I've been thinking about my mom today, and the time that she made a cobbler for the family. I can't remember if it was a plum or a cherry cobbler--I'm kind of thinking it was plum, although cherry makes more sense--either way the fruit had pits that didn't get removed before baking. It looked delicious, and we all dug in enthusiastically, until coming upon the errant pits. We teased the poor woman mercilessly. I like to think it was my older sisters, they were like that. But I'm sure I chimed in. And it still comes up from time-to-time, "Do you remember the cobbler mom made?"
But no more. I will not mention it, think of it, or laugh about it again. You can probably guess why, but I'll tell you anyway.
Yesterday we got home from church a little later than expected. It was almost three and we hadn't eaten since breakfast. I had started a roast before we left, but hadn't prepared anything to go with it. I put some brown rice in a rice steamer and dashed off to change out of my dress before coming back to make some muffins, gravy, and a salad. Quite the meal I would say. But the kids all pitched in, and we got it done in less than an hour.
I remember at some point peeking at the rice, while on the phone, and wondering why the water was so brown. It was brown rice though, so I didn't give it more than a passing thought. Finally the other food was ready, Rob had made it home, the table was set, so I checked to make sure the rice was done.
It looked strangely like something else...like...maybe...wheat berries?
Yes, we had steamed wheat berries to go with our roast and gravy.
I need to point out that we store our brown rice and our wheat berries in the very same type of container. And I was in a hurry. And I was hungry.
Pathetic excuses I know. Hopefully the kids will let me live it down eventually.
Meanwhile I'm in the market for cooked wheat berry recipes. It's surprising how few there are.