The start of fall officially arrived this week, and with it came the nagging threat of chilly weather, the stunning transition of the color of the leaves, and the realization that it can now be justified to break out all the traditionally-thought-of-as-fall recipes. In the minds of all of the basic "white girls" I know, this means Pumpkin Spice Lattes and candy corn. But in our family, fall foods have a different connotation. Don't get me wrong, I love a pumpkin treat more than most people. However, apples top my list of fall favorites.
The very first year that we lived in Asheville, my mom decided to take me and my little sister apple picking one afternoon while my dad was at work. I was about four, and my sister was two. Being new to the area, my mom asked around for local places to go, and we stumbled upon Skytop Orchard. At the time, it was little more than several fields of apple trees and a small shack to purchase them in. As we walked around with our hands and faces covered in sticky apple juice from the perfectly-ripened apples picked straight off of the trees, we made a vow to make it a tradition to go back as a family every fall. And we have kept this promise- I can recall years of picnics on the side of the fields overlooking the majestic mountain views, walks through the bamboo forests, countless hay rides, and eating more apples than I can count. As it became more and more popular, our little fall oasis has become one of the most visited orchards in Western North Carolina, and has expanded tremendously to meet the higher demands. But regardless of the changes, it still remains exactly the same. Nothing ever changes, and when we return each year I am instantly transported back to the uninhibited freedom of childhood, and the happy memories that have been made there.
Last weekend marked our annual apple picking trek. And pick apples we did-- we returned home with two bushels of fresh fruit to eat, make applesauce with to freeze for the winter, and of course, make scrumptious apple desserts.
Enter my great-Grandma Kelly. My dad's grandmother on his mother's side, Grandma Kelly was the matriarch of the kitchen. She had four daughters, my grandma being one of them, and taught them all to cook. While going through our recipe box to find an apple treat to make with our enormous onslaught of apples, I found her apple pie recipe, and decided to make it as a Friday night treat for our family, to kick off the start of the weekend. I enlisted the help of my mom, and together we started to make the pie.
Grandma Kelly's pie is unique in the fact that it has a pie crust on the bottom, but on the top is a crumbly topping reminiscent of a crisp or cobbler, made from flour, brown sugar, oats, and cinnamon. The crumble is really the best part of the recipe- you get the tangy, tart taste from the apples, the subtle flavor of the flaky crust on the bottom, and the sweet, cinnamon-y, decadent topping- this pie truly combines every element of apple heaven that there possibly could be. My dad can recall her making it for him and his brother growing up, and how he would beg his mom (my grandmother) to make apple pies "just like Grandma's." The recipe is fairly quick and simple to make, and my dad says that this was intentional, so that it would be an easy treat to make while cooking dinner and have ready for dessert to make mundane nights more festive. I had eaten it before, but not for a long time, as our family tends to make apple crisps more than apple pies. The thought of eating it again was thrilling.
The making of the crust and the apple filling went smoothly. The crust formed fine, the apples were incredibly fresh and quickly filled up the dish. But the problems arose with the crumble.
After mixing up all the dry ingredients, we realized that we were out of butter. And the recipe called for a stick of it. So, in typical Horak fashion, my mom and I turned our kitchen upside-down to see if we could possibly find some more hidden somewhere where we couldn't see it, to no avail. Instead of letting this ruin our pie, we improvised, and added maple syrup to the crumble to make it congeal together. My mom and I sprinkled it on top, and hoped for the best.
We put the pie in the oven with nervous anticipation, and waited for it to cook with bated breath. As the oven timer counted down, we counted down too, to the moment of truth, of whether we had destroyed the pie and brought shame to Grandma Kelly's recipe, or if the project would be deemed a success. At last the time came, and we all sat around the table and took the first bite of Grandma Kelly's famous pie.
IT WAS DELICIOUS. Just as I had remembered, the balance of the apples, crust, and crumble was perfectly in balance. The improvised crumble worked out fine- yes, using butter probably would have been better, but our version worked just fine. Overall, the pie was a success, and will for sure be incorporated into our cycle of fall treats to make on a regular basis.
From the generations-old pie recipe, to the decades old tradition of apple picking, fall to me represents memories and family experiences. Fall food should reflect these feelings of love and connectedness, and this pie certainly does that. With each bite, I am taken back to the orchard at Skytop, but also to my great-grandmother's kitchen, and the homey comfort that comes with eating something made from love. So the next time you eat an apple pie, think of Grandma Kelly, and the countless other grandmothers who have labored over a pie to serve to their families, and be reminded of the loving warmth that fall brings to all.
The very first year that we lived in Asheville, my mom decided to take me and my little sister apple picking one afternoon while my dad was at work. I was about four, and my sister was two. Being new to the area, my mom asked around for local places to go, and we stumbled upon Skytop Orchard. At the time, it was little more than several fields of apple trees and a small shack to purchase them in. As we walked around with our hands and faces covered in sticky apple juice from the perfectly-ripened apples picked straight off of the trees, we made a vow to make it a tradition to go back as a family every fall. And we have kept this promise- I can recall years of picnics on the side of the fields overlooking the majestic mountain views, walks through the bamboo forests, countless hay rides, and eating more apples than I can count. As it became more and more popular, our little fall oasis has become one of the most visited orchards in Western North Carolina, and has expanded tremendously to meet the higher demands. But regardless of the changes, it still remains exactly the same. Nothing ever changes, and when we return each year I am instantly transported back to the uninhibited freedom of childhood, and the happy memories that have been made there.
Last weekend marked our annual apple picking trek. And pick apples we did-- we returned home with two bushels of fresh fruit to eat, make applesauce with to freeze for the winter, and of course, make scrumptious apple desserts.
Enter my great-Grandma Kelly. My dad's grandmother on his mother's side, Grandma Kelly was the matriarch of the kitchen. She had four daughters, my grandma being one of them, and taught them all to cook. While going through our recipe box to find an apple treat to make with our enormous onslaught of apples, I found her apple pie recipe, and decided to make it as a Friday night treat for our family, to kick off the start of the weekend. I enlisted the help of my mom, and together we started to make the pie.
Grandma Kelly's pie is unique in the fact that it has a pie crust on the bottom, but on the top is a crumbly topping reminiscent of a crisp or cobbler, made from flour, brown sugar, oats, and cinnamon. The crumble is really the best part of the recipe- you get the tangy, tart taste from the apples, the subtle flavor of the flaky crust on the bottom, and the sweet, cinnamon-y, decadent topping- this pie truly combines every element of apple heaven that there possibly could be. My dad can recall her making it for him and his brother growing up, and how he would beg his mom (my grandmother) to make apple pies "just like Grandma's." The recipe is fairly quick and simple to make, and my dad says that this was intentional, so that it would be an easy treat to make while cooking dinner and have ready for dessert to make mundane nights more festive. I had eaten it before, but not for a long time, as our family tends to make apple crisps more than apple pies. The thought of eating it again was thrilling.
The making of the crust and the apple filling went smoothly. The crust formed fine, the apples were incredibly fresh and quickly filled up the dish. But the problems arose with the crumble.
After mixing up all the dry ingredients, we realized that we were out of butter. And the recipe called for a stick of it. So, in typical Horak fashion, my mom and I turned our kitchen upside-down to see if we could possibly find some more hidden somewhere where we couldn't see it, to no avail. Instead of letting this ruin our pie, we improvised, and added maple syrup to the crumble to make it congeal together. My mom and I sprinkled it on top, and hoped for the best.
We put the pie in the oven with nervous anticipation, and waited for it to cook with bated breath. As the oven timer counted down, we counted down too, to the moment of truth, of whether we had destroyed the pie and brought shame to Grandma Kelly's recipe, or if the project would be deemed a success. At last the time came, and we all sat around the table and took the first bite of Grandma Kelly's famous pie.
IT WAS DELICIOUS. Just as I had remembered, the balance of the apples, crust, and crumble was perfectly in balance. The improvised crumble worked out fine- yes, using butter probably would have been better, but our version worked just fine. Overall, the pie was a success, and will for sure be incorporated into our cycle of fall treats to make on a regular basis.
From the generations-old pie recipe, to the decades old tradition of apple picking, fall to me represents memories and family experiences. Fall food should reflect these feelings of love and connectedness, and this pie certainly does that. With each bite, I am taken back to the orchard at Skytop, but also to my great-grandmother's kitchen, and the homey comfort that comes with eating something made from love. So the next time you eat an apple pie, think of Grandma Kelly, and the countless other grandmothers who have labored over a pie to serve to their families, and be reminded of the loving warmth that fall brings to all.