Charlie had already finished getting ready for the day by the time I even found a recipe I could morph. I googled blueberry corn muffins, blueberry streusel, blueberry corn bread. Nothing struck me until I stumbled upon cornmeal coffee cake. I closed my eyes and traveled back fifteen years to bright-eyed me sliding my oversized fork down the side of brown sugar-laden coffee cake that mom had just pulled from the 425-degree oven.

I took a deep breath, opened my eyes, and came back to the present. I rushed to the pantry for the cornmeal, flour, baking powder, salt, sugar, and oil, and to the refrigerator for the eggs, milk, and blueberries. I preheated the oven to the magic temperature and mixed the dry ingredients together in my bold blue Crate & Barrel mixing bowl.

Digging a well into the mixture, I added the milk, eggs, and oil, beating them together whilst incorporating into the dry ingredients.

[This is where I wished I had tossed in a half cup of blueberries into the batter… But don’t worry! I have since added this step to the full recipe.]

I evenly distributed the batter between my four crisply white ramekins and topped each with a handful of blueberries.

After sprinkling the top with a tablespoon of sugar, I slid them into the oven for twenty minutes of baking.

The finished blueberry cornmeal coffee cakes were playful to the eye and satisfying to the tummy. Charlie even told me to keep this one in the recipe file. If that isn’t a compliment to a cook, I’m not sure what is.

Follow this link for the Blueberry Cornmeal Coffee Cake recipe.

Towards the end of the market, the blueberry peddler snuck over to steal a few bites of hummus and before long she returned with a half flat of blueberries… “Want to trade?” Absolutely! I left the market with six pints of luscious purple berries.

How was I going to use up six pints of blueberries? I got to work brainstorming a list: blueberry sage halibut, blueberry cinnamon rolls, blueberry spritzer, blueberry crisp, blueberry smoothie, blueberry jam. I eventually settled on the cinnamon rolls, crisp, and the jam.

The filling in the blueberry cinnamon rolls (recipe found here) was a concoction of butter, Marilyn’s cinnamon walnut pecan nut butter, brown sugar, and whole blueberries. It a long process with the rise of the dough and the bake, but it was well worth the wait.

On Monday night, we had an out-of-town friend over for dinner. My husband crafted his infamous Spaghetti and Seafood and I was left in charge of dessert. I topped blueberries, sugar, and lemon juice with a crumbly mixture of brown sugar, flour, oatmeal, and butter (classic blueberry crisp). Fresh out the oven, I served the sweet dessert with French vanilla ice cream.

I nibbled on a few for a snack and sprinkled some on my cereal, but I still had three pints of plump berries left at the end of the week. I bought cute little mason jars and decided to make a no fuss freezer jam with sugar, pectin, lemon juice, and crushed blueberries. The finished product was sweet and tangy, the perfect accompaniment to freshly baked drop biscuits.

I was in blueberry heaven for less a week, but I plan to guard the jars of jam as a reminder of the mid-summer long after it is gone.

We left work early, but two hours after the first carload headed east. My husband insisted on driving the whole way so I, bored easily, played with my iPhone, sang karaoke-style to the songs blasting from my iPod, and struck up a new conversation every 20 minutes or so. I was hungry by the time we hit Cle Elum so we stopped at Dairy Queen for ice cream and chicken strips. My body yearned for vegetables, but deep-fried protein was all it would get for now.

We arrived in Chelan at the tail end of dinner. Our three friends had already broken in the grill with a filet of salmon and roasted vegetables. Still hungry and craving produce, I ate up the last few bites of food. Wine drinking, popcorn eating, and board gaming soon followed.

The next morning I whipped up a batch of whole wheat drop biscuits and my husband cracked and scrambled eggs alongside sizzling bacon. We brewed green tea and ate plump red grapes. We (I mean, the girls) laid yoga mats on the sprawling deck and met the sun with salutations. It was a glorious morning.

The five of us squished into one car and headed to the north side of the lake in search of a tasting room. Driving past Wapato Point Cellars we got lost and started following signs for Chelan’gra La Winery. We accepted the fate of our wild goose chase when we discovered an old, empty-looking house with a large sign boasting “Winery” and quickly turned back around. Tildio Winery was the first official stop of our wine tasting afternoon. Cross your fingers that Anton is pouring if you decide to go. Knowledgeable, witty, passionate – his connection was a definite highlight.

We hit up six wineries that afternoon – Hard Row to Hoe (burlesque-style tasting room), Wapato Point Cellars (including the classy Winemaker’s Grill), Benson Vineyards (delightful family and beautiful old vines), Lake Chelan Winery (we signed up for their wine club), and Vin du Lac (delicious French onion soup).

By the time we finished sipping and swirling, we were ready for some grilled red meat.

My grill master husband made a spicy dry rub for Chris and Renee’s New York Strip, Lisa’s chicken breast, and our cheapo Safeway cuts of Bottom Round. When the stainless steel propane apparatus was hot enough, he threw the five pieces of meat on the rack, monitoring closely to achieve the perfect doneness.

I was ok with our inexpensive cut of beef… until I saw Renee cut into her New York Strip from A & J Meats and Seafood on Queen Anne.

I think she saw me drooling over her piece of steak so she offered up a bite and I eagerly accepted. It melted in my mouth; the dry spicy rub complementing the tenderness of the meat. I was in heaven. At the same time, I was sad. I went back to my steak and cut a thin, fatty piece. There was no flavor, just dry spicy rub. It was uninspired, lackluster, and old. I wanted more wine. I needed it to wash away the blah steak.

Overall, the weekend was exactly what I had hoped for, minus the beef. Would it be possible to have a do-over on the first official barbecue of the season?

I flipped the page one more time and stumbled on a recipe for granola. Oats, nuts, raisins – check, check, check. This would be my first adventure with homemade granola, but I was more than up to the challenge. The recipe I had was flexible in that you could pretty much add anything you like to the mixture. Here is the recipe I settled on:

Homemade Granola
(makes 15 servings)

4 cups regular rolled oats
½ cup chopped hazelnuts
½ cup chopped walnuts
½ cup packed brown sugar
¼ cup cooking oil
¼ cup honey
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup raisins

Preheat oven to 300°F. In a 15×10x1-inch baking pan, combine oats, hazelnuts, and walnuts; set aside. In a 1- to 1½ quart saucepan combine brown sugar, oil, honey, salt, and cinnamon. Heat over medium heat until mixture is combined and smooth; stir in vanilla. Pour sugar mixture over oats mixture, stirring until well coated.

Bake in the preheated oven for 35 to 40 minutes or until mixture is golden brown, stirring carefully every 10 minutes. Stir in raisins. Spread granola onto buttered foil; cool completely.

Store granola in an airtight container (I chose my Tupperware Ice Prism Bowl) for up to 1 week or freeze for up to 3 months.

Not only did we gobble down the granola for breakfast that beautiful Saturday morning, throughout the week we poured milk over it, sprinkled it on yogurt, and mixed it in with vanilla bean ice cream. It was all consumed before I knew it. I feel a second (and possibly a third and fourth) batch is in order.