I warn you before you read this post that the accompanying picture is weak at best. I am including it because it seems as if a blog post without a picture these days is like a movie that goes straight to DVD: nobody bothers. The thing about movies that go straight to DVD is that the production company KNOWS that’s going to happen, so they choose the route of not even attempting to garner interest from theater-goers. I’m going the opposite route here by attempting to draw you in with the promise of a picture of delicious food. Which I will provide. Quality not guaranteed.
In the meantime, I also made another apple pie. This one had extra EXTRA crumbly cheese topping. And was mildly photogenic:
Homemade crust. Works every time.
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I have been busy. Busy with school, busy with lab, busy baking and cooking and taking pictures of food and then being disappointed with the picture or forgetting to upload them or failing to record recipes.
But mostly… I’ve been watching sports. I’m sorry. It sounds silly, but hey, the Detroit Tigers and the Michigan Wolverines are important parts of my life! Especially because I spend a lot of time watching those games with people who like to eat food. Hence, a long absence.
Anyway, you don’t care about that. You care about food, otherwise why the hell would you be here? So I am here to tell you a story about apples. An entire bushel of apples, as it turns out, meaning this is part one of a series of posts of things I’ve baked. But to start, we need to explore what apples mean during the fall in Michigan:
This is what every cider mill in Southeast Michigan looks like from mid September to early November. Except sometimes it’s raining.
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