Apples are sitting on my counter. A trend that sees no end in sight—that is until March, at the earliest. Apples, apart from pears, are the only fruits remaining at the Farmer’s Market every weekend. And because I attempt, as much as possible, to eat or snack on only items I can procure from the Farmer’s Market (or that Whole Foods tells me was at least grown on this continent, or, hopefully, this seaboard) I am only really eating apples. Perhaps the occasional banana gets thrown in but that is only because for me, they will never be seasonal. And a trip to my Grandfather’s house to cut down a couple does not seem to be in the cards for me any bit of tick tock soon.
It was an apple that traveled with me to and from the bakery, to and from the gym, to and from work, each morning, every morning, for at least a week, that finally made its way into something more useful than my gym bag. It was a banana, brown and ripe, that traveled with me for two days, in that same horribly monotonous rotation that also made it way into something more exciting than just unpeeled in my hand and consumed by my stomach. It is a 12 cup bag of walnuts still sitting in my pantry, more than half way emptied, that has, for the past week, found its merry way into brownies (too uncooked), cookies (crispy), and finally into a muffin. The same muffin that made a gingered lemon home for the ripening apple and browning banana.
Muffins that were shared with my husband after a long day of school work. Muffins gifted to a co-worker early on a Sunday morning. And muffins that were placed in the hands of a friend.
Each of us deals with grief in our own way. Growing up grief was fed. Richly. With pastas. And rice. Beans. Some pork. And a helping of brownies. Or a cake pulled like a rabbit out of a hat and consumed in a wink. In the last couple of days grief has shown its power to remove the appetite. The low grumblings and hummings of the tummy met not with the food I’m sure it craved but with warm beverages or a deeper hug. It was a grief that played stranger to me. I knew and know it not. My purse instead full of nuts and cherries, a sweet apple, a bottle of water, and home made apple banana walnut muffins. A muffin that was placed in the hands of a friend.
Change in our kitchens
Reflections on cooking — and a career that’s based largely at the stove.
Flatbreads from around the continent
Beyond a supporting role
The great Sicilian-Neapolitan kitchen rivalry
Five ideas each month for eating better