(no subject)
One of the first things I learned to do when it came to cooking was peeling, coring, and slicing apples. My mother would make what seemed like dozens of apple pies in the fall. She froze most of them for around the holidays.
It means there's something rhythmic and comforting about the process. Peeling in one long spiral. The repetition of the slicing. I don't need to think about these things. My hands just do them.
I didn't make pie tonight. I didn't feel like making crust. Instead I made a small apple crisp. With two pies already tomorrow, that's more than plenty. But the feel of the apple and knife in my hands, and the smell of baking apples? Yah, that smells like home.
Happy Thanksgiving all.
This entry was originally posted at http://dulcinbradbury.dreamwidth.org/1129987.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
It means there's something rhythmic and comforting about the process. Peeling in one long spiral. The repetition of the slicing. I don't need to think about these things. My hands just do them.
I didn't make pie tonight. I didn't feel like making crust. Instead I made a small apple crisp. With two pies already tomorrow, that's more than plenty. But the feel of the apple and knife in my hands, and the smell of baking apples? Yah, that smells like home.
Happy Thanksgiving all.
This entry was originally posted at http://dulcinbradbury.dreamwidth.org/1129987.html. Please comment there using OpenID.