Baked Apples

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Baked Apples

Baked Apples

I have grown a fond for apples over the last two years. Rarely a day goes by where you won't find one in my hand or on my plate. My mother refers to my apple-eating habit as an addiction (in jest) and I'm beginning to think she's right. Yesterday alone, I had apples for breakfast, lunch, and dinner in various forms. Perhaps it's the crispness of the first bite of an apple I simply cannot resist. Or maybe it is the fact that I love to spread my apple slices with a thick layer of peanut butter.

Whatever the reason, I do hope that old saying about apples is true. I don't want to go to the doctor any time soon.

Baked Apples

My neighbors had an apple tree while I was growing up. The tree was next to the fence and the branches hovered over our garden, growing apples no bigger than the palm of my small hand. In early fall, the apples would begin to turn color; shades of red and green and yellow took over the tree. Wearing light jackets and long pants, my sister and I would steal apples under the cover of darkness, munching the tart fruit in the backyard. The biting tartness of the fruit was enough to make my eyes squint. When we were finished, we'd hide the evidence in the bushes.

It was, in many ways, the forbidden fruit.

Baked Apples

My babysitter was the first person to introduce me to baked apples. She'd fill her apples with brown sugar and cinnamon, baking them until the house smelled like a rich apple pie. Baked fruit has always been a favorite of mine. The firm, yet tender, fruit and sweet fillings are the scents of autumn daydreams. I have a bad habit of forgetting about baked fruit when the seasons roll around.

This year, with a love of baking and a kitchen counter full of apples, it seemed destined for fruit to find its way into the oven.

Baked Apples

Baked Apples are sweet, tart, and tender at the same time. The apples are filled with a mixture of brown sugar, oats, and sliced almonds, which gives a little crunch to the filling to offset the soft fruit. As the apples bake, the scent of cinnamon and apple pie fill the house, which only adds to the cozy effect these apples have on an autumn evening. Different sized apples may require shorter or longer baking times, so please adjust accordingly.

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Pear Crisp

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Pear Crisp

Pear Crisp

The falling leaves of autumn remind me that I'm growing older. When the leaves begin falling from the trees, I start dreaming of raking up a pile to jump in. I've always found the smell of fallen leaves comforting, even as I pull colorful leaf fragments out of my hair after I've had my fill. However, these little dreams are short lived as I quickly remember that I neither have a rake nor a yard of leaves to gather together. To make up for the disappointment, I like to trudge through the leaves on the sidewalk in my heels, crunching my way to and from the car with satisfaction.

Though I may often look and sound like an adult, there is a child resting just below the surface, longing for a pile of leaves to dance in.

Pear Crisp

There are two trees in front of my parent's home that begin changing colors as soon as a hint of fall is in the air. While my parents often wished the trees would hold onto their leaves longer than the first of October, my sister and I relished in playing in the fallen leaves wearing only a light jacket in the golden autumn sun.

These trees, however, are peculiar. Though a few leaves are lost to the wind here or there, the trees typically drop all of their leaves at exactly the same moment, usually taking only a few hours' time. I imagine the trees talk to one another, planning the occasion by passing messages through their entangled roots. The dropping of the leaves has quickly become one of my favorite moments of autumn.

Pear Crisp

When the trees drop their leaves, it is similar to a rainstorm; they fall from the sky in a moment that can only be described as wonderment. There are times when the leaves descend so hard and so fast, it is possible to become buried in only a few minutes' time if you found yourself lying beside the rough trunk of the tree. I remember one morning with particular fondness. It was a Saturday. My sister and I awoke to a windless morning and raining leaves. We ate our breakfasts in record time, spending the rest of the morning beneath the trees playing and laughing and reveling in the innocence of the moment.

Every year since then, as I watched the changing of the leaves from green to gold, I wished and hoped the leaves wouldn't drop while I was away. I was afraid to miss the moment. To miss the simple magic only fallen leaves could bring.

Pear Crisp

Pear Crisp is a sincere dessert to enjoy after a day spent in the autumn sun. The flavor of the crisp is clean and pure. The pears are roasted in brown sugar and vanilla (with a hint of bourbon, if you dare) while the crumble topping shines with a combination of oats and sliced almonds. Though I love to steal bites of cold pear crisp from the refrigerator, this dessert can be served hot with a side of ice cream to warm up cold noses and chilled ears.

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Bourbon Peach & Thyme Jam

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Bourbon Peach & Thyme Jam

Peach Bourbon Thyme Jam

Jam-making is a calming process for me. When fruit begins to become overwhelming on the counter, spilling out of bowls and taking up too much space, I have no problem turning it into a simple jam. Cutting the fruit into small pieces and tossing it in a saucepan to bubble and boil, each batch is as unique as the others—some sweeter, some more tart—with a mix of flavors that comes from the extra ingredients in the cupboards.

Jam may be simple to make, but the scents that infuse the house as the fruit cooks down is why homemade jam is worth the time.

Peach Bourbon Thyme Jam Peach Bourbon Thyme Jam

My grandmother is well known in my family for creating vibrant strawberry jam. Every few months, she will simmer another batch over the stove, dividing it into small plastic containers, and freezing it until we pay her a visit. She makes certain the strawberry jam fountain never runs dry. My grandmother has faithfully made her strawberry jam for as long as I've known her. In those twenty-four years, I've created so many simple, strawberry-filled moments with sticky knives and happy faces.

Her jam is perfect on a freshly baked bun, warm and inviting—a treat I get to enjoy whenever the holidays come around.

Despite the love for my grandmother's jam, I truly believe different moments call for different flavors. The classic peanut butter and jelly sandwich just wouldn't be the same without a thick spread of grape jelly that oozes out from the crust of the bread as a bite-sized piece disappears. My mother's go-to barbecue sauce recipe uses grape jelly to bring in a depth of flavor (which I have been known to shamelessly eat with a spoon when my mother's back is turned). A spoonful of fig or strawberry balsamic jam blends seamlessly into a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

Peach Bourbon Thyme Jam

At a holiday craft fair in Montreal, I stumbled upon the most unique jam I've ever had the fortune of tasting. It was a cedar jam, derived precisely from cedar trees in a nearby forest. The sample I tried was electric, the taste reminding me strongly of the tree-scented scratch-and-sniff sticker in my childhood book, The Little Mouse, the Red Ripe Strawberry, and the Big Hungry Bear. The instant memory and surprising flavor led me to buy a small jar of my own. I'm still waiting for the perfect occasion to open it.

The right moment to savor this Bourbon Peach & Thyme Jam found me. In a way, the jam seemed to form of its own accord, as I found myself tossing a little of this and that from the cupboards into the saucepan. Still warm from simmering, I spread a thick layer onto a slice of fresh bread and enjoyed it as the summer sun set, turning the sky into a spell of pink and orange hues.

Peach Bourbon Thyme Jam

Bourbon Peach & Thyme Jam contains a myriad of flavors that come together in an unexpected, but lovely marriage. Fresh peaches are peeled and sliced into small pieces, joining freshly minced thyme and a splash of bourbon. The jam simmers on the stove, infusing the room with bright scents and swirling steam. I love to sneak a taste with a spoon while the jam bubbles on the stove top (and I suggest you do the same).

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