Feeling Blue

I walked in the house last Saturday and was clobbered with an aroma that smelled like a dozen blueberry Pop-Tarts popping up out of the toaster.  My wife had just picked about the last of the blueberries of the spring and made a crumble out of them.  She asked if I wanted it warm or wait to cool off, and I replied “are you kidding?”

We ate it warm with a slug of vanilla ice cream.  We can get blueberries from the store year ’round here, but they have no flavor or firmness.  The mix we had Saturday was composed of several varieties, each giving a unique contribution of crispness, deep blue flavor, bold overtones, and wonderful juice that was like syrup.  Since there was no bottom crust, we all had large portions and finished off half the thing in one sitting.  We have the bushes out front and neither thieves nor birds have figured out what they are yet, and so we get to eat them all ourselves.  Sure beats having some silly ornamental bush with poisonous berries that nobody can enjoy.

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