Autumn and Apple Sauce

I stood on a familiar street corner the other day, listening to a song I hadn't heard in a long time and waiting for my turn to walk in a different direction. Suddenly overcome with a feeling of optimism and clarity, I knew, in a very definite way I hadn't been aware of before, that I had been given a chance to start over. Really, I had seized an opportunity and taken a chance and now I was back at the beginning of a path I began long ago, armed with new independence and an altered perspective. Yes, yes, Joyce coined the term "epiphany" so I could say this all in one sentence, but I guess that's not my style. I guess you'll have to put up with my ramblings.

It was a wonderful moment, a wonderful walk, and reminded me of my love for old things made new. Like canning and jarring fruit. I feel like it's one of those skills that gets recycled through society every couple generations so people can remember how to survive revolution, societal fracture or total apocalypse. This is my third year making and storing apple sauce, and I love creating it differently each year. Arriving in the same farmer's market each Autumn, I select apples to fill my crock pot with the mood of the season. It lets me contain in a pretty glass jar a fragile and distinct point in time.

The first year, I added a little vanilla extract and fresh pepper and went heavy on the garam masala, creating an interesting but over-adulterated taste. I'm not sure what that says about my state of being in 2007, but I was definitely learning the process. Last year, I wanted a clean, slightly tart apple flavor, so I pared back the spices to a sole cinnamon stick and added some extra lemon juice. I kept the lemon juice and single cinnamon stick this year, but added extra sugar, ground cinnamon and ground ginger. The result? Addictively sweet, like something out of a grandmother's kitchen. It tastes and feels quite a lot like the gooey interior of an apple pie.

That is, except for the occasional string of peel. I like to do a partial peel; it leaves more of the natural nutrients intact and imparts a vibrant red color. I feel similarly about chicken skin and apple peel, in fact. I love them both in small savory amounts, but too much can distract from a dish or, worse, taint the texture of a meal in an unappetizing manner. Next time, I would like to "savor" the apple's skin a little less and employ my peeler a little more. One always seeks perfection in the next batch. 

As usual, I started the journey with a trip to the Capitol Hill farmers market. Lyall Farms had a great deal: 10 lbs. of fruit for $12. I loaded the scale with 6 lbs. of apples, enough for about a batch and a half of apple sauce, and then topped off my order with some hard Asian pears (perfect for poaching) and several small sweet potatoes. From the apple baskets I took equal amounts of Jonagold, a large tart tasting apple with an almost pear-like texture, and the small but juicy Braeburn. From another vendor I picked up a few crisp Golden Delicious to round out my blend with their mild sweetness.

Leaving the farmers' market, my canvas bags brimmed with fruit and the last of the season's salad fixings. I was excited to return next week for the gorgeous carrots (there were more than half a dozen varieties, all different shapes and colors), parsnips and potatoes for a root vegetable soup, and some fennel to serve with fish.

I washed just over 4 lbs. apples (as much as will fit in my crock pot), peeled off the majority of the skin, cored them, rubbed them with a halved lemon (not entirely necessary), and sliced them up thin. To the crock pot I added just over 1/2 cup of apple cider, the juice of half a lemon and a cinnamon stick. Four or five hours later, I returned home to a perfumed apartment. The rich fragrance of apples radiated out from my kitchen and down the hall, making my building warmer and more merry, or so I hope. I added sugar, ground cinnamon, ground ginger, and tasted. I decided that more sugar and cinnamon were necessary and added more bit by bit until I felt the concentration of sweetness and spice was just right.

When canning, you can reuse glass jars and metal rings, but you must use new metal lids. All are immersed in a simmering pot of water for ten minutes. Then I work one jar at time, briefly removing my materials to a clean towel, filling the jar with piping hot apple sauce so there is no about an inch of air at the top, and sealing immediately. Wipe up any drips with a paper towel or clean cloth; a clean lip ensures a good seal. When all the jars are filled, I place them in a steam basket set over boiling water for the second sterilization recommended by food safety experts. The basket makes it much easier to remove the hot, heavy jars. Some sources recommend turning the jar upside for at least two minutes after they are removed from the heat. Then they must simply be left in peace. Leave them on the counter and don't touch them, just listen for the satisfying popping sounds as the seals get sucked in. It is the sound of a successful kitchen.

I can honestly say I've been putting forth an incredible effort to break in my new kitchen. I love the idea of how much it's been used before me. The pull-out cutting boards, solid wood drawers and painted-over counters have so obviously been used and loved, been home and hearth to a factory of flavors. I love being a part of the changing tide of tenants to employ this oven, put the outdated ice box to some kind of use (I shoved a wine rack inside) spill spices on the floor, and scatter the table with dishes.

For the most part, at least the home and the people part, life right now feels as fresh as Fall's just-picked apples. Of course, I'm still readying for winter.