By October. The month where Milwaukee transforms into the version of itself that postcards show — leaves blazing red and gold, the lakefront glowing in amber light, everyone wearing flannel and pretending they didn't spend June through August complaining about the heat. I love this city in October. I love every city in October. But I love Milwaukee most.
The sour beer is ready. Eight months in the barrel. I pulled a full sample and the head brewer and I tasted it together in the cold room. It's tart — really tart — with a lemony brightness and a dry finish that lingers. There's a funkiness that comes from the wild yeast, like bread dough left out too long, but in a good way. The head brewer tasted it and was quiet for about ten seconds, which is his version of applause. Then he said, "Let's bottle it." We're bottling the sour. My sour. My weird, risky, possibly-vinegar experiment that turned out to be something real. I am unreasonably proud.
Megan and I carved pumpkins on the kitchen floor because we don't have a porch. She carved a cat. I carved a pumpkin that was supposed to be a ghost but looked like a potato. She took a photo and posted it on her teacher Instagram with the caption "Guess which one the adult made." Her students guessed correctly. I am humbled.
Made pumpkin soup — real pumpkin, not the stuff from a can. You roast a sugar pumpkin, scoop out the flesh, blend it with sauteed onion, garlic, and chicken stock, add cream and nutmeg and a pinch of cayenne. It's silky, sweet, savory, and the color of sunset. Babcia never made pumpkin soup. This is entirely mine. But I serve it in her bowl, because tradition doesn't mean repeating the past. It means carrying the past forward into something new.
When you’ve spent eight months waiting on a barrel of sour beer and it finally comes through, you want to keep that momentum going. The soup was already simmering in Babcia’s bowl, the apartment smelled like roasted pumpkin and nutmeg, and Megan was still laughing about my potato-ghost. What the evening needed was something warm in a mug—something that matched the season and the mood. Cherry cider. Tart enough to echo the sour, sweet enough to stand on its own, and the kind of thing that makes your whole kitchen smell like October is exactly where you’re supposed to be.
Cherry Cider
Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 25 minutes | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 4 cups apple cider
- 2 cups tart cherry juice
- 1/4 cup honey
- 2 cinnamon sticks
- 4 whole cloves
- 3 whole allspice berries
- 1 strip orange peel (about 3 inches)
- 1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
- Fresh apple slices, for garnish
Instructions
- Combine the liquids. Pour the apple cider and tart cherry juice into a medium saucepan over medium heat.
- Add the spices. Stir in the honey, then add the cinnamon sticks, cloves, allspice berries, orange peel, and nutmeg.
- Heat gently. Bring the mixture to a low simmer—do not boil. Let it simmer for 15 to 20 minutes so the spices infuse fully.
- Strain and serve. Remove from heat. Strain out the whole spices and orange peel using a fine-mesh sieve. Ladle into mugs and garnish with fresh apple slices.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 140 | Protein: 0g | Fat: 0g | Carbs: 35g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 15mg