applefall

Here's what's up this weekend:

I know, exciting. Other people are going to parties or out to dinner. We're peeling apples.

This tidy haul represents less than half the bounty from three small backyard trees, which were planted a few years ago and until now only produced a handful of fruit. Apparently this is a good year for apples. I feel like I've been peeling and cutting for weeks--sometimes with helpers, sometimes not, often late at night--but actually the work happens in fits and starts, when time permits. It should be done by now. So far we've made pies, tarts, apple cake (twice, trying to cut excess sugar in an older recipe), and applesauce (both canned and frozen). I'm planning to dry apples in the oven and perhaps try this cider recipe from Chef Brian Henry's blog. And then hard cider? Yes, I think so.

One of our younger cooks yelped and left the kitchen when she discovered a worm: supple and wriggling, curious about life beyond its snow-white habitat. She's done. Most of the apples are relatively unblemished, however--tart and crisp, if not perfectly shaped as in the supermarket.

But now the pressure's on. It wasn't possible to deal with all this fruit before our trip, so we stashed two big buckets in the fridge and two more in the cool basement, hoping they'd keep. Which they mostly did. And then more buckets arrived.

applefall--n., 1. a sub-season of fall; 2. sudden, unearned abundance; 3. a state of panic induced by rotting fruit; also v., to swoon while stirring a large, boiling pot.

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