Good Afternoon, Blog World Readers,
Miz Barbara, (we are taught as children to address our elders respectfully) the author of our story, called me up last night to inform me I was going to be one of the featured stars on this here blog. Then she says I've got to tell you a bit about myself and how I came to own the Blue Moon Cafe. Plus, offer you a recipe. She must think I can hang a pad above the cookstove, clinch a pen between my teeth, and become a reporter in between stacks of breakfast pancakes scooped off the grill and ladles of soup served up for lunch. She should work in this kitchen just one day and see if that straight hair of hers doesn't wilt (or curl up in kinks) from the heat.
Because I want others to know about our little town, our lives, and the topsy-turvey mess we recently went through, her wish is my command. Up to a point. I refuse to pick on the people who were doing the most to redirect our values--poor things. She can do all the name calling, detecting, and prosecuting in her book, but I'll be silent--well, most of the time I'll try--about my neighbors.
I guess I'd better introduce myself. Should have done that up front in order to grab the readers attention from all I hear Miz Barbara say in those writing classes she teaches. I'm Mary Margaret Butler, called MM by the townspeople and my nearest and dearest (of which at the moment there are only two). I've lived above the Blue Moon since the age of six when Daddy took off never to be seen again and Mama--well, let's just say, she pined herself into an early grave and let it go at that. Aunt Lutie, never married and even without kids, turned out to be a great substitute mother. You'll hear about that in the book. But I still had no hankering to live forever in this hick town.
God has a way of letting you know that He is in charge of your fate. Yep, I'm still here at twenty-six. Aunt Lutie's gone and I own the Blue Moon now. There's a man in my life--one I met in a dumpster. Curious now, huh? I won't say more except he's tall, dark and handsome, and when I do something he doesn't particularily want me to do (which is quite often), he mumbles under his breath in Spanish.
If you read our story, you'll meet all the wonderful people--and a few who are a few bricks short of a full chimney. Most everyone here is pretty set in their ways so I had to be a little careful about changing too much about the cafe. The menu revolved gradually and there was a howl when I shortened the hours and closed on Sunday and Monday. But I needed some time for myself and I love to read cookbooks and experiment with new dishes. Still, to satisfy the locals, I've kept a few of the old favorites, like Aunt Lutie's best cobbler.
CRUNCHY PEACH COBBLER
Pastry for double crust 1/4 c. sugar
5 cups sliced fresh peaches, peeled 1/8 tsp. salt
1 cup sugar (and 1/2 c. water) 1/2 tsp. almond flavoring
3 tbsp. flour Butter
Roll half the dough very thin and line a 2-inch deep baking dish. Roll and cut the other half into strips. Bake half of these strips in a 375-degree oven until brown. (Then raise temp. to 400 degrees)
Put fruit, 1 cup sugar and 1/2 c. water in a saucepan and cook until fruit is soft. Mix flour, 1/4 c. sugar, and 1/8 tsp. salt; add fruit. Cook, stirring, until slightly thick. Stir in flavoring and cooked pastry strips. Spoon in the crust-lined dish, dot with butter, and cover with uncooked strips.
Bake at 400 degrees until brown.
***
It's time to close up the cafe. I stopped serving supper so we put up the closed sign at 2 P.M. sharp. What if people are hungry at night? They can just fix themselves a fried baloney sandwich and watch the Houston news on television. MM wishes you a good night.
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