By Halloween. Noah is fifteen and too old for trick-or-treating and too young for parties, which puts him in the liminal space of the mid-teen Halloween — sitting on the porch handing out candy, playing saxophone between groups of kids, the coolest candy distributor in the neighborhood. Emma went as Ruth Bader Ginsburg. The robe. The collar. The dissent face. The costume was both topical and aspirational, and she delivered it with the conviction of a girl who has read RBG's opinions and agrees with most of them and disagrees with some of them and will tell you exactly which ones and why.
Jack went as a sunflower. Not a farmer this year — a sunflower. The costume was Emma's design: cardboard petals painted yellow, a green stem wrapped around his body, his face the center of the flower. He said, "I'm growing toward the light." He's ten in two weeks. He's being metaphorical about phototropism. I love him so much it physically hurts.
I made caramel apples — the annual production, homemade caramel, Honeycrisp apples on sticks. The sugar bubbled and browned and I stirred it with the focus of a woman handling molten lava that tastes like autumn. Kevin ate two. Noah ate one. Emma photographed hers before eating it. Jack asked if we could grow sugar cane for next year's caramel. I said Iowa doesn't grow sugar cane. He said, "Not yet." The optimism. The agricultural optimism. The belief that any crop can grow anywhere if you want it badly enough. He gets it from Roger. He gets it from Marlene. He gets it from the family tree whose roots go down four hundred acres and whose branches are still growing.
The caramel apples were gone by nine o’clock — every last one — and I stood in the kitchen with the copper-bottomed pot still sticky and the smell of brown sugar still hanging in the air like a second guest at the party. Jack’s question about growing sugar cane stayed with me, and I thought: here’s a recipe that trusts the fruit to do most of the work. Pear applesauce is what I make the morning after Halloween, when the costumes are draped over chairs and the candy is being inventoried by people who have strong opinions about their candy, and I want something that smells like the season without requiring a candy thermometer and the focus of a woman handling molten lava.
Pear Applesauce
Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 30 minutes | Total Time: 45 minutes | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 4 medium apples (such as Honeycrisp or Gala), peeled, cored, and chopped
- 3 medium ripe pears, peeled, cored, and chopped
- 1/2 cup apple cider or apple juice
- 2 tablespoons brown sugar, or to taste
- 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
- 1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
- 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
- Pinch of salt
Instructions
- Combine the fruit. Place the chopped apples and pears in a large heavy-bottomed saucepan. Add the apple cider, brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, lemon juice, and salt. Stir to combine.
- Cook down. Bring the mixture to a boil over medium-high heat, then reduce heat to medium-low. Cover and simmer, stirring occasionally, for 25–30 minutes, until the fruit is completely tender and breaking down.
- Mash or blend. Remove from heat. For a chunky texture, mash with a potato masher until you reach your preferred consistency. For a smoother sauce, use an immersion blender or transfer in batches to a blender and puree to your liking.
- Taste and adjust. Taste the applesauce and add more brown sugar, cinnamon, or lemon juice as needed. The sweetness will depend on how ripe your fruit is.
- Serve or store. Serve warm, at room temperature, or chilled. Store in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to one week, or freeze for up to three months.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 112 | Protein: 1g | Fat: 0g | Carbs: 29g | Fiber: 4g | Sodium: 28mg