It started with the cinnamon. Just a little, barely there. I opened the drawer too fast and the jar tipped sideways like it always does—because the lid’s warped and I won’t replace it. The air caught it. That soft, dry scent. Suddenly I was back in Nan’s kitchen. Sticky floors. Aprons that smelled like hot sugar. She always used too much cinnamon. Even in fruit things. Even in things that shouldn’t have had it. But she swore it made the blueberries “wake up.”
So I made Martha’s cobbler. Because it had cinnamon in it. And because I missed her, I think. Nan. Not Martha. Though—maybe her too, in a different way.
What Her Highness’s Version Looked Like
Martha Stewart’s blueberry cobbler is all tidy edges and no nonsense. The biscuits on top are shaped just so—nine neat rounds like she cut them with a wine glass and a quiet prayer. The filling’s simple. Blueberries, sugar, cinnamon, cornstarch. Nothing flashy. She lets the fruit do the talking. And of course—sanding sugar on top, because god forbid the crust be anything less than golden and photogenic.
I’ve seen this one a hundred times. The photo’s always the same: perfect bubbling edge, steam rising like a Martha-branded ghost. It’s lovely. A little cold. But lovely.
What I Did Differently
I didn’t measure the sugar exactly. Just felt it. The berries were frozen, not fresh. The bag had a hole in it. I found them in the back of the freezer under a stockpile of shrimp and a pie shell I don’t remember buying.
I added more cinnamon than she said. Not because I wanted to, but because the jar spilled. Maybe Nan did that.
And instead of heavy cream—I used the last of the sour cream, thinned with milk. It worked. Somehow it always does.
The Way It Happened in My Kitchen
The oven was already on. I’d meant to roast squash but forgot to buy it. So the heat was just… there. Felt wrong to waste it.
Mae was upstairs pretending to study. The dog was pacing. I was cold but too stubborn to put on socks.
I pulsed the flour and butter in the food processor—something Her Highness and I actually agree on. Cold butter. Fast hands. Don’t overthink it.
The dough didn’t come together until I added more liquid than I meant to. It was sticky, so I floured my palms and called it rustic.
I tossed the blueberries in a bowl I stole from my college roommate—green Pyrex, chipped lip. Sugar, cornstarch, cinnamon. I tasted one. Still frozen. Didn’t matter.
The Dutch oven was too big, but I used it anyway. The dent in the side stared at me while I spooned in the fruit. I tapped it once with a wooden spoon, like an apology.
Biscuit dough went on top like little islands. I brushed them with a mix of milk and guilt, then dumped half a jar of sanding sugar across the top. Not precise. Not Martha.
The smell hit around minute 38. Warm fruit. Sharp sugar. A little like regret.
A Few Things I Learned
Sour cream works if you pretend it’s intentional.
Frozen berries don’t care what you want from them.
If you open the cinnamon at the wrong angle, you might cry. You might also smile. Sometimes both.
What I Did With the Extras
Mae had two helpings and said it was “decent.” Then took the leftovers upstairs and forgot them on her desk overnight. I ate them cold the next morning. Still good. Still sticky.
Would I Make It Again?
Yeah. When the kitchen feels too quiet. Or the freezer feels too full. Or I need to remember her, just for an hour.
That’s As Much As I Remember
The cinnamon’s still in the air. The dent in the pan still catches the light.
I’ll make it again when I miss her without realizing it.
FAQs
That’S What I Used. Didn’T Even Thaw Them. They Worked Just Fine—Maybe Even Better. They Hold Their Shape And Still Go All Jammy In The Oven.
Use Regular. Or Skip It. The Tops Will Still Be Golden, Just Less Sparkly. No One’S Judging. Not In My House, Anyway.
Yeah, But Don’T Expect The Biscuits To Stay Crisp. They’Ll Go Soft Like A Soggy Hug. Still Tasty, Just Different. Best Eaten Cold Over The Sink, Honestly.
Not Overly. But Taste Your Berries. Mine Were Tart, So I Added Extra Sugar. If You’Re Working With Summer Farmers’ Market Berries, You Might Need Less.
Sure. Bake It, Cool It, And Reheat Gently. But Nothing Beats It Fresh From The Oven When It’S Still Bubbling Like A Tiny Volcano Of Sugar And Love.
Check out More Recipes:
Martha Stewart Blueberry Cobbler
Description
A Little Messier, A Little Sadder, A Little Warmer. That’S How I Needed It.
Ingredients
Instructions
- Preheat the oven to 190°C / 375°F; mix the dry ingredients:In a food processor, combine the flour, baking powder, and salt. Pulse a few times—don’t overthink it.
- Add the butter and turn it to rubble:Toss in the cold butter and pulse until it looks like breadcrumbs that forgot who they were. Some big bits? Fine. They’ll melt into glory.
- Bring it together with dairy and defiance:Tip the mixture into a big bowl. I didn’t have cream—so I used sour cream loosened with a splash of milk. Stir gently with a wooden spoon or your hand until it barely comes together. No kneading. No fuss.
- Form the biscuit tops (messy is fine):Roughly divide into 9 blobs. Don’t make them pretty. Flatten slightly and set aside. I floured my palms because it stuck. Then I didn’t care.
- Make the blueberry base:In a bowl, mix the frozen berries (yep—frozen), sugar, a generous ¼ cup of cornstarch, and enough cinnamon to make you remember someone. Toss until it’s coated like a memory. Taste one. Add more sugar if you flinch. More starch if it weeps.
- Assemble without ceremony:Pour the berry mixture into an 8-inch baking dish. Or whatever fits. Place the biscuit blobs on top like you’re dotting an old quilt.
- Brush and bless:Brush the tops with whatever milk or cream you have left. Sprinkle a ridiculous amount of sanding sugar. That’s the part Her Highness would like.
- Bake and wait (or don’t):Slide into the oven and bake for 55 minutes, give or take. You’ll know it’s done when it bubbles like it’s telling a secret and the tops are gold and loud. Let cool for 30 minutes if you can stand it.
- Serve warm:Cold spoons. Warm bowls. Mae added whipped cream. I didn’t argue.