Peaches and Cream Muffins

First week of lockdown and the world had a quality I had no prior experience for: completely still in a way that was not peaceful. The usual sounds of our street — cars, the school buses that ran on a set schedule, the neighbors' regular patterns — were absent. The birds were louder than they had ever been. I noticed that I noticed. When the human noise stops, you hear what was always there.

School had moved online: video calls, uploaded assignments, teachers doing their best to maintain continuity through screens. It was strange but workable. AP Chemistry with Mr. Okonkwo was the class that translated best — he ran efficient sessions and posted clear materials and kept to his office hour schedule online as if it were normal, which I appreciated. The attempt at normalcy was its own form of steadiness.

Mama was working longer shifts than before. Daddy was doing what work he could remotely and some he couldn't. Jamal was at Southern, which had sent students home for the rest of the semester. He came home Sunday and the house was full again, which helped. Having Jamal in the house during uncertainty is not a cure for uncertainty but it is a specific comfort. He is very present. He takes up space in a good way.

I cooked every day. This was partly practical — we needed food and I was the person home and available — and partly the coping mechanism it had always been. I baked bread for the first time: a simple no-knead white bread that required only flour, water, yeast, salt, and a Dutch oven. It came out golden and hollow-sounding when you tapped the bottom, which is how you know. I cut the first loaf still warm and ate a slice with butter and felt a specific sensation of making something out of nothing that was more meaningful in this moment than it would have been in any other. We were all right. We had bread. We had each other. We were all right.

After that first loaf of bread — golden, hollow-sounding, more meaningful than I could quite explain — I kept baking. It became its own kind of answer to the stillness. These Peaches and Cream Muffins came later in that same season: soft and sweet and simple in a way that felt honest, the kind of thing you make when the goal isn’t impressive but comforting. Jamal ate three in one sitting. Mama took two to work. That was enough.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 12 muffins

Ingredients

2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 tablespoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
2 large eggs
3/4 cup sour cream
1/3 cup whole milk
1/4 cup unsalted butter, melted and cooled
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups fresh or canned peaches, drained and diced (about 2 medium peaches)
2 tablespoons brown sugar (for topping)

Instructions

Preheat and prep. Preheat your oven to 375°F. Line a standard 12-cup muffin tin with paper liners or grease each cup lightly with butter or nonstick spray.
Mix dry ingredients. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, granulated sugar, baking powder, salt, and cinnamon until evenly combined.
Mix wet ingredients. In a separate medium bowl, whisk together the eggs, sour cream, milk, melted butter, and vanilla extract until smooth.
Combine. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients and stir gently with a spatula until just combined — a few streaks of flour are fine. Do not overmix or the muffins will be tough.
Fold in peaches. Gently fold in the diced peaches, distributing them evenly through the batter.
Fill and top. Divide the batter evenly among the 12 muffin cups, filling each about 3/4 full. Sprinkle a small pinch of brown sugar over each muffin for a lightly crisp top.
Bake. Bake for 18—22 minutes, until the tops are golden and a toothpick inserted into the center of a muffin comes out clean.
Cool and serve. Let the muffins cool in the pan for 5 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Nutrition (per serving)

Peaches and Cream Muffins — When Baking Became the Way We Held It Together