Gil, Rufus and I spent Saturday with the Connecticut branch of the family. In the spirit of being a good guest, I wanted to bring a little something for lunch, but couldn’t choose between a panzanella and dessert, when the September issue of Gourmet magazine decided things for me with their recipe for Nectarine Golden Cake. The picture was gorgeous (of course) and it sounded just like the kind of dessert I favor (simple and homey, no chocolate), but best of all, I already had all of the ingredients in my kitchen (yay!).

We got to the Levin’s right around lunchtime and Ru introduced himself to his canine cousins:

Yes, you’re seeing correctly. That’s 3 golden retrievers, a labrador puppy and Ru. It was chaos, but the best kind.

Annie (the puppy) stood still for a few seconds so I could take her picture:

Then she ran around like a madwoman and eventually collapsed on Ru’s bed:

He didn’t mind. Ru had no need for a bed, as he was following Gil from room to room pleading to return to his quiet life in Ringwood. Or maybe he was just angling for a treat. He isn’t really all that picky.

But back to the cake. It was a big hit. Shame I didn’t make two, but my mind was sleep-addled in the morning and it just didn’t occur to me, so we all had small slices of cake mounded with fresh berries. It was a healthier option.

Our friend Ann came by with her gorgeous baby Sunday afternoon, so I tried another version of the cake with blueberries instead of nectarines and topped it with turbinado sugar. I was expecting to like it even more, but honestly, it was only every bit as good as the other. Which was still a home run.

There are very few things I fear in the kitchen. Complicated recipes or out-of-the-ordinary ingredients are usually cause for excitement, but canning just terrifies the bejeezus out of me. It isn’t a case of saving face, because let’s be honest, I can laugh at my mistakes after So Much Experience making them — incinerated fries, losing my place in a lengthy recipe, putting a Thanksgiving dish under the broiler then walking away … just to name a few. Ahem. But canning mistakes are a whole other thing — one slip-up, and you can really do some damage. And a hearty laugh just won’t cut it when you’re headed to the ER.

Problem is, I can’t help but dream of homemade jams when I see the heaping boxes of locally-grown fruit at the Orchards of Concklin booth every Saturday. (And the vendor adores Ru, so we spend a lot of time there chatting and browsing her selections.) But I reached a nice workaround this weekend. I’ve had a wonderful Martha Stewart recipe for peach-rosemary jam bookmarked for this very occasion, so I made a half batch and put it in the fridge. It’s thoroughly delicious and should keep for a month, which should be plenty of time to make the most of it.

After all of the dishes I’ve made with rosemary over the past few weeks, I think the plant is finally under control, so maybe I’ll be able to do something about the sage bush next weekend. And perhaps I’ll take a stab at canning while I’m at it, but don’t hold your breath.