An Apple a Day (is not enough!)

Autumn. There are many things to love about this most anticipated of seasons (yes, even more anticipated than Christmas, ‘cos winter’s after that). Everyone will say it’s the sweaters, the layers, the changing colours and the casting off of sweaty, sand scoured mosquito bites that they love most; but for me, it’s always about The Food. This planet’s abundance will never cease to amaze me, and capturing those moments in flavors to share is what life is all about.

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The apple is a fruit found in every kind of history and myth, folk tale and recipe book. It is one of the first fruits cultivated, so its sweet and savory capacities can sometimes seem limitless. I have a cook book, though, by the Rose Bakery in France, which cannot stress enough that simplicity in food is always your best bet. The fewest and freshest ingredients will always yield the best results. Right now, in Ontario, the early apples are a bit tart, very crisp and have a heady perfume that comes from lingering hot sun. These apples are great with sharp cheeses, but my favorite way to use them is in apple butter. A bushel of apples, little apple cider vinegar, a few spices and some local honey go a long way in a slow cooker.

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Ingredients:

Two 3L boxes fresh early apples, or other tart apples

1/2 cup local honey (local to you!)

1 tsp sea salt

2 TBSP cinnamon

1/2 TBSP nutmeg

Tools:

Slow cooker (there will be different rules for an Instant Pot, so read the instructions!)

sharp knife

peeler

Optional:

black pepper for heat

turmeric for health

maple syrup for sweetness

no sweetener for savories

flower petals for beauty

Method:

Plug in your slow cooker and set it to high.

Wash your apples well, and core them. Peel them if you want a smoother butter, leave them in for health. Cut the apples coarsely (or real fine, if you like a labor of love) and put them in the slow cooker with everything else. Cook on high for about 8 hrs, then cook on low to finish another 8 hrs or overnight. For a very smooth butter, use a hand blender or tabletop blender. If you don’t mind texture, you can just whip it all up by hand. I tend to make it smooth for gifts, and just eat it as is at home. If you like canning, follow a pressure canning recipe after filling your sterilized jars at this stage. Otherwise, grab a spoon and toast the season! butter.jpg

Stockings on the Staircase

by Anneke Bon

Growing up in the eighties, my Christmas recollections are split into two separate memories. The first is a soft focus memory, featuring scenes from Saturday morning cartoon Christmas specials, energizer bunny promises of toys that will run forever and that damned my little pony castle I wanted so much but never got. All this reminiscence plays to the tune of the Toys r Us theme. Prepackaged consumerism, perfectly wrapped in Santa’s sleigh that carried him to our roofs, conditioning our responses to what this time of year means,  is exactly what this time of year was never supposed to be about.

The second memory is the reality. The small town house, second to last on a row of six. Red brick, with a small back yard and a shared driveway. Christmas there was not like the one I saw on TV. It was understated, it was without some very pivotal elements, like the mountains of toys the TV promised, and the stockings perfectly placed on the fireplace. Santa was in for a surprise when he visited me, because we didn’t have a fireplace he could shimmy down. His portal to give me my presents was reduced to a window or door. How disappointing for Santa. I always wondered if that was why I never got the things I thought I wanted. But mostly I really wanted to hang my stockings on the fireplace. Instead we hung our stockings from the banister of our stairs. I always felt cheated. As if Christmas was not being performed properly.

Christmas changes, as in all things in life because we change. So not getting what I ‘wanted’ didn’t matter as much anymore. It was more important I got what I needed. And that was family and friends. Being with my Dad and Mom, especially after they divorced became important. Seeing friends, spending time with them is more precious than money. The consumerism the eighties bred into me is still there, but it has been tempered with more humility from living through the nineties and opening my eyes to see the world. The fact that I know that places in this world are so wrought with pain and suffering, that the concept of crying over a plastic castle for miniature toy ponies seems so frivolous its nearly offensive. But I was a kid, and its not fair to judge ourselves when we were so naive.

Many of the traditions that my family and I created became have become very important. Even though the childhood thrill of Christmas faded as I grew older. Hanging the stockings on the banister became a vital component of my holiday experience. It wasn’t in front of a picturesque fireplace, but it made me recall days of playing in the snow till I couldn’t feel my toes, and being with those I loved.

Now I am a mother of two boys, living in a house that has a grand staircase and a fireplace. I was giddy when I realized I could hang my stockings the old fashion way and really give my kids the authentic experience. But in honour of my traditions, I’m still going to hang my old stockings from the banister, as an ode to my youth and to show my kids that stockings and life does not always have to look like how we’re told its supposed to be. Some traditions are meant to be broken, others are meant to remind us of where we came from.
The biggest tradition that I think this season should be about is love. Love for mankind and the earth is the only thing that will one day bring light to the places in this world still masked in pain.
Love.
Not like what we saw in cartoons, or advertised on TV.
It’s better than the energizer bunny, better than that plastic castle, and better than Santa.
It’s what we really want for Christmas and why I will still hang my stockings from the Staircase, because we need to remember the people that love us and who we love back.image1.JPG