It’s no secret that I’m a creature of habit. When I find a routine, a rhythm, or really anything at all that works and feels right, I cling to it with two steady hands. It is precisely the sure and steady part of my personality that has always been drawn to food, less for the thrill of a really good flavor combination or the plentiful health benefits, both of which I have grown to place great value in, but more because food, to me, has long represented comfort and familiarity. When I’ve been far from home, or just moved into a new home, whipping up a familiar family recipe would instantly give me a sense of place, wherever I happened to be. Ideally in the form of cheesy bread and homemade dumplings—or, better yet, chocolate cake.
Back when Chip and I were young parents, raising four kids under the age of four, food became a survival tool, a physical means of nourishing six bodies three times a day. I longed for easy, not new, so I leaned into the food I grew up with, the no-fail recipes that I could be confident I wouldn’t mess up while four hungry babies stared up at me. During those years, dinner was rarely elaborate or impressive. But it was, on most days, the only time we could all sit around the table and be intentional about sharing a meal together. I started to notice a pattern that followed this nightly rhythm: When dinner was served, the house quieted, stories were told, and when it was time to excuse ourselves, everyone was fed in more ways than one. If not for the warm food on the table, those sacred evenings wouldn’t have happened. And so, every day, it seemed, I found myself anticipating dinner around the table, which soon turned into thinking ahead about what I might serve and how I could set the table to make dinnertime feel a little more special. And that’s when I began to see the kitchen differently—for what it had to offer my family beyond being the place where we stored our produce and stacked our plates. What had once been a place I often dreaded, I now saw as a gift, there to equip me with the space and tools I needed to make these meals possible.
So, slowly, I began to spend more time in our kitchen, messing with ingredients and practicing using new tools and recipes. I was still a ways away from feeling confident in this space, but something deep inside me told me that the life that was happening around our table every night was worth the effort. I started to pay attention to the foods my kids favored and practiced making meals that would support, but also oftentimes challenge, their palates. Gradually, I started to feel like I actually belonged in this space. Though there was, and still is, plenty of ordering in on nights when I just don’t feel like cooking or when a meal inevitably burns.
That mind-set shift was a pivotal turning point for me. It led me to actually enjoy the creative part of cooking a meal, but even more, it opened my eyes to how much I treasured what came next—when everyone gathered around the table—whether it was among family, friends, or mixed company. Since then, it has been the soul and substance that resounds at the table—of stories being told while glasses clink and hands pass bowls, the excitement that murmurs when I confirm there is in fact dessert tonight, and always the lingering conversations—that has made the table itself one of the most familiar places in my world. The life that unfolds around it day after day continues to be potent enough to draw me back again and again.
INGREDIENTS
- 4 cups Sliced peeled fresh or frozen peaches
- 1¾ cups Sugar
- 1 cup All-purpose flour
- 1 Tbsp Baking powder
- 1 tsp Kosher salt
- ¾ cup Whole milk
- 8 Tbsp (1 stick) Unsalted butter
- ½ tsp Ground cinnamon
- Vanilla ice cream, for serving
DIRECTIONS
- In a large saucepan, combine the peaches and ¾ cup of the sugar. Cook over medium heat, stirring often, until the sugar dissolves, the juice is thickened, and the peaches are softened but still firm, 8 to 10 minutes.
- In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, remaining 1 cup sugar, baking powder, and salt. Stir in the milk and mix until combined.
- Place the butter in an 8 × 8-inch baking dish and set it in the oven. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Take out the dish when the butter has melted, 3 to 5 minutes.
- Pour the batter into the dish on top of the melted butter. Spoon the peaches and juice over the batter and sprinkle the cinnamon on top.
- Bake until a tester inserted in the center comes out clean, about 35 minutes. Serve warm with ice cream.
Makes 6 servings
From Magnolia Table, Volume 2 by Joanna Gaines. Copyright © 2020 by Joanna Gaines. Reprinted by permission of William Morrow, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
