Pink of Perfection

There is much to be said for what discomforts a change of scenery can ease. And because I have been nursing a cold with a sore throat that only tom yum soup, apple cider, and hot tea could make feel better, we went apple picking.

It was 80 degrees, and the pumpkins and hay bales looked completely out of place in the hot sun. Sebastian and I piled into a wagon filled with children and their parents and rode into an orchard where rows and rows of Piñata apples were––literally!––ripe for the picking. It was so pretty there, with tiny apple blossoms and lush, glossy leaves on the trees, dark green grass below our feet and a big blue sky above. We wandered between trees to the Empires, then the Golden Delicious, and finally the Suncrisps. Later, with our modest five-pound haul, we walked back to the orchard entrance and bought some cider donuts, still hot in their white paper bag. We shared a cold bottle of cider and sat in a shady spot in the grass. I wondered what had taken me so long to do what has long been on my fall fun list.

Colds lead to thick, murky thoughts and minutes lost to staring off into the distance. And so Sebastian had to figure out what to make with all those apples. Wouldn’t you know that the rookie would come out of the gates with a grand slam? My mom makes the simplest of apple pies: just peeled wedges, sugar, cinnamon, and dots of butter. What Sebastian baked was ultra-rich, and bubbled over with a caramel-like sauce. It might have been the best slice of apple pie I’ve ever had. We shared a single slice hot from the oven late last night and pronounced it a victory. (But I’m still partial to tarte tatin.)

I didn’t intend for this post to be about Sebastian’s triumph in the kitchen or to tell you about the killer apple pie recipe he found. Both were just serendipity! I set out just to recount this kind of magic moment in the weekend where even with an aching throat there was something so sweet about wandering, foggy-headed, through an orchard in the sunshine. Why did something so simple feel so utterly divine?

We play this game in our house from time to time, “what was your favorite moment?” And the surprising thing is that it’s never the fancy dinners or big to-dos we planned for, spent money on. It’s always something unassuming and random, like a nice walk, or seeing some hilarious dog, or reaching up into an apple tree, grabbing a piece of ripe fruit, and biting right into it.

Continue reading “Sweet Suprises and Apple Pie” »

I’m not saying they’re pretty. In fact, they look more like a play-doh experiment gone wrong than a delightful tea time snack. But I will proudly assert that these taste shockingly like the genuine article.

I made my own because I fear I will never be able to afford a house, snowshoes, or that amazing pair of ass-kicking boots I’ve been coveting if I continue to buy these babies. That’s the trouble with trying to do right by your health: sometimes it costs more.

Unless––huzzah!––you endeavor to make your own. If you can dress yourself, you can make these. Your food processor grinds the nuts into magic, heart-healthy fairy dust and turns crisp banana chips and dates into a sticky dough. Knead the two together, roll out flat (or between your palms into balls), and you’ve got a terrific on-the-go snack, on the cheap. Ingenuity: 1. Store-bought snacks: 0.

Continue reading “Homemade Banana Bread Larabars” »

“Quick—there’s a car coming!” calls my mom, sounding excessively guilty for so minor a crime: we’ve brought a shopping bag to fill with just some of the hundreds of grounded apples in the preserved lot next to my grandmother’s farm. My mom senses a breach in rural etiquette—like shooting one of the king’s deer, she says—but I am blinded by greed whenever faced with free produce or free beauty products. Once you’ve survived the scrum of 8 editors—with 12 others trying to squeeze in—combing through a single plastic bin full of makeup and managed to emerge with all of the coveted French brands, you tend not to be fazed by things like whether the people in the passing pickup approve of your shameless apple nab. In fact, I was thinking we should go back for more bags.

My mom wins, of course, but when we get home with our half-bag, my grandmother has a surprise. “Go downstairs to the dining room and look for the applesauce maker hidden under a chair.” My nanny has this wonderful way of dating objects around the house: “Everything in that cabinet was here when I got here, and I moved here in 1947.” This is what happens when so many generations of the same family inhabit the same space: brides arrive, babies are born, the older generations pass on, but no one ever moves out, per se. Which is how you end up with a horsehair sofa in the attic and an applesauce maker under a chair. My grandmother saved her money for white cotton curtains trimmed with pom poms, which she bought one pair at a time, until they hung in every window. She didn’t spring for kitchen gadgets, and I’m much the same way.

But boy, do I love this applesauce maker, which my mom tells me is also known as a chinois, because it saves you all kinds of time. You don’t peel, core, or quarter the apples. You just pitch them whole in a pot with a little water and some cinnamon sticks until they break down. Then you run the mush through the perforated sieve, above a bowl to catch the puree, and think of things to pair it with, like sausages or French toast (I made mine with my aunt Madelyn’s whole wheat bread). A sneaky spoon full of red jelly gives the applesauce a nice pink color, says my grandmother, in keeping with today’s shameless theme.

Katy McColl Lukens writes for a bunch of big magazines, but since she’s my sister, she does me the favor of dropping in to blog here, too.

My book club last night was Mad Men-themed, with one member rocking a clingy woolen turquoise dress that would have made Joan Holloway proud. What’s for dessert when you’re feasting on steak and martinis? Why, apple betty, of course, inspired by the evilest wackadoo of all.

The question came up: what makes a betty different from a buckle or a crumble? I have now had the opportunity to consult the Epicurious food dictionary and can shed light for inquiring minds. Dating back to Colonial times, a betty (or brown betty) consists of sugared, buttered breadcrumbs mixed and layered with chopped fruit (usually apples) that has been tossed with lemon juice and flour. The lack of eggs and milk makes it an entity separate from a bread pudding, in case you’re wondering. End history lesson.

I was one martini in when it came to dessert (can’t say enough good things about Farmer’s Gin) so I cannot, unfortunately, give an in-depth account of this betty’s virtues. I can vouch for her wholesome, warm simplicity, and a sweet, homespun fragrance irresistible to men on public transportation. I can also say having learned my lesson the hard way: gin martinis––insanely delicious, but watch out.

I haven’t seen the season finale yet, so pretty please: no spoilers in the comments!

Continue reading “Apple Betty” »

Well, dang. I might have waited to long to tell you about this. Are the raspberries gone? I don’t even know because I haven’t been to the farmer’s market in weeks. Instead, I’ve been blissfully spreading this raspberry jam on my English muffins with peanut butter. The bright smear of red makes the morning instantly better. At least as long as breakfast lasts.

This is the same method as my beloved quick strawberry jam. This time, though, I decide to freeze half of the yield, hoping that in some dark days of winter, these dazzling fruits will have the same transformative effect.

Here’s hoping you all have a wonderful weekend! What late summer or early fall delights are in store?

Continue reading “Lazy, Faker’s Raspberry Jam” »

After such a lovely weekend, Monday morning could have felt like a major bummer. But the truth is, I’m still feeling glowingly lucky to have the funnest, greatest friends, to have danced with them in a driveway in Iowa and celebrated love, to have gone midnight swimming, and to have slept in a giant California King-sized bed. “It’s really great to know people for a long time,” I said to Katie while we were dancing to Michael Jackson. “It’s the best,” she said.

And then I spent this morning looking at Meg’s blog, which always makes me feel really happy. And I drank my coffee. And thought about adventure, and which one we should take next. You know that feeling, when you just want to set out for somewhere new, hop in a car, or start from scratch somewhere new? How do you scratch that itch?

And I thought about these scones that I made last week, which were truly quick and studded with lusciously ripe raspberries.

All in all, not a bad way to start the week.

Continue reading “Fast Raspberry Scones” »

When I swung my legs out of bed this morning, I did not feel that I was getting up on the wrong side. In fact, I was feeling confident about my to do list and how I was going to rain down check marks next to each item. I had an acceptable outfit in mind, and a coffee on the horizon. Life was looking good.

But, looks, as well know, can be deceiving, and a day that starts out fine can turn into a bit of a mess. You know what I’m talking about: you stub your toe, you bounce a check, you’re down to the last of your deodorant, you spend two-and-a-half hours in a waiting room. You screw something up at work, and then all of sudden, your outfit’s not looking so cute after all.

These are the kind of days I just like to scratch from the record. Get in bed as early as possible with a thoroughly engrossing novel, and close the bedroom door on the real world. But when your day is sucking before noon, this tactic isn’t all that successful.

In these moments, all I can do is try to remember all the things that are going well (new high score in Tetris!) and remember brighter days. Like Tuesday, for instance, when I was kicking so much ass at life that I actually made muffins for breakfast one morning. They were wonderfully moist with the wholesome, earthy heft of whole wheat flour and ground flax seed. This recipe, for sure, is a keeper. This day, though? Not so much. I just hope Annie was right.

Continue reading “Wholesome Blueberry Banana Muffins” »

All the seasons have their signifiers — the arrival of tomatoes in August, the emergence of pumpkins in the fall — but none seem quite so ecstatic as the harbingers of spring. We get pumped for the arrival of spinach, strawberries, asparagus, and artichokes, and this year, for the first time, I got to know another spring debutante: rhubarb.

Here’s the story: I’ve been eyeing my Grand Diplôme books on the book shelf, knowing its high time for a lesson. But when I pulled out week 7 (oh boy, is it going to take a lifetime to get through all 72 books), the lessons seemed woefully out of season. Who wants to make crème caramel or Bavarian cream in late April, I thought?

But the particularly gorgeous and inspiring May issue of Martha Stewart put everything right again. There were not one but two recipes for custards, which looked perfect and sounded delicious. And that’s when it hit me. The lessons in the Grand Diplôme lessons rarely seem appealing or seasonal, but I think it’s a matter of bad packaging and poor lighting (the photography, as previously established, is vile and a true testament to its age). In other words, from now on, as soon as a lesson rubs me the wrong way or seems stodgy or just plain blah, I’m turning elsewhere for a little inspiration.

And then I’ll turn back to the el grosso ’70s pictures for “the lesson.”

Have you ever had raw rhubarb? I snagged a piece as I was chopping up the stalks and found myself floored at its complex flavors. It’s tart with a citrusy zing that reminded me of lemongrass, which got me thinking about all the wonderful ways in which rhubarb could be used in savory dishes. But as for the recipe at hand, this is perfect spring comfort food. The custard is rich, but each bite is punctuated with the bright pink tartness of rhubarb. The milky caramel wards off the chill in the air and the rhubarb braces you for warmer days ahead.

Continue reading “Grand Diplôme Book 7: Rhubarb Custards” »