we are getting better every week.

Calvin preached Sunday on the Beatitudes. The church said amen. CJ called from Huntsville. The grandchildren — Caleb (2), Naomi — are well. Shanice sends her love.

Oxtails Sunday. Browned. Slow-braised. Served over rice. The bone-in stew that holds the table.

Calvin in the recliner. Me at the stove. The week held.

Sunday after service Calvin and I drove past the new sanctuary site. The choir loft windows were going in. We sat in the car and looked. He did not speak. I did not speak. The watching was the prayer.

Sister Patrice's husband had heart surgery this week. I drove a meal over Tuesday — chicken and rice, cornbread, peach cobbler. She cried at the door. I told her, baby, eat the food. The food was the saying.

A new young wife joined the Saturday cooking class. Twenty-two years old. She does not know how to make rice. I will teach her. The chain extends.

I drove to the grocery Saturday morning. Greens, three pounds. Onions, two big ones. Buttermilk, half gallon. Cornmeal, the good kind. Salt, because I always run out of salt.

The garden in the side yard, sugar. The tomatoes are coming on. The okra is up. The collards are getting big. I will be canning by August. I always say I am not going to can. I always end up canning.

I sat on the porch Saturday afternoon. The neighborhood was quiet. Mr. Henderson across the street waved. I waved back. The porches are the original social network, sugar. We have been at this since Eden.

I have been thinking about heaven a lot lately. I do not know what I think. I know what Calvin preaches. I know what the AME doctrine says. I know what my Mama believed. I am at the age, sugar, where heaven is more than a Sunday school answer. I am working on it.

A young woman from the new members class came to me Sunday. She was nervous. She said, Mother Simms, my husband and I are expecting our first and I do not know how to cook. I said, baby, come to the Saturday class. She said, I'm coming. The chain extends.

I read for an hour Sunday night before bed. The Bible, then a book Doris sent me about the civil rights movement in Birmingham. The book made me think about Bernice in the church kitchen during the bombings.

Mr. Henderson across the street brought me a bag of pecans Friday from his tree. I made a pecan pie with them. I took half of it back to him. He said, Loretta, this is wrong, you took my pecans and gave me back a pie. I said, that is exactly right. That is how it works.

Sister Beulah came by Tuesday afternoon to drop off the bulletins. She stayed for coffee. We talked about the church, about her grandbaby, about the heat. The visit was the visit.

The kitchen smelled like garlic and onion all afternoon Wednesday. Calvin came home from his Bible study and stood in the doorway and said, Loretta, what are we eating. I said, baby, you will see. He said, that is a yes from me. He has been saying that for fifty years.

Doris called Thursday. Three times a week, the standard. We talked about Calvin's health. We talked about Harold's health. We talked about the family. We talked about what I was cooking.

I did not set out to make a slump this week, but when Mr. Henderson brought those pecans over and I found myself in the kitchen anyway, I started thinking about the blueberries I had been holding — and about how a slump is exactly that kind of dessert, sugar, humble and warm and not asking anything of you but a skillet and a little time. The week held. The garden is coming on. Seemed right to make something sweet and simple that doesn’t pretend to be more than it is.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

4 cups fresh blueberries (or frozen, thawed and drained)
1/2 cup granulated sugar, divided
2 tablespoons water
1 teaspoon lemon juice
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 cup whole milk
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
Vanilla ice cream or whipped cream, for serving (optional)

Instructions

Simmer the berries. In a 10-inch cast iron or heavy skillet, combine blueberries, 1/4 cup of the sugar, water, and lemon juice over medium heat. Stir gently and bring to a low simmer, cooking until the berries begin to burst and the liquid thickens slightly, about 8 minutes.
Mix the dumpling batter. In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, remaining 1/4 cup sugar, baking powder, salt, and cinnamon. Add milk and melted butter and stir just until a soft, slightly sticky dough comes together — do not overmix.
Drop the dumplings. Using a large spoon, drop the dough in 6 even mounds directly onto the simmering blueberry mixture, spacing them evenly around the skillet.
Cover and cook. Reduce heat to medium-low, cover the skillet with a tight-fitting lid, and cook undisturbed for 15 to 18 minutes, until the dumplings are cooked through and set on top. Do not lift the lid during cooking — the steam is what finishes them.
Rest and serve. Remove from heat and let stand, uncovered, for 5 minutes before serving. Spoon into bowls with the berry juices spooned over the top. Serve warm with vanilla ice cream or whipped cream if you like.

Nutrition (per serving)

Skillet Blueberry Slump — What You Make When the Garden Is Coming In and the Week Has Held