Pie Eyed

The apple tree has been a source of great bounty--and repetitive stress--this season. From our tree friends and neighbors have made jam, sauce and dehydrated slivers, and we've churned out numerous cakes, pies, crumbles and breads.

(My brother had me in stitches when he referred to my tragic, dry-as-dust apple cake as "pandowdy," an appellation that sent us to the Internet and the discovery that the apple crisp-cobbler category contains delights, variously named, pandowdy, Brown Betty, slump, buckle, sonker and grunt, among others. The  noun, "grunt," had us laughing uproariously. "Remember what grandma called grunt?" I asked. If you come from Southern Indiana--or tasted my "pandowdy," you'll realize my brother and I never matured past age 12.)

Still the apples persist. Mitch and I have composted as many as we can and put the grade A's to good use, but a quantity, nonetheless, have gone to the landfill, where they are contributing to the global carbon load. This weekend we made a last stand, Mitch picking the pinkest, fattest fruit and me rendering them into pie--four in all--plus a crumble.

You'll notice I cheated--Kroger, transfat-infested shells as a cradle for our organic apples. But the topping is healthy-ish: Oatmeal, walnuts, butter, brown sugar and maple syrup. A quick, tasty topping for girls-on-the-go beset with too many apples.

 

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