an urban lifestyle + travel blog by liz norment.

Tag: recipes

Peach Cobbler, from a Southern Kitchen in Brooklyn.

peach cobbler should only be trusted from the hands of someone from the south. somene who has spent time in georgia, someone who has shamelessly stopped so many times on family road trips at the big peach in south carolina, someone who isn’t afraid of butter or telling you exactly why her peach cobbler is the best.
and mine, of course. is the best.
i have always approached peaches with such revelry. these volatile little fruits are rarely perfect but when you bite into one and know, yes, this will be the best peach of the season, there’s no better gift.
i came across this little piece written years ago, by peach-loving, high-school liz, about my love for the finnicky, fuzzy little fruits:
people think of me when they think about peaches.
they give me peaches, my whole life they have.
they tell me about peaches they’ve recently eaten.
and I love peaches, I do.
but I don’t think I ever blatantly say that I love peaches.
maybe it’s in the way I speak of them how I experience them, the closed-eyed deep inhale I give each one before I pierce the soft skin and sink my teeth into the juicy flesh.
so odd, that I am compared with such a small, sweet, seasonal little fruit.


and now,

the recipe. 


4 cups peaches, peeled and sliced.
1 1/2 – 2 cups sugar, depending on the sweetness of the fruits you have chosen.
1/2 cups of water
8 tablespoons of butter, salted
1 1/2 cups of flour
1 1/2 cups milk
cinnamon (preferably form burlap and barrel in brooklyn)


what to do with the ingredients
  1. preheat oven to 350 degrees (it’s going to get damn hot, if you live in brooklyn and only have a/c in select rooms. think of this as a great opportunity to sweat out your hangover. you know you have one.)
  2. combine peaches, 1 cup of the sugar, and water into a saucepan. bring to a boil and let simmer for 10 minutes. remove from heat.
  3. melt butter. (gotta be honest, i really enjoy doing obnoxious paula deen impressions while i’m melting butter. inspiration here.)
  4. mix together the remaining sugar, flour, and milk.
  5. pour melted butter into a 3-quart baking dish and pour or spoon the flour mixture over the butter. do not stir.
  6. spoon fruit on top.
  7. sprinkle with cinnamon.
  8. bake for 30-45 minutes, until batter is cooked and everything ie smelling really fucking heavenly in that hot little apartment kitchen.
  9. serve with vanilla ice cream.
  10. realize that all of your sins have been forgiven.

how to cold brew.


it’s springtime. and that means that as temperatures rise our waking hours get a little later and our non-waking hours get a little nonwakier and we all have to go to work and pretend to be human beings. while listlessly gazing out the window into the sunshine and wishing we were napping in mccarren park.

because of this hot heat and no sleep and desperate need for caffeine phenomenon that is rapidly rising with the temperature, my coffee budget is also on the up and up. the hot percolator coffee from my stovetop or drip drip americana from the community office pot just isn’t refreshing. and while i’m proudly funding a new back patio at konditori on manhattan ave with my daily $4 cold brew purchase, it’s been eating into my budget for everything else.

and thus, enters, the you-do at home cold brew.


what you need

1/2 lb whole bean coffee (highly recommend gumpy’s, oslo, or stumptown)

bean grinder (or you can get it freshly ground when it’s purchased as long as you use right away)

a large bowl

cheese cloth (i had a little trouble finding this but they sell it at the garden on manhattan ave)


the magic

grind beans to a medium-course grind.

dump into bowl

fill bowl with water- water to coffee ratio should be about 3:1.

put the bowl in the refrigerator over night and wait. (you can sleep too if you want.)

remove bowl and strain liquid through cheese cloth.

enjoy, my friends. and now let’s go spend your savings on fun.



be the gazpacho.


where I’m from, tomatoes are in our blood. we eat them as a side dish with dinner in the summertime, with just a little salt and pepper. or fresh out of the garden smushed between two pieces of white bread with a smudge of dukes mayonnaise. we have a festival in their honor each year, complete with tomatoes on a stick, a tomato dunking booth, a tomato queen, and other such non-traditional relics to the juicy, red gods of summer.

and so when I first moved to Spain I was delighted to be in a country that reveled these fruits as much as I did. it’s served as a simple accompaniment to almost every meal, rubbed onto crusty bread and sprinkled with olive oil and sea salt as pan con tomate. they grate it into tomato rallado as a sauce base, salad dressing, and the sticky, seductive secret to socarrat. of course, there’s the annual tomatina in buñol, outside of valencia. this quote from one spain’s most famous playwrights- pero sin tampoco olvidar el pa amb tomàquet


And of course, how dynamic a simple chilled tomato soup became as you travel through different regions. heading south to andalucia and gazpacho it is no longer gazpacho, the chilled, refreshing tomato soup you may be familiar with- it is salmorejo, a thick-based, garlic-laiden, dream of a substance that looks you straight in the eye and says to you, in that thick, distinctive andalusian way of speaking that you need to “tranquilo, nino- sientate aqui y por favor, disfrutate la vida.”

if you haven’t had it, you owe it to yourself- but beware, it may be impossible to go back to normal gazpachos, or really to eat anything else and not be thinking about it, for a while. this gazpacho runs down your throat and into your veins, your pores, until you become the gazpacho. and the gazpacho becomes you. and you are absolutely fine with that- it is not a resignation, it is an revelation.
try your hand in making it here- but don’t say i didn’t warn you.


recipe below

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consider the tortilla.


this has been my mission. to leave no pan unturned, no eggs unflipped. to conduct countless hours of questioning and listless field research. I will slice. I will sauté. I will beat, pour, wait. -inhale- flip, and eat. I spent 11 months in spain, and have a lifetime ahead of me- as an introduction became a desire, an affirmation is consummated, an embryo becomes a fetus becomes a silhouette becomes a heartbeat. I will at the very least come to understand the simple perfection that is- the tortilla de patata. 
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