Ran a tentative mile & a half treadmill at the gym this morning. The television's
cable there still seems down (it was interrupted just before I left), a situation
which must gratefully thin out the users of the little aerobic room.
A wonderful fragrance fills the flat, as I'm baking that most American of
pastries, an Apple Pie. Every so often I find it therapeutic to make one.
The crust comes from Pillsbury <1>,
but I do every thing else. I used four Pippins, three Grannies Smith, and
a James Beard recipe which adds just sugar and butter - he even eschews
cinnamon, in fact all spices:
Others think differently. There's a cinnamon contingent (who are so apt to overdo the cinnamon <2>), the nutmeg contingent, and the clove contingent. I think all of these spices ruin the flavor completely and add nothing. I've even known people who get carried away and put in three or four spices, which to my mind is an abomination. Nothing can be better than the pure and simple taste of butter, sugar, and apples - provided they are good apples...(It's actually an essay from an airline magazine.)
My pie has come out of the oven, now - its upper crust a golden brown, and lumpy, like the hills of California.
Later, it was off to "Orchard Supply" (the local hardware store chain) for a replacement
appliance cord. My little electric "Faberware" grill's old one made a loud and terminal
arc, just as I finished up some shrimp last time. I had some chicken marinating, and the
yakitori I made with the new cord tasted fine. I finished it, all four ten-inch skewers;
but the pie will last for days.