Fall in

All the leaves have changed, and the weather is getting drearier. This means autumn is ending. A lot of folks call this season “fall”, But I don’t. Frankly, this is my favorite season. Why would I destroy that pleasant experience by having a Great Fall? I hate falling. Either way, the best thing about the season is apples. That’s another thing. Those fall folks are probably falling out of apple trees. I’d hate that even more. But again, this is beside the point.

Speaking of apples, the other day I decided I wanted a slice of apple pie. To those of you who love apple pie, this should not come as a surprise. On the other hand, my wife prefers cherry pie. I’m not saying cherry pie isn’t great as well. I certainly don’t want the Cherry Growers Association to think I don’t like cherries. I love cherries, but on that specific day, I wanted apple pie, no offense intended.

Nearly self sufficient

I further decided, since I had the entire day to myself, I would be completely self-sufficient, and make it myself. My wife was against this. I informed her that sometimes a man has to get back to his roots, like the cavemen who had to leave home, hunt through the woods, and club their apple pie to death before they could enjoy the spoils. She shook her head and walked away. Women will never understand caveman thinking.

I went online and searched for apple pie recipes. There where hundreds of them. One cooking site had thirty-two different recipes from various chefs, all different in one way or another. I just wanted a piece of pie, not (and I am not embellishing) “A rare dessert experience, unseen in this world for a great many years” I don’t think I want that. It’s too complicated

T M I

As I stalked the illusive recipes, I found that none of them called for simply apples. Most wanted me to use Johnathan’s. How am I supposed to know who Jonathan is? Even if I did know him, I’m sure he wouldn’t want me absconding with his apples. Several recipes suggested I use McIntosh, but they didn’t specify whether they were talking about the computer, or the raincoat. Another popular pick was the pink lady. That’s a drink my old girlfriends got when we went to a bar. While it did make them very friendly, it has nothing to do with apples. Possibly it has something to do with the apples from the Garden of Eden. After what happened to Adam and Eve, I certainly want nothing to do with those.

Speaking of ladies, you can’t forget good old Granny Smith. There was also a recipe saying to use a Northern Spy. Now really, who has the time to go up north, find a spy, (who, by the way, probably doesn’t want to be found), and get his suggestions on apples.

As I was about to give up, my daughter informed me these were all different varieties of apples. In fact, she had done an extensive report on types of apples as a third-grade class project. Who knew apples were required study in elementary school? She informed me there are over seven thousand varieties of cultivated apples? The highest ranked is one called the Blue Pearmain. There is even one called Mutsu. I don’t know about the stores you go to, but mine has a six-foot year-round display with two-foot-high lettering saying, “Apples,” not “Mutsu’s.”

Off to the store

I braved the weather and went to my local market. At the apple display, (As suspected I couldn’t find a Mutsu display), I did find exactly five varieties of apples. Not Seven Thousand! They were; Red Delicious, Yellow Delicious, McIntosh, Granny Smith, and Gala. As I looked at the collected recipes, three of these varieties were not even mentioned. Apparently, you don’t use delicious apples in pies, whatever color they are. I guess you only use crappy tasting ones, though this fact is never mentioned. Granny Smith apples were mentioned in several recipes, but unhappily, my store had only green ones. Not knowing how long it would take them to ripen, I selected McIntosh. They were a bit soft, but I hoped it wouldn’t matter. I went home, reasonably secure in my decision.

At this point, I would like to say a word about pie crust. It seems pie crust gets tired very easily. Yes, that was eight words, but I felt they were important enough to be said. Also, if I would’ve said, “Now, I would like to say eight words about pie crust,” some of you might have been confused.

This being said, pie crust is made by combining butter, flour, sugar, salt, and water in proper concentrations. Nothing is alive in any of those ingredients, yet the recipe calls for the created dough to rest, twice. It is not required for the dough to get a good night’s sleep, or spend several hours in my lounger. However, two rest periods are required so the butter remains okay.

Get some rest

Look, when I rest, I usually like to sit and read a good book. But when butter rests it does it in the refrigerator, and there’s no light in there. I became concerned. Was it all right if the butter fell asleep? Or is there some Zen Yogi somewhere teaching butter a higher level of consciousness? In butter circles, are there levels of enlightenment? The highest of which being ‘Flaky’? I’m sure being spread on a bagel wouldn’t require such progressive training. But now, it’s got me wondering if I’m preventing the butter in my possession from becoming all that it can be by unwittingly spreading it on toast. I don’t think I can handle that kind of pressure. I decided, I should call my therapist and see what she thinks.

As I waited for her service to find her, I read further into the instructions. It states I need to roll the dough until it is 1/8 inch thick. So, I made it into a ball and rolled it across the kitchen floor.

This was a lot of fun. In fact, I even called my children in and we rolled that dough, and laughed for over an hour. The thing is, it stayed in a ball shape. It may have gotten a little thinner, but nowhere close to an eighth of an inch. There was also another issue. It seems in the rolling process, tiny pieces of dough stuck to the floor making one heck of a mess. When my wife saw this, she was not very happy. I let my dough rest again, while I scrubbed the floor.

The thrill of the hunt

To be honest, after all of this, I really didn’t feel like having apple pie anymore. The process of creation was just too confusing. Also, since I wasn’t working on it for six days, I got no rest day. Instead, I hunted for some cookies. With cookies I knew I had done my ancestors proud. I overpowered them, and growled as I messily ate them. I achieved my inner caveman.

Then I got out the vacuum cleaner!!