Fall

Who can imagine fall without apples? I can't. Apples are probably this season's most popular and favorite fruit. Just before the leaves start turning apples come into season. Though some varieties can even be harvested in mid-summer, the most popular ones, especially those for baking and cooking, are available in fall. As far back as I can remember, apples have always played a part in my childhood. Every fall my family would go apple picking and cider tasting. We still do. I still buy a jug of apple cider and a bushel of apples every single time. Each year always seems to bring better and better apples, farm apples being the best. They are worlds apart from supermarket apples, which are picked months in advance. Nothing beats biting into a freshly picked apple.

My favorite apple varieties are the ones that balance tart and sweet, such as Jonathan, which has beautiful striated red and green coloring. I try to follow the maxim: "an apple a day keeps the doctor away." It's actually quite true, apples contain many antioxidants, which may prevent the onset of cancer and other diseases. Besides eating them out of hand, everyone knows and loves the all-American dessert, apple pie. No holiday in the fall and winter can possibly go on without it. I bake quite a few every autumn. I'm always looking to perfect my pie-making skills and find that right combination of apples to produce the optimal texture. Baking a homemade apple pie is worth the effort; it's just one of those essential American pastimes.

I fell in love on February 1, 2009. Two days later we got into our first and only fight. About root vegetables, specifically yams.

Before I continue I should say that I consider myself well versed in the subject. For six months in high school, I refused to eat anything but yams for dinner. Baked yams with butter. Baked yams with bananas. Yam fries. Boiled yams. Mashed yams. My mom could have thought my behavior toddler-esque the kind of thing my three-year-old cousin does “I no eat green things.” But my mom doesn’t know how to cook. So for her, my phase turned out to be pretty convenient. Poke some holes in it. Pop it in the oven. Forty minutes later, kid’s fed.

I grew out of the yam craze around the time I started making out with younger boys and failing AP Calculus exams. I have no idea if the two are related.

The point is. Yams and I have a history.

Cut to five years later.

I love making big batches of soup on the weekend. I store some of it in the refrigerator, and the rest I freeze in quart containers for when I need a quick lunch or dinner. I also prefer using homemade chicken stock, which I also keep in the freezer.

Whenever I have a rotisserie chicken from the market, I throw whatever is left in a pot with an onion, celery, some peppercorns and cover with 3 or 4 quarts of water and boil for an hour or two to create a rich and flavorful stock. 

This traditional Italian soup is one of my favorites – it uses mostly basic ingredients, but is so delicious. The flavors intensify as it sits, so it’s even better the next day.

Years ago, when “Color Me Beautiful” was all the rage, I “had my colors done.” I turned out to be an “Autumn,” which didn’t surprise me in the least - in every possible way, from my reddish hair to the deepest reaches of my soul, I am a fall girl. This morning as I walked the dogs I felt that first snap of cold in the air, and saw leaves on the sidewalk, rendered terrestrial by two days of heavy rains. They were an indescribable scarlet, surrendering their lives in a blaze of color that jumped up from the dull, gray concrete and made me smile. It’s coming.

I know that there are people who adore summer, and who bitterly mourn the end of heat, light, blooming flowers and lazy days by the pool. I try to understand that, but my own yearning is for the end of that indolence and warmth. As the air grows cooler, the days shorten, and the leaves turn from endless green to an assortment of reds and golds, I feel a surge of energy and possibility. School starts, sweaters come out of storage, and there is a pencil-scented air of fresh starts. I will no longer feel vaguely sticky and frizzy all the time, and I can put away the light, bright clothes that seemed so fresh at the end of May, and now seem limp and exhausted. It is time for cashmere and long sleeves, flannel and layers in the richest browns, deepest greens and bravest shots of orange.