Our son started kindergarten today. If you knew what a mama’s boy he is, you might expect me to do a little victory dance in the living room.  Don’t get me wrong. It’s mighty flattering to be his earth, moon, and stars. But it’s a lot of pressure, too. It leads me to say unkind things like “For the love of God, must you be touching me, or talking to me (or both) EVERY waking minute of your day?” To which he replies in his guileless way: “I just like to be near you.”

Behind his back, I’ve been known to refer to my child as a barnacle. I know. That’s not nice. And he is nice. Incredibly, almost unbelievably nice.  It’s quite a dance we do. He wants me closer all the time, and he’s so damn sweet about it. He lights up every time he sees me. I covet some breathing room. But still, I’d do anything to fill the needy spaces in that sensitive little heart.

So anyway, off he went, like kids do. And in my mind’s eye, I started fast-forwarding through the long string of inevitable goodbyes. Trust me when I tell you this is not a good idea. I caught a little weak-kneed glimpse of the loss he seems to wrestle every time I walk out the door. I didn’t wail and grab his legs and howl through a river of snot, like he did when he was one or two. I didn’t bravely blink back the tears, like he did at three or four. I gave a little wave and a resigned smile. Like a kindergartner. But I must admit, goodbye took my breath away today. It was a visceral longing. I take back all that barnacle talk. I do. All I wanted today was to take him home, so he could follow me in and out of every room, talking and touching incessantly, like he does. I just like to be near him. 

As luck would have it, his adoration of me didn’t wane on his first day of kindergarten. But someday it will. That day, you may just find me howling through a river of snot. I’ll be the one with the gale force wind blowing through the needy spaces in my sensitive little heart. So there you have it. I’m a big old walking, talking, sniffling cliché of motherhood on this, my child’s first day of school. 

It seemed like a good idea to cook something sweet. Very sweet. Like this nectarine upside-down cake. For the cake, I borrowed Molly Wizenberg’s French Style Yogurt Cake recipe. You can buy her wonderful cookbook here. I’m sure she never intended this cake to be turned upside-down, but it worked like a charm. The cake is moist and light. The texture is perfection. Better yet, it requires nothing but a measuring cup, a big bowl, and a wooden spoon. Her recipe is for a lovely lemon cake with lemon glazes. I made mine vanilla. Oh, and I added the brown sugar and butter and nectarines and that whole upside-down business. That part was just a shameless ploy to score points with my son before he grows up and leaves me.

This cake is FAST! It’s not exaggerating to say that when I got home from work at 1:30, cake was the farthest thing from my mind. And when I left home at 2:30 to pick up my son from school, the cake was cooling on the counter. In between I had to dream up the upside-down part, and raid the fruit bowl, and rustle through cookbooks for a simple, delicious cake recipe. A more balanced person than I could have this cake in the oven in under fifteen minutes. It’s pretty, with that fruit design. Even better, it’s sinfully tasty. The brown sugar and fruit form a sticky, decadent layer that gives way to the old-fashioned white cake beneath, soft and not-too-sweet. With a cold glass of milk, it makes for a memorable after-school snack. At least I won’t forget it anytime soon.

NECTARINE UPSIDE-DOWN CAKE

4 tablespoons butter
½ cup brown sugar
3 nectarines, sliced into 1/4 inch slices.
½ cup plain whole-milk yogurt (not lowfat)
1 cup granulated sugar
3 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 ½ cups unbleached all-purpose flour
2 tsp. baking powder
pinch of salt
½ cup canola oil

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Melt butter in a nonstick, oven-proof 10-inch skillet over medium-low heat.

Add brown sugar and stir. Cook, stirring occasionally, for about three minutes. Remove pan from heat. (If you don’t have an oven-proof skillet, pour the melted butter and brown sugar mixture into a cake pan and follow the recipe from here…)

Arrange nectarine slices on top of the brown sugar mixture in the bottom of the skillet (or cake pan).

In a large bowl, combine the yogurt, sugar, eggs, and vanilla. Stir until well blended.

Add the flour, baking powder, and salt, mixing to just combine.

Add the oil and stir until you have a smooth, consistent batter.

Pour batter slowly on top of the nectarines, taking care not to move the fruit. I couldn’t quite fit all the batter into the skillet, but I got all but about a half cup in there.

Bake for 35-40 minutes, until the cake feels springy to the touch and a toothpick or cake tester inserted into the center comes out clean.

Cool cake in pan for about 15 minutes. Place a plate upside down over the pan, then flip them simultaneously, while holding the plate onto the pan, so that you invert the cake onto the plate. Lift pan off cake. Replace any fruit that moved around during the flipping process.

Clafouti is a simple, custardy fruit concoction. It’s also a richly deserving home for those plums loitering in your fruit bowl.  You could try other fruits, too.  Consider this recipe a blank canvas for your fruity whims. Clafouti. It’s fun to say. It rhymes with snooty and booty, if you’ve got a hankering to write a limerick. (Keep it clean, people.)

Making this required distracting my child for the time it took to slice, whisk, pour, photograph, and write about the whole thing. Will I be named Mother of the Year for whipping up yet another fabulous homemade dessert with fresh seasonal fruit? Or will I be inducted into the Bad Mother Hall of Fame for letting my five-year-old watch Tom and Jerry reruns on a glorious summer morning? (“Ha ha ha, Mom.  You should see this. The cat stuck a stick in a snowball, and lit it, and it exploded.”)  Yes, well. Sacrifices must be made.

The recipes I read all said to mix the batter in a blender or a food processer. I used a whisk and a bowl, because it seemed simpler. That resulted in some unsightly flour clumps, because I grew bored of whisking after about thirty seconds. The lesson: Either use the blender, or whisk with with a little gumption, for crying out loud. The batter should be smooth.

(Why do I persist in not following recipes to the letter? Maybe because in my heart of hearts, I suspect people take perverse pleasure in making things seem harder than they really are. Are all those steps REALLY necessary? When my shortcuts work out, I feel all smug and superior. When they backfire, I feel all foolish and predictable.)

The clafouti came out of the oven gloriously puffed. It slumped as it cooled, but that’s just how it goes with calfouti. Or so I’ve read. This was my first attempt. There will most certainly be more. I don’t mind that it tastes better than it looks. Cherry clafouti is calling my name.

Claufouti is best served warm.  I am here to tell you that it is silky, sweet, and sumptuous served warm. If it happens to reach the ideal temperature at 10:30 in the morning….well, who’s going to stop you? I’d like to believe that eating warm clafouti on the porch with his mom had a bigger impact on my son’s psyche this morning than cartoon explosions.

Clafouti recipes abound. They’re all variations on the same fruit-custard theme. I cobbled this together after skimming half a dozen recipes, so I can’t properly attribute it. Nobody owns clafouti, right?

PLUM CLAFOUTI

3 large plums, pitted and sliced into eight wedges each
½ cup plus one tablespoon sugar
4 eggs
1 cup milk
½ cup flour
¼ teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons butter, melted and cooled
1 tablespoon brandy
½ teaspoon vanilla extract
½ teaspoon almond extract
confectioners’ sugar

Put rack in middle of oven and preheat to 375 degrees.

Butter a nine-inch cake pan.

Spread plums in one layer on bottom of pan. Sprinkle one tablespoon sugar over plums.

Blend together eggs, milk, flour, salt, butter, brandy, extract and remaining ½ cup sugar until smooth.

Pour batter over plums.

Bake clafouti until it is puffed and golden and the center is set, about 45 minutes. (The center will be a little jiggly. It’s meant to be soft. If it looks flat-out liquid, keep cooking.)

Cool clafouti for ten minutes on a rack.

Dust with confectioners’ sugar and serve warm.