Sometimes I wish I could take my favourite memories, experiences, feelings and just bottle them up. I’d visit them whenever I want, like a pensieve of sorts (forever a Harry Potter fan). One of the wonderful recollections I’d include in this fantasy bottle of mine would be Christmas morning in Ohio. Every year I’d wake up to the heady, sharp, and tangible smell of cinnamon mixed with the aroma of bubbling apples. Outside, the ground would be covered in an endless sea of delicate white, and some of our neighbours’ lights would still be on in the wee hours of dawn. On some of these days every year, we would try to bake an apple pie. I say try, because most of the time it turned out to be a hilariously epic failure, albeit a delicious one. We never could get the pastry right! So instead, we’d scoop out the apples and eat it like a crumble. At some point we stopped making apple pies altogether.
I started this blog last December, to celebrate my love of food and cooking. Ever since then I’ve tried to recreate some of the food I already love, and experiment with recipes that I’ve never tried before. This apple pie is one of many such concoctions. The poor thing is a bit deflated because I didn’t use as many apples as I should have, and looks a bit unseemly in my photographs, but I LOVED IT!! Even disasters can produce sweet little successes, and this one’s mine.