So I get home tonight after having a really great time at the Renaissance Fair, and decide to make myself some eggs. A few shallots, some tomato, and it's all very nice. WHile the eggs are steaming away in thier pan, I look at some plums that are going really ripe and think "cobbler"
Or is it Brown Betty?
One has oats in the crumbly crunchy stuff, and one doesn't. I decide to make one with oats. SO I mix the following:
Cornstarch (cause I'm not patient enough with the flour... I just don't want to deal)
All kinda thrown in. I butter two individual baking crocks and split the plume mixture between the two. Then I mix:
And you have to have the flour in this part. It would just end up all weird being only oats.
So then I'm left with what to do while I'm waiting for this stuff to bake and turn golden brown and crunchy and hot and good.
So I decide to finish a book. Now I can't tell you what book it is because telling you that it has an unhappy ending would sour it a little. Not just any unhappy ending, but an ambush of an unhappy ending. Here we are, thinking that all of these people who had suffered so much were finally gonna be happy again, and in less than 15 pages it all goes to shit and folks are being ripped away from one another.
I guess that's how it would feel if it happened to me in real life, but in real life I would also have counselors and folks to say things were alright and maybe even have an idea of how the story went on.
This story was just abruptly cut off after the word "disaster" was spoken. Or I guess read. I feel slightly cheated that it ended this way, so I'm writing about it now. My sense of unfairness has been piqued and so now I feel compelled to communicate my disappointment as the timer for the Cobbler/Betty stuff goes off and demands I divert my attention.