Originally published by The Clifton Courier, August 11, 2021

I think most people would class crumble as a comfort food. It’s fairly uncontroversial categorisation. It’s sweet. It’s warm. There’s a jumbled homeliness to its construction. And it’s eaten out of a bowl – and it’s pretty hard to not be comforted by eating something out a bowl (not that I’m anti-plate by any means, but scooping something out a bowl just feels more warming and cuddly, even if you’re eating something as cold as ice cream. Like, the fact that the sides of the bowl are there to stop your food from sloshing out affords you a certain sloppiness that you couldn’t get away with when eating off a plate – bowls take you as your are and are typically more casual and forgiving, while plates demand a certain formality). Crumble ticks a lot of comfort food boxes. 

But I haven’t found that I turn to crumble when I’m in the darkest patches of my metaphorical troughs – those are the times when melting cheese into Vegemite toast is the most I can muster up. When it’s really bad, something as delicious and tummy-hugging as crumble seems impossible to stomach.

I’ve made crumble a lot over the past few years. It became my go-to dessert for when friends came over, family got together and I was settlinging in for snuggly nights in with my housemates. It was never anything fancy but was always made with love. It’s a very comforting dessert, but it’s the kind of thing I just can’t make well if I don’t have the heart to make it. It’s a happy food.  

I made it for the first time in what felt like forever when I was staying with some friends up north last week.

I keep trying to jot down the exact ratios of ingredients so I can keep a record of how I make it. But every time I make it, I inevitably end up shaking extra bits and pieces into the mix and it becomes impossible to quantify each ingredient in grams and cups. 

And I know this sounds wanky, but because this is such a hands on recipe – you must mix with your hands – it’s intuitive. Using precise measurements is too clinical for something this… good lord, brace yourself… organic. 

I realise how annoying this must sound. I remember asking Mum how she made her spaghetti bolognese and was infuriated by her inexact measurements and roundabout instructions. So I’ve tried to put together a basic scaffolding of a recipe that, while it won’t get you to your desired destination, it will put you on the right track. Besides, it’s the journey that really matters, right?

Step 1: In a large bowl, mix about a third of a cup of brown sugar, half a cup of flour (wholemeal is probably better because the flakiness offers more crunch options, but whatever you have), a half a teaspoon of ground allspice, a pinch of salt. Fork this together so all the powdery stuff is thoroughly mixed before the chunkier bits go in. 

Step 2: Roughly chop half a cup of walnuts (or almonds or pecans – whatever nuts you’ve got will probably be fine), maybe three quarters of a cup of rolled oats and half a cup of shredded coconut. I don’t want to be demanding, but it really does have to be shredded – desiccated is so fine that it essentially disappears and flaked is overpowering and too aggressive size-wise. Add this to the bowl and stir through. 

Step 3: Chop about 100 grams of cold salted butter into little cubes. Again, it has to be the salted butter in block form – you can use that “spreadable butter” garbage in a pinch, but the humble, salt-of-the-earth butter gives you a better texture. 

Step 4: Using your hands, scrunch the butter into the mixture so it squeezes out through your fingers. Do this over and over until it’s all combined. 

Step 5: Assess. What you’re aiming for here is a bit of a gravel – something between wet sand and a cobbler. You want there to be clumps of mixture nuggets, but only little ones. Sometimes you need to add extra sprinkles of flour, oats and coconut to achieve this goal, so keep adding according to your whims.

Step 6: Dump on top of the stewed fruit of your choosing. I prefer a rhubarb and strawberry mixture but, honestly, the fruit really is incidental here. You could probably just tip it over a slather of jam and it’d be alight. 

Step 7: Bake at 180 degrees for between 15 and 20 minutes, depending on how thick you’ve layered it. 

Step 8: Serve warm, with a generous glob of dollop cream or vanilla ice cream, to the people you love. Make sure you take a second to appreciate it all before diving in. 

End of year update: I gotta tellya, I am far from thriving right now. But I’ve made three crumbles in the past month, so there’s promising signs there.