Saturday, March 24, 2018

8 Apples and 2 Cups of Sugar

Portlanders are a funny bunch.  We don't accept change very well.  Sure, we have the largest Naked Bike Ride in the world and the most breweries per capita in the world, but, natural events like the return of Autumn rains can stymie even the natives.  Sixty days of summer sun and 'poof', we forget how to drive in a constant drizzle.   And snow?!  The 2-6" inches we might get the whole winter are nothing short of apocalyptic.  Local news stations stage communication majors, turned freshly minted reporters, at street intersections and highway overpasses to capture the devastation wrought by a dusting of wintry mix. 
"Please folks, if you don't have to go out, just stay home till this event has passed.  Hopefully, you have batteries, water and plenty of blankets.  Check on any seniors in your neighborhoods and please, please, PLEASE watch out for Black Ice!"

Good Golly, we are such weather-wimps.

Well, we had one such day this last month and they called a Snow Day for area schools.  Kids in real snow regions would bust a gut and pay cash money for our Snow-mageddon.  Siobhan and I made plans the night before to entertain ourselves with the coming free day.

"Hey, baby girl, whatcha wanna do tomorrow for the snow day?"  I asked during the 6:00 news.
"Well, we gotta play in the snow, number one!  Then, we can have hot chocolate and go out and play again..." she instructed me while looking up from her i-whatever.

"How about we bake an apple pie?"  I suggested, "I have a bag of 'em out in the pantry."
"How 'bout apple crisp...? she countered, "I love the crispy topping!"

Done.

So, after sleeping in and eventually skating through 2" of snow on the back deck with the dog and licking our first winter snowfall, Siobhan was ready for making apple crisp.

"Dad, ready when you are," she alerted me after putting her Ugg boots, gloves and sweater over the back of a chair and pushing it onto a heater vent.

I had the antiquated, hand-crank, peeler/corer on the counter next to the cutting board, apples, baking dish and spices lined up.  My bib apron indicated I meant business and Bonnie Belle stepped into the kitchen with a lively spirit of service.

"Whatcha want me ta do?  she asked, "Can I measure stuff?"
This is the part where you, as the adult, give in to enthusiasm, but, monitor with a watchful eye.  I like to give her a 1-cup measure and watch as I tell her "about 1/2 cup of this or 1/2 teaspoon of that."  That's what cooking is about, basic measures and adapting to the situation.

"Ok, so, let's get a big mixing bowl to put our peeled apples into as we prepare them.  I'll need you to grab the peels as they come off and put them in the garbage can," I instructed as she pushed a tall kitchen can over to our prep station.

I then demonstrated how the old peeler worked and how it's the same model as the one my mom used when I was her age.

"And it still works even though it's like 57 years old?!," she gasped, "pretty good for being pretty old..."  This prompted my chin to drop and give her 'the look' over the top of my glasses.
"Whaaaaaat, I'm just sayin'.....sheesh!" she exclaimed with arms extended to her sides and shoulders scrunched.  She's learning how to get the desired response with a little dig of humor.

As the first apple finished it's cycle, Siobhan started eating the peel like an extra long piece of spaghetti. I skewered the next apple and continued the process.  We chatted about how the machine does three jobs in one: peels, cores and slices.  She gathered up the pile of peels and swept them across the cutting board into the trash can below.

"How long do you think this peel is from just one apple?" I asked.
"I dunno, like one yard?" she replied, "let's measure it.  There's a tape in the junk drawer."

So, we did, carefully untangling the peel of one medium apple across the kitchen floor and extending the 1" wide, yellow Stanley tape measure next to it.

"Holy Cow, it's 108 inches!" I hollered, "how many feet is that?"  Siobhan had to divide 108 by 12 in here head...
"Nine feet!" she exclaimed, "that's three yards, Dad."

After some reflection on the stunning revelation of our kitchen science, we returned to the last of our apple processing.  We cut the spiral apples in quarters, dusted with half-cup increments of sugar, juiced and zested one whole Meyer lemon and eye-balled a 1/2 teaspoon of allspice.  We tasted the mix and agreed it had sufficient sweetness and acidity.  Then, I hit it with a 1/2 cup of flour for binding.

"Do we have enough?" she wondered.  Remember, I told her, how we placed the apples into our dish before peeling them to get an idea of how many we needed?   Siobhan nodded her head slowly, recounting the initial exercise of our project.  She then scraped the mixing bowl with a rubber spatula as I held the bowl above our baking dish.

"Don't forget to get the sides, all that juice is good flavor," I encouraged her, "and let's save this same bowl to make our topping."

We then put one cup each of flour, oats and brown sugar into the bowl and cut-in one 4 oz stick of butter.  Siobhan rubbed her hands together in the mixture as I explained that the warmth of our hands will help to melt the butter into the topping.

"This feels kinda weird," she said, scrunching her nose and squinting her eyes, "Lily does this when she's excited."  Siobhan then recanted how her BFF rubs her hands together when she's pumped.

We then place cupped handfuls of our oat mixture on top of the apple filling and smoothed the top.  Onto a baking sheet it went, to catch any bubble-over and into a pre-heated 350 convection oven.  We washed our hands and set the timer for 30 minutes, knowing it would take longer, but, that we'd turn the fan off at such time.

"How longzit gonna take, Dad?" she asked, "like for-ever or an hour?"  An hour is forever to a 10 year old, so, I said, yes...it'll be an hour or until it's done.  I explained how we have to kill the fan at half an hour and cruise it into the finish line, so, we don't burn the topping.
Siobhan helped to clean up and after twenty minutes or so, the aromas began to drift through the house.   Thus began the 'is it ready yet?!' whine every 15 minutes.  This was a great time to practice dance moves...

"OK, dad, I'm Camila Cabello and you're the guy in the music video," she instructed, "and you have to twirl me and try to dance with me."  Her reference was for the latest pop-singer and her hit song, "Havana" in which several swarthy young lads attempt to woo a red-fringed dressed Camila in a simulated Cuban night club.  Siobhan's favorite part is putting her fingertips on my chest and pushing me away, followed by the dramatic flip of the hair and walk-away strut....A beeping timer brought us back to the States and our baking. 

After a total of 1 1/2 hours, we noticed the edges of our crisp bubbling sufficiently and a digital thermometer gave us the desired 215+ degree temp.  We pulled it out of the oven and set it on the stove top; the toasty crumb topping smelled like pie dough.  The burnt edges added a bitterness that countered the sweetness of the spices and filling.

"Daaaaa-duh!  Can I have some nowwww-uh with vanilla ice creeeeeeam!" she pleaded.  So, I scooped some in a bowl and put it outside in the snow, telling her that it would burn her mouth, coming right out of the oven.  She watched through the French doors as the steam rose from the apple crisp cooling on a mound of snow.  Siobhan began to run in place, throwing herself at me until, I finally relented.

She sat at the kitchen table as I placed a cinnamon and allspice laced bowl of our simple creation in front of her.  After a few bites, she came up for air.

"Oh my gosh, Dad, this is great!" she grinned, "we need to do this again!"

There will be more snow days, but, this one was special and not for the lack of snow.  It's for the memory of a few hours in the kitchen with 8 apples, 2 cups of sugar, a girl and her daddy.

I'd say that's time well spent.

Take care, God bless and Remember:

"Food, Faith, Family and Friends,
the Best Things in Life Aren't Things."

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