A couple of years ago, around this time of year, we had some of our dear friends over for am impromptu dinner in the backyard. I didn’t have anything planned, so while dinner cooked, I ran out to our prolific rhubarb patch, picked a bunch and sliced and tossed it together with a pint of raspberries I had tucked in the fridge. I pinched together some oats, butter, flour and walnuts—in no particular order, abiding by my grandmother’s pinch of this and dash of that rule (salt, sugar) until it felt just right.
On any given day post Memorial Day, I have ice cream in the freezer, so after this mystery crumble came to from the oven, oozy and fragrant, I scooped a whole pint of vanilla on top and served it to the crew straight from the tin, with a handful of spoons. It was gone in seconds.
“Please tell me you wrote down how you made this,” Rebecca said, pleading. All heads nodded.
“No,” I stammered. “But I’m certain I can figure it out.”
Famous last words. When I later decided I wanted to include this recipe in my new book, EVERY DAY IS SATURDAY, it took me an absurd amount of tries to get this simple sweet just right again. It made no sense—crumbles are the oldest trick in the summer-fruit book, but for several takes, the nuts were too forward or the filling too sweet or the crumble too soggy. I wanted that just right mix I’d struck upon by accident. It turns out reverse engineering a casual summer bake is harder than it looks.
I almost gave up. Almost. But we have a motto in my family: We don’t quit . I didn’t quit this simple crumble until I got it just right—right enough to make it into the book; right enough to share here with you. It’s a keeper. xx
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