Forbidden fruit in the forbidden kitchen

Anyone who intends on claiming the title "Adult" should be able to get herself fed.

There are other adult criterion too (i.e., remembering to pay the electric bill, putting your pants on right side out and showering semi-regularly). But the food thing is important (that whole calorie-consumption-is-required-to-sustain-life thing).

And I can do that…mostly. I can GET food for myself and consume it. It's the food preparation aspect I seem to have trouble with.

Oh sure, I can add milk to dry cereal with the best of them. But cooking? Baking? I'm entirely incapable.

When you're in college, knowing how to boil rice is sufficient kitchen know-how. No one asks the hard questions then, like, "Do you even know what 'julienne' means?"

But when you're damn near 30 and the burners on your stove are coated with dust…well, then you have a full-blown kitchen phobia.

So I figured now was as good a time as any to have it out and teach that oven who's boss - maybe tie it to a parking meter and smack it around.

My excursion to the apple orchards this weekend wasn't simply to experience the autumn tradition of apple picking. It was also a well-planned covert operation to secure a collection of fresh Cortlands in order to bake them into what laymen refer to as a "pie."

An apple pie satisfied my two recipe necessities: I'd been told it wasn't difficult to make and I knew it wasn't difficult to eat.

Initially I had considered making it from scratch, crust and all. But I was looking to build my baking confidence, not punish myself. So pre-made crust it was.

At the grocery store I picked up everything on the list (sans apples, which I had already picked locally, and sugar, which I always keep around for the coffee).

Once back home I wasted no time getting started.

The recipe said, "Press crust into pie pan…"

Pie pan? Who has a pie pan just lying around? Oh, probably everybody. Back to the store.

The rest, I'm happy to report, went swimmingly. I only sliced my finger once with the potato peeler. I only momentarily questioned what "thinly slice apples" really meant. (Is that healthy-weight thin or Barry Manilow thin?) And when I realized I had no aluminum foil to cover my masterpiece with, I remained calm and substituted an overturned foil pie pan instead.

The outcome?

Perfection!

Okay, the filling was a tad runny, but it's my first pie so back off.

Shore do look purty, though.

Saving Fall, one apple at a time

As seasons shift from one to the other, as they tend to do here, there are specific things we need to do. Things that make the season official. Things that ensure the continuation of Nature's regenerative cycle.

Summer isn't quite summer until you've fallen asleep on the beach (and perhaps been awoken by a frisbee throw to the head).

Winter isn't quite winter until you've dug a car (your own or someone else's) out from under a monumental pile of snow (and then maybe built a fort).

If we were to stop these seasonal activities - if we were to behave in the spring no differently than we did in the fall...well, the seasons might cease altogether.

And if the seasons ceased (I shudder to think about it)...if the seasons ceased we'd become (gasp!)...
Florida!

It's our duty to chuck snowballs in the winter and get farmer's tans in the spring.

And in the fall? In the fall we must go apple picking.

Randall Orchards in Standish is an ideal place to go for such an activity. Allow me to elaborate:

The views at the apple orchard aren't too shabby, if you're into that whole "scenic fall at it's best" thing. And you are - we all are.

Rows and rows of apple trees extend out toward a line of tall pines. There's plenty of trees to keep you occupied in the front, but most many of them have already been stripped of their fruit in weeks past.

Instead you can walk deeper into the orchard or hitch a ride on the tractor.

Many of Maine's orchards bear a variety of apples, so you sort of have to sample them, right? Maybe you fancy the McIntosh, but you might discover that Cortlands are really your apple soul mate.

Oh look, the young apples who leapt too soon from their perch above. Dang teenagers think they know everything. Sure, they're all "I can take care of myself. You don't own me, Dad!" But life's rough in the grass - most of those poor kids will start fermenting before the week is out.

Sometimes all you need is an extended arm to nab the best apples.

Sometimes all those low-hanging treasures have already been taken - and you need to get more invloved.

Or, if you're altogether lazy, you can just get your apples from the bins. Takes all the fun out of it, I suppose, but not everyone is up for trapsing around the orchard every time they want a few apples.

The pumpkins are out in full force, too. Randall Orchards has a load of pretty, plump ones.

And a few that have apparently cast off their special Halloween purpose and opted instead to melt quietly back into the earth. A strange phenomenon, those depressed pumpkins who shun Jack-O-Lantern glory.

Cannon Ball pumpkins - rounded for easier chucking.

If you're mind is often in the gutter, a glimpse into the gourd bin will probably make you giggle in an immature fashion. Or so I've been told. I don't think that way.

He he. OK, maybe I do, just a little.

If you haven't been out to pluck something from a tree lately, I encourage you to do so. The seasons as we known them depend on it.

FYI, the Maine SWITCH's fall guide has a list of apple and pumpkin picking spots.