Forgive me, dear reader, it's been seven weeks since my last expression. In that time, I've fostered six cats, flown to France, cooked a feast for 20 people, held two demos at the farmers market, created custom cocktails for an event and worked my regular job as a freelance writer. For these and all the wins of my life, I am truly...oh, never mind. The point is, I'm deeply sorry to have neglected my blog the last couple of months but I've been dancing as fast as I can. The good news? I'm going to catch you up with a series of mouth-watering photos. Starting with this one of Mouse, the sweetest, fluffiest kitten that ever lived. She was the runt of a litter of five born to Janet, a gorgeous black cat who came to our door in July, turned out to be preggers and asked for shelter. What ensued was generally chaos, but all turned out well, and we eventually found loving parents for every last one of those adorable interlopers (after they were weaned, ate us out of house and home and chewed everything in sight). I miss them like hell and am so glad they're gone. Another of life's endless paradoxes.

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Another skillet cake. Because this one was so good. And because anything that helps dispense with a surplus of apples is welcome around here. The recipe was given to me by a kindred spirit I met at Haven's Kitchen, during a preserving class with Kevin West, a handsome Southern gentleman and the author of Saving the Season, blog and book. His demonstration included a simple applesauce, a very basic sauerkraut, a lovely cranberry jam and a golden-hued cauliflower pickle with raisins and Indian spices that I will definitely be making. I arrived armed with a very pressing question: Why, regardless of cooking time, do my preserves rarely make it to the 220-degree temperature that is always specified as the desired setting point? Kevin told me to pretend that the wooden spoon he was wielding was the candy thermometer I use at home. Then he set it on the ground and mimed stamping on it. In other words, forget the thermometer. He recommends the traditional wrinkle test. But back to the cake, which was a real windfall...
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The season of eating is here. Not that we don't eat all year long, duh, but you know what I mean. The holiday lunches, the cocktail hours, the office parties, the extended family feasts—all lined up in a sticky, fatty, calorie-laden row stretching out until New Year's Eve, when it comes to a close with one final champagne-fueled blow-out. And then? Remorse and penance. Juice fasts. Salad. Guilt-induced exercise binges. More salad. And still, visions of sugarplums dance in your head. We know that moderation is an option. We've all read those "how to handle the holidays without packing on the pounds" articles. Stick with wine spritzers and vodka on the rocks. Choose the celery sticks over the chips. We know the drill. These are truly first world problems. So let me present you with one first world solution. A dessert so beautiful and festive it's worthy of your fanciest dinner table, yet so low in fat and calories you can enjoy it without a second thought. Because between stressing over whether the roast is overdone and wondering if your sister is going to kill her husband right then and there, you've got enough on your mind without having to worry about a case of gout, right?
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Torrential rains accompanied by great gusts of wind have brought many of the fall leaves cascading down in whirling colors. Now the birds are more visible, darting around, and you can see the squirrels—red and grey—perched on branches, nibbling pinecones like corn on the cob. The apples stand out like ornaments on the trees, tempting the deer, which are gorging themselves silly on the sweet fruit. We went back to Julia's ancient orchard to harvest a few more; I wish I knew what they are—2 green and 2 red, heirloom varieties for sure, each more delicious than the next. I decided to cook down their wonderful, winey essence into that most traditional of all preserves: apple butter. It's essentially just a highly concentrated form of apple sauce, produced by long, slow cooking of apples with cider or water to a point where the sugar in the apples caramelizes, turning the rich stew a deep brown. There's no actual butter involved in the product; the term refers only to the thick, soft consistency, and its use as a spread for breads.
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Mark Bittman posted one of his great roundups of recipes in the Times Magazine this weekend, featuring less-expected ways to eat apples. I'm particularly taken with the cheesy apple fritters and that apple tempura! I'm prone to tossing diced apple into lots of salads—with oil-cured tuna, with walnuts and blue cheese, with all kinds of herbs. And when I make oatmeal, I always grate an apple into the pot. This really supports good digestion. We have a big old apple tree on our property at the lake, and it's covered with mottled green fruit that looks dubious but tastes great. Our friend Julia up the road has an orchard of craggy old trees that produce a lot of fruit, including some of the most flavorful red apples ever and a few pears, too. I've already eaten some super-crunchy and juicy Honey Crisps this year, and I'm a big fan of the Pink Lady with its wonderfully tangy sweetness. There are so many things to be made with all these apples, from pies, crumbles, betties and cakes to butter, fritters, cider...and, pedestrian as it may sound, applesauce.
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Scared you, didn't I? You thought this was going to be about some weird condiment made with offal. This chutney is definitely assertive in its own right, but it is strictly vegetarian. It is, however, from the original nose-to-tail chef, Fergus Henderson of St. John in London. I've never met Fergus, nor have I eaten in any of his restaurants, but I love the man. His seminal cookbook, Nose to Tail Eating: A Kind of British Cooking, is a window into his wonderfully warm, witty and ultimately quite sensible approach to food and life. (Did I mention he has Parkinsons?) You've never seen a less fussy cookbook. He doesn't get all bothered about quantities or times, but rather helps you to be an intuitive cook. Some choice phrases: "Do not be afraid of cooking, as your ingredients will know and misbehave." (As though an onion was a young horse feeling its oats!) Eating aoli "should be an emotional experience." And, with regard to this chutney, "There is nothing finer, after having a good stock up your sleeve, than having a reserve of chutney." I believe we've conquered the stock thing, and so are ready to proceed to this very British, quite rustic and highly addictive chutney.
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