Posted by: tlnemethy | October 19, 2012

Look At Them Apples

I’ve been consumed with apples for the past month or so. Consumed with their smell, their taste, the way they peel and how they can be used to make all sorts of fall recipes. I don’t know for sure how many apples I’ve peeled, but a bushel is the equivalent of eight dry gallons so I’ve at least peeled 24 dry gallons worth of apples this season. I started out making crock potfuls of applesauce because having a stockpile of that will never let a person down, plus the mixture of cinnamon and bubbling apples really gets the house smelling nice. I’ve made probably three gallons of applesauce, which is excessive once you think about it, but those apples really do cook down to next to nothing after a few hours in the crock pot.

Strange thing too, a lot of states won’t allow dropped apples to be sold to the public because they are “tainted or dirty,” or whatever. New Hampshire can apparently sell the apples that fall from the tree limbs, which means you are guaranteed to get a ripe apple rather than a firm and sour disappointment.  The only down side to this purchasing method is that you must have a use for a bushel of apples; they don’t keep well for longer than a week. This gives me plenty of time though, between me just scarfing the apples, a crock pot load and a dehydrator going simultaneously they’re gone in no time. Also, keep in mind that I’m using an ancient crock pot. But damned if the girl still didn’t cook like a pro.

Coring the apples first always helps me with the peeling. My kitchen has this dandy little gadget that will take the core out in a tube that you can just chuck, leaving the apple neatly shaped (not that it matters when they turn to mush in the crock pot). One the pesky stem and innards are gone I just run the peeler over the entire apple and leave them skinless and bobbing in the sink while I work on the rest of them.  I’m a guesser through and through, so mainly when I think I’ve got enough peeled for the entire crock pot, I’ve always got two extra apples. I eat them to destroy the evidence.

Cut them into centimeter thick chunks or slices and fill that pot to the brim, add a quarter cup of water too, just to make sure you get things going smoothly. Cover it up and let it cook for a while, maybe an hour on high just to soften them up. You may look into the pot and think nothings happening because the top layer of apples still look pristine, but if you take a spoon and stir em up you’ll find that most of the bottom half have turned into a frothy apple goo. Stir away because you are ready to add the extra bits of deliciousness.

My crock pot is about medium-sized, so adjust as needed for larger or smaller batches, but really just go by taste; that’s the best way to determine recipes. I melt a quarter stick of butter together with a dash of nutmeg and a dash of cinnamon, then stir in about a third of a cup of brown sugar. I like to taste apples in my sauce, not just sugar. It forms a strange, peanut-buttery looking paste that I just plunk right on top of the pot, no need to stir because I like it to disperse throughout from above.

If you like yours chunky, cook it less, or just cut bigger pieces of apple. Sometimes if I don’t like the consistency I’ll just add a few freshly cut slices to the top after its already done and put the lid back on so they cook, but not to disintegration.

Posted by: tlnemethy | October 15, 2012

Perks

“And in that moment, I swear we were infinite.” I don’t normally do this type of thing, with the whole movie review or critique or blatant devotion kinda thing. It’s not really my style. But every once in a blue moon this type of thing just grabs hold of my soul and I just can’t scratch it out. Today’s Monday, and a few days ago I saw Perks of Being a Wallflower. I went into it blindly, I mean without any reference to what it’d be like besides the fact that it was a book that I never got around to reading.

The characters are the people I went to school with, my friends and my enemies, my parents and my relatives. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know them specifically or that I was just allowed a brief glimpse into Charlie’s freshmen year. But I lived the essence of that movie with every hour that I spent in school, with every awkward moment that I felt alone or lost in my own muddled thoughts.

Some could say that the numerous instances in the film that deal with abuse, addiction, promiscuity, homosexuality, bullying or depression are just being a tad melodramatic about the whole youthful angst aspect to coming of age. They aren’t. The film wasn’t depressing in all these occurrences because not a single character avoids talking about them or confronting them at some point. We see in these characters the hope for solving our own problems, we see that we aren’t going to be left behind or forgotten, we see that we aren’t alone.

I bought the book and read it in a single day. Never have I ever felt like a movie is greater than the book, never even that they are on the same level. Perks changed everything I could have ever thought about adaptations. The Perks of Being a Wallflower is a coming of age novel that I wish I had read in middle school when I first came across its bright cover with legs in the top corner. It was intriguing in its simplicity and organization into fragmented letters. You could feel the raw emotion, anguish and fear. But we all have our burdens to bear and in learning to lean on others and let them in will always be a way to ease our loneliness and always move forward.

“So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I’m still trying to figure out how that could be.”

Posted by: tlnemethy | October 11, 2012

Connectivity

There is an essence of the world in everything we find to be worldly, everything we find to embody or personify, to depict or aspire to be. But frankly, I am still in awe of the various duplicities of nature that I stumble across, whether they be vast landscapes of polars and extremes or the simple joys in finding a similarity where it would not be expected. For example, there is a spice or herb used regularly in Missouri cooking that I taste every few years even though I have yet to return to Missouri. The very taste of whatever it is, wherever I taste it and whichever food it happens to be in will always bring my memories back to my first jaunt to Missouri. It was present in the soups and the bread, a sparse flavoring of it in the steak as well, but I’ve since found it in a very distinctive spaghetti sauce in Michigan and a french fry seasoning in New Hampshire. Something as miniscule, but as potent to my memories can forever direct me without my consent.

My worst fear is that one day I will not be able to access these pointed gateways of my past, that one web link will be broken, taking with it an entire sequence of my memories. How would my life be if I would forever taste that distinctive Missouri taste and not connect it to its origin? It may seem like a fragment without any real worth, but even something quite as small holds a power derived from the origin. Connectivity is why we hoard and accumulate. Connectivity is why we gather so much with us into a single place. We don’t want to be parted with our memories, we don’t want to forget the tiniest shards of our past because they are extremely significant to us, if not to anyone else.

Where are our stories that can be passed along generations? Where are the stories that will outlive ourselves? That turtleneck sweater with the wine stain will never survive the weathering of time, neither will the porcelain figurine, the quilt, the picture on the wall. We only keep them around to prompt us into a past detail that we could share. We rely on them to jog our memories and to stoke our social furnaces. Will any of them, upon our parting, be anything more than an object of our history, an artifact to prove our existences? We don’t want to be forgotten. What pride we have. What pride we have to expect our things to contribute to our worth once we’re gone. Memories intertwine us all, connecting us with our neighbors and our friends, our distant cousins and our pen pals. Snip just a single thread and the web begins to untangle, to disengage ourselves from the things we most dearly want to hold onto. To remember is to perpetuate the web; to strengthen the joints and the crooks until they can hold new bonds and branch out. Because we are all joined just so; to remember is to be remembered. I fear forgetting the insignificant things because as much as they seem unworthy of storing, they form the strongest memories.

 

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