Bad apple

Quandary


I was a little disappointed
in the apple I lifted from a bowl of fruit
and bit into on the way out the door, 
fuzzy on the inside and lacking the snap of the ripe. 

Yesterday it was probably perfect, 
I figured, as I held it out before me, 
soft red apple bearing my tooth marks,
as if I were contemplating the bust of Aristotle. 

I considered all the people 
who would be grateful to have this apple, 
and others who might find it in their hearts 
to kill me before slipping it into a pocket.

And I considered another slice 
of the world's population, too, 
those who are shielded from anything 
as offensive as a slightly imperfect apple. 

Then I took a second bite, a big one, 
and pitched what was left 
over the tall hedges hoping to hit on the head 
a murderer or one of the filthy rich out for a stroll.

Billy Collins in "Aimless Love: New and Selected Poems"

Autumn apples

Low-hanging fruit.

Passion for pie

"On Thanksgiving, I discovered pie. Until then, I had only known apple pie, but Neda's grandmother baked rhubarb, sour cherry, pumpkin, and peach, taking each out of the oven just when the fruit was bubbling around the edges. Not surprisingly, it became my favorite holiday and the beginning of a lifelong passion for pie."

Donia Bijan, in "Maman's Homesick Pie: A Persian Heart in an American Kitchen"

A is for apple pie

"A is for apple pie. The nursery rhyme lives with us from our earliest years and culinary memories. As does the scent of autumn apples steaming in a pie; pouring hot, silky, vanilla-flecked custard over thick gluey-appled pastry triangles; pushing a clot of thick yellow cream on to the sugared pastry top with your fingers; or dropping a cold scoop of the best homemade vanilla ice cream over the summit, the hot beating the cold into melting submission.

"Apple pie is the alpha and omega of pies - well, at least of sweet pies - and there are, I'm sure, as many versions as there are cooks, but that is the joy of it.

"From cheese crusts and spices to crumble tops and gooky molasses-sugared tops punctuated with scrunched walnuts; from the plainest pie to the traditional winter welter-weight warmer, apple hat; from rhubarb and apple to apple and quince, apple and raisin, blackberry and apple."

Tamasin Day-Lewis, in "Tarts with Tops On or How to Make the Perfect Pie"

Crumble, her sweet

"Five minutes later, a generous slice of rhubarb-apple crumble arrived, warmed in the small kitchen and served with a side of fresh cream, whipped staunchly into a thick, puffy cloud.

"I sat for a minute, contemplating the crumble's imperfect bumps and dull brown color. The pale pink and sometimes green slices of rhubarb poked out of the sides and lumps of rogue topping decorated my plate.

"Where the crumble had baked against the dish, a sticky crust of caramelized fruit juice and sugar had formed. It looked like a tarte that had done a somersault in its pastry box and arrived bruised and battered. There was nothing perfect about it.

"Except its bright flavors. Except its comforting warmth. Except that it was exactly what I wanted and needed. I savored each juicy-crunchy bite. It was wonderful."

Amy Thomas, describing dessert in "Paris, My Sweet: A Year in the City of Light (and Dark Chocolate)"

Them apples

Because it is apple season.

An apple (cake) a day

An apple (cake) a day. 'Tis not an altogether bad thought.

Like magic

The tree by the side of the house is sprouting apples again, if sprouting is the right word for apples on a tree. The thing is, I haven't cared for it all year. I haven't given it any special treatment. I haven't pruned it or fertilized it. Nothing. Like clockwork, autumn approaches. The apples return. Like magic, time shifts.

The big feed

In the end, two days (on and off) of cooking. Twenty minutes of eating, not counting dessert. Three hours of cleaning.

At the White House, incidentally, Pres. Barack Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama host dinner for friends, family and staff members. The menu includes roast turkey, honey-baked ham and (this is the best part) six kinds of pie:

Turkey
Honey-Baked Ham

Cornbread Stuffing
Oyster Stuffing

Greens
Macaroni and Cheese
Sweet Potatoes
Mashed Potatoes
Green Bean Casserole

Banana Cream Pie
Pumpkin Pie
Apple Pie
Sweet Potato Pie
Huckleberry Pie
Cherry Pie

An apple a day

In an effort to stay healthy through the fall and winter, I eat an apple a day every day. I peel and slice an apple in the late afternoon for a wholesome tide-me-over, or in the evening for a guilt-free finish to dinner. The nutrients should do me good.

The challenge: To transition from the summer produce I'd gotten used to, to go beyond the Red Delicious and Golden Delicious eaten in the past without a second thought and seek varieties I had not tasted, to satisfy a curiosity about other apples currently available.

At the neighborhood market, I collect enough fruit to last a week. They go into the refrigerator. The Jonagold, its skin yellow and green with tinges of red, crosses a Jonathan and a Golden Delicious. It is sweet and crunchy, an auspicious start to my apple adventure.

But the Fuji I try next is a tad tart. The Gala is also slightly tart. Are they supposed to be? I wonder. Is that typical?

The Braeburn, on the other hand, resembling a Golden Delicious, reminds me again how terrific apples can be - like candy, only better. The Rome Beauty is smooth and round, too; its skin is a rich, gorgeous red, its flesh yellow with bits of pink. On looks alone, I am smitten.


On a slow afternoon, I think to bake. In Joie Warner's "Apple Desserts: America's Favorite Fruit," I find instructions for dumplings and tarts, cookies and cakes, pies and crumbles, but settle, as I often do, on Apple Oat Squares. They sandwich thin slices of fruit between layers of oatmeal.

When I visited a friend in London years ago, I baked a batch to bring along, storing the squares in plastic containers to carry onto the plane. At her door the first night, I showed up with Apple Oat Squares. She seemed happy to see me. She seemed happier to see the food.

In my kitchen that afternoon, I combine quick oats, flour, baking soda, salt, brown sugar and melted butter to form the so-called crust. For the filling, I scatter cinnamon and sugar over slivers of Granny Smith apple. I press half the oatmeal mixture into the bottom of a glass pan, and top it with fruit and the rest of the oatmeal.

Nearly an hour later, the Apple Oat Squares come out of the oven golden brown, crumbly and slightly crunchy. Eaten warm with a scoop of vanilla ice cream or a dollop of Cool Whip, they are delectable.


In the produce section of the Berkeley Bowl, among the largest in the Bay Area, I come across apple varieties I have not even heard of.

The Pink Lady is a little tart. One bite and I shiver. Its skin, yellow and green with a soft red hue, blushes without meaning to. It smiles discreetly.

The Sierra Beauty tastes like a mildly tart Golden Delicious. Its appearance, though, is like no apple I have seen before. Yellow, pink and orange, it recalls a luscious sunrise over distant mountains, an establishing scene in a movie.

Looking like a Fuji, the Christmas apple seems to suit its seasonal moniker. Its sweet, crunchy texture can be a gift in and of itself. Also somewhat resembling a Fuji, the Pacific Rose proves especially crisp. Any crisper and it could be mistaken for an Asian pear, the kind my mother used to buy in Chinatown.


I contemplate a road trip to Apple Hill, east of Sacramento and Placerville. Vague on details of a visit years ago, I have been hoping to return.

At applehill.com, I discover buckets of information. Formed in 1964 as a marketing vehicle for a group of 16 ranches in Camino, the Apple Hill Growers Association consists of roughly 50 orchards, wineries, a microbrewery, Christmas tree farms and a spa.

It sponsors local events and fundraisers. It runs complimentary shuttle buses to nearby farms. It publishes guides, maps and community cookbooks, too.

I locate facts on Larsen Apple Barn, apparently the oldest continuously family-owned and operated farm in El Dorado County. I come across mentions of Mill View Ranch on Cable Road and its apple cider doughnuts, and Mother Lode Orchards.

I learn of Denver Dan's on Bumblebee Lane, which grows varieties such as Pippin, Gravenstein, Crispin and McIntosh, apples about which I have been curious. I learn also of Honey Bear Ranch, whose bakeshop, like many of its neighbors, puts out an impressive array of desserts.

Perhaps I'll collect food along the way as I venture from one farm to the next. When I need a break, I can claim a picnic spot at Abel's Apple Acres or High Hill Ranch, amid acres of trees and meandering walkways, and think about how far I've come.


When a younger brother started high school years ago, I packed him lunches that included a ham or turkey sandwich, a serving of cookies, a box of juice and a small apple. When he returned home in the late afternoon, the sandwich had been eaten. The cookies and juice were gone, too. But the apple remained.

There wasn't time, he said, to finish all his food. Day after day, week by week, the same thing happened. Eventually I realized it was an excuse.

Working full-time, commuting thrice weekly in the early evenings to a college 30 miles away for her master's, an older sister reached for something nutritious before class, something she could eat with one hand on the steering wheel. She decided, of course, on apples.

After long days in the office and hard nights in the classroom, she had little energy to spare. The stress and fatigue were immense, she said. The weekend she graduated, she stopped eating apples.


In time, I, too, grow tired of my apples, of searching for different varieties, whether down the street or up the highway; of having to peel and slice them at the kitchen counter, tossing scraps into the compost bin; of eating them at the table, feeling delighted yet slightly deprived.

I've had Jonagolds and Braeburns, Rome Beauties and Pink Ladies. But I have yet to try Winesaps, Jonathans, Cortlands and York Imperials, varieties about which I remain curious. I've had crisp apples and tart apples, crunchy apples and sweet apples. But they make up just a fraction of all the apples out there.

What I need then is a breather, I say, and a pledge to taste more in the future. I will revisit the apples I met recently and keep my eyes open for those I've not had - Empire, Honey Crisp, Jazz and Arkansas Black.

Meanwhile, I can begin to shift my attention to citrus. I had forgotten how much I liked oranges - navel oranges and Valencia oranges. I will snack on them. I will collect tangerines, mandarins and tangelos, too. They should be sweet and juicy. The Vitamin C will do me good. The change should suit me fine.

(A version of this essay appeared originally in The Oakland Tribune.)


Apple Oat Squares
from Joie Warner's "Apple Desserts: America's Favorite Fruit"

1 1/2 cups quick-cooking rolled oats
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
1 cup packed brown sugar
3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) butter, melted
3 cups peeled, cored, thinly sliced Granny Smith apples
1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon
1/4 cup sugar
2 Tbsp. butter

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

Stir oats, flour, baking soda, salt, brown sugar and melted butter in a large bowl until thoroughly combined. Press half the mixture evenly into bottom of a 9-inch square baking pan.

Toss apples, cinnamon and sugar in a bowl, then spread evenly in pan; dot with butter. Sprinkle with remaining oat mixture and bake for 45 minutes or until golden. Cool and cut into squares. Makes 9 to 10 servings.

Food matters

On the table: Cheeseburgers and chicken sandwiches from the Dollar Menu at McDonald's. It is a last-minute but convenient lunch, coupled with baked apple pies and strong cravings - left unsatisfied - for high-sodium french fries.

On the reading list, ironically: Mark Bittman's book "Food Matters: A Guide to Conscious Eating." In it, he advocates "sane eating." He suggests, for example, we consume less meat, certainly less fast food, more vegetables, legumes, fruits and whole grains.

Next time, we do better.

Cake love

"I could kill for cake. Here's the list: 1 carrot cake, 2 cheesecakes, 3 chocolate cakes, 3 slices of fruit bread, 9 slices of fruit cake, 2 slices of birthday cake, 2 slices of Pret a Manger pecan pie, 5 slices lemon cake, 1 apricot tart, half a ricotta tart, 5 fairy cakes (once you start you can't stop), 2 battenburg and a slice of walnut pie. Not bad, until you add it to the 32 biscotti, 8 flapjacks, 4 Jaffa cakes, 500g pan forte, 2 madeleines, 14 double choc chip cookies, 4 meringues, 12 amaretti and a fortune cookie, which I promptly spat out.

"I have separated puddings and cake for obvious reasons (put them together and I sound like Billy Bunter). Anyway: 3 chocolate banana fritters (which I didn't want but Ruth Watson made me eat), half a pannacotta with passion fruit, 2 mouthfuls of zabaglione, 1 apple crumble and custard, 4 plum crumbles and custard, 1 blueberry tart, 1 apricot tart, 1 raspberry tart, 1 lemon tart, 1 fig tart, 1 gooseberry tart, 6 mince pies, 1 prune tart, 1 plum pie, 5 portions of trifle and a summer pudding. On the ice cream front I managed to get by with only 2 tubs of vanilla ice, 2 of orange sorbet, 1 portion of rose, 2 of pear, and 500ml of mango. Oh, and I almost forgot, 2kg of chocolate ice cream."

Nigel Slater, in the article "Last Year I Ate...," anthologized in Bonnie Marranca's "A Slice of Life: Contemporary Writers on Food."

Is it any wonder I love him?

Apple pie and the Fourth of July

John T. Edge gives the classic its due in this breezy and informative read. One in a series of books on beloved food items, including fried chicken, hamburgers and French fries, and doughnuts, "Apple Pie: An American Story" looks at the history and folklore of an iconic dessert, from its English origins in the 14th century to its current status among food fans across the United States.

From Oxford, Miss., where he directs the Southern Foodways Alliance at the University of Mississippi, Edge travels to Washington state, where "growers harvest more than fifteen billion apples each year." That is a whole lot of pie.

The author also heads to the Midwest and Southwest. In Iowa City, he checks out the Hamburg Inn, an old-school diner that serves apple-pie shakes. "Chock-full of crust fragments and crushed apple slices, the shake calls to mind a better class of Dairy Queen Blizzard," he writes. In Albuquerque, New Mexico, he spends time at Señor Pie, tasting "apple pies spiked with fiery green chiles."

In Florida, though, Edge runs into "the dark side of pie." A judge in the National Pie Championships, held during the Great American Pie Festival in Celebration, Florida, he finds representatives from Sara Lee, Entenmann's, and Mrs. Smith's "pimping freezer-case pies." He watches children make pastry dough from scratch, only to later use canned pie filling. He worries about our culinary future.

(A version of this review appeared originally on www.culinate.com.)