Roasted apple butter—the epic

Whine. I never want to see another apple.
Whine. I’m only two-thirds of the way through the apple tote.

This picture describes my mental state after eight hours of making apple butter.

This picture describes my mental state after eight hours of making apple butter.


It’s been a long time since I had to cook for 50 people at a time, and I suppose I don’t have the stamina I used to. Although neither, crucially, do I have the cleanup crew.

It had started well enough. A neighbor came around with a petition regarding some local traffic changes, and it turned out she had an apple peeler to lend me. These, friends, are medieval torture devices that have been retrofitted for apples. And watch out, because I am now an expert at using them.

You impale the head on the fork, and then crank until it screams in pain.

You impale the head on the fork, and then crank until it screams in pain.

The entire kitchen was sticky and caramelized by last night. The windows all fogged up. A warm apple inferno. The apple butter had taken seven hours to cook down, not three. My food processor laughed at me, and my blender threatened to leave this world. I persevered. A rich gingery brown butter emerged, somehow exactly filling the number of jars I had. I collapsed.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s