Ohhh.. I think fall might finally be here.
My Mom found McIntosh apples at the Farmers Market last week.
When I was a little girl, my Mom and I lived in an old, brick three story apartment in the Cambridge, MA. Every fall, we would go apple picking with friends. It was an all day affair, and we would carry home bushels of apples, McIntoshes of course. My Mom's corner bedroom was frigid in the winter, despite quilted window covers, so it made a perfect cold room for bushel baskets stacked with apples. All winter long her bedroom smelled of apples; sweet, sharp, and vaguely earthy. Those apples would be eaten out of hand, or cooked into sauce, or baked into pies or cake. Some years my grandparents would drive from Michigan to visit us. They would bring apples to add to our store. My grandmother was particularly fond of the giant Mutsu apples that could weight up to a pound a piece. Cut up two apples, and you have a pie.
The Macs were my favorite, though. I loved their cloudy skins that could be shined to show off their stripes. I liked how soft and buttery they were when baked into a pie, and I loved their singular flavor.
Sadly, Macs are hard to find here, so I hoard savor them when they appear.
I have enough apples for one more round of baking.
I just need to decide between another double crust pie, a crumb topping pie, apple turnovers, or a cake.
The October Bon Appetit has a lovely looking recipe for an apple cake with cream cheese frosting that's been tempting me...
