So yesterday, out of the blue, I decide to make cobbler. Not sure what it was. . . a southern domestic goddess channeling herself... a patriotic urge since we are a week out from 4th of July... a momentary lapse in sanity? Whatever it was, it took over. Using an Emeril recipe, I sent Scott to the the store for berries (which, by-the-way, he did willingly knowing my dislike for cobbler and having a slight dislike himself. . . what a good, patient and obediant man.) and I started the dough. An hour later we had the best cobbler I ever have had... and I still hate it. I mean, shouldn't desserts be decadent or cheesy? Guess I can add one more thing to my baking list.