The Process of Apples

There's something incredible about participating in a process.  I think so much of the current food movement is a direct reaction against the segmentation of our ground to wagons to factories to packages to grocery stores to fridge to stove to tummy fragmentation.  As are most movements, someone has seen that this segmented chain of events leaves a disconnect that is discomforting.  From where and how many hands and how has it scatter across your brain, but because we've been trained to trust the chain as it's the only thing we've known, those thoughts scamper away as quickly as they've come.

Today is a tribute to the process.  I confess that living in the midst of an urban landscape there is little green space for me to process often.  Sometimes I wake early enough to run over to my farmer's market on a Saturday to chat a bit with my chicken farmer about his baby that was born this summer and return emptied egg cartons and pick up steak, chicken and eggs.  And sometimes, I participate in the chain because I don't have the drive to give energy or time to the process.  Today is a string of pictures about a process.  If you haven't been a part of the whole process lately, give it a try.  Apples are in season and just about an hour away from our bricked in world.

Crisp, uber sweet Gala apples piled atop grainy begging to be baked Jonathans from Jollay Orchards in Coloma, MI.  And let's get one thing straight:  I am not so delusional to believe that in this conquest and cooking of fine, shiny, healthy apples that I am participating in even upwards of 10 percent of the process.  I readily admit that I have exchanged money for the right to come and reap the benefits that others have sown.  And the only appropriate response to this is genuine gratefulness for the farmers that have spent seasons amongst those trees.  From their hands to my fridge drawers.

First use:  Smitten Kitchen's breakfast granola apple crisp made extra good by Penzey's spice. If you cook at all and are feeling adventurous (or have a foodie to gift to for Christmas this year), cruise through Penzey's website.  The 4-jar Indian curry gift set given as a maid of honor gift 3 years ago has lead to many a lovely Indian dinner and my cinnamon improves and knock's the socks off of my McCormick shiz...

Confession: it was so delightful, I forgot to snap a final shot. Had it for breakfast for a week solid and never grew tired of it.  In fact, I've run out of oats and probably should run to the store now to make a fresh dish.  After all, tonight is not the night to run to the fields, sow, dry and flatten my oats.