Yesterday, despite hourly panic attacks over my freelance work, I went apple-picking with Norah, Melissa, and Chris (the third roomie in that apartment). Ms. Chessman organized the thing, but we barely caught up with her crew. Mostly it was our roving band of four scouring the hillsides for Cortlands, Macs, Spartans, Empires, the occasional Bosc pear...
If you haven't met Chris (and in all likelihood, you haven't, O Cheese Aficianado), you won't have the amusing picture in your head that I have. Y'see, Chris is a giant. He's 6'7, maybe taller. Ducks in doorways. Doesn't fit in his own car. Has to cut his own shorts from pants. He's effing HUGE.
So imagine our glee when Chris agreed to come along on our apple picking trip.
"Wow! We won't have to fight for a ladder!"
"It's like we have the Jolly Green Giant on our side!"
"He can carry a sixty-pound bag of apples with his pinky finger!"
All true, people. All true.
Chris also served his apple-pickin' companions well by eating a total of eleven apples, all for the sake of science.
"Yes, but how do we know it's a Spartan?"
"I dunno. Chris, eat one."
"Okay." Chomp chomp. "Yeah, it definitely tastes different."
Razing the orchard with a giant on hand wasn't actually the highlight of the day, however, and I actually had a moment when I nearly decided that I wanted to get my driver's license. I had another spiritual moment - my second in a matter of weeks - when I bit into the hot heaven of a fresh cider doughnut. I said this out loud, shocking myself into yet another spiritual moment:
"Wow, I should get my license so I can come out here every morning and eat a dozen of these."
Be thankful, O Ye Readers, that I don't have my license, as I'm sure you have some kind of vested interest in my cholesterol levels remaining healthy.
Anywho, we got home, and I told myself I'd get right to work on freelance as soon as I had some food that wasn't apple-y. And then I made Teriyaki chicken sausage (TJ's) with sliced apples, potatoes, and onions cooked in gyoza dipping sauce. And THEN I made apple crisp with too little flour and too much ground clove. And THEN I made tea. And then I thought I'd clean my room a bit. And then I had a panic attack. And then I got to work.
But the bapples were worth it.
2 comments:
Alabama only has boring apples without flavor -- even at the "fancy" market. I yearn for the heirlooms of the NE.
Yearn yearn yearn.
I've been craving apple crisp (or brown betty or whatever you call it) for a couple weeks. What recipe do you use?
Apparently a bad one... hahaha. I usually just wing it, which may be the problem. I use an 8x8 dish, about two or three cups of apples, and then the topping is sorta slopped together. Brown sugar, oats, flour, butter, cinnamon, nutmeg, clove. The trick is to get it crumbly when you smush it together (with a fork), but I tend to make it too moist. Still tastes awesome, of course.
Post a Comment