WE SPRING FORWARD early again this year, changing the clocks pre-dawn on Sunday, meaning officially that every day after that is a hop and a skip toward spring. But I don’t wait so well. Margaret, Zen to the point of annoying, waits well in her tidy house. Me, I pace, butting heads with any impediment, strewing the flotsam and jetsam of my confronting behavior in a churning wake as I go. Strangely (or not), we have one thing in common in this season: the food we spoon into ourselves as we wait.
The Roach sisters have never met a comfort food we don’t love, and even though Margaret, a vegetarian, and me, a bloody-steak-loving-omnivore, eat as differently as might winter and spring, when it comes to the nourishment of comfort/the comfort of nourishment, we converge. In fact, it’s not unusual to find we have the same thing in bowls in front of us on the same day. The difference is when we made it.
Last week I made applesauce. Heretical, I know, since we are supposed to eat in season. But I am the cricket if, as I suggested in a recent post, we can all be divided by popular-culture icons (in that case she is Kanga and I am Tigger). She, of course, is the ant, in my alternate Aesop-frame of mind, making all her winter/spring/summer-eating applesauce, appropriately, in fall. And it lasts. I could make 150,000 gallons in fall and it would not last until Halloween. My tomato sauce lasts only until then, and last year I grew 28 tomato plants. Yes, I know, I know. Don’t lecture me. I have an older sister for that.
Are you a cricket? Then you need my help restocking your crock. With TSP Sister Paige’s posts on Sisters in the Kitchen, we’ve grabbed that old Crock-Pot from the back of the pantry shelf, renamed it the slow-cooker, plugged it in, and are following these three easy steps.
That is unless you are an ant, at which point all you have to do is enjoy the fruit of your previous labors.
• Quarter and remove seeds from 10 organic apples
• Add ¼ cup water
• Cook on high for 3-4 hours
Enjoy.
No related posts.
First time here? Here's the idea: 
{ 7 comments… read them below or add one }
I am eating applesauce (pink, because I, like you, leave the skins on) as I write this comment. Big surprise, huh?
I make mine in two spaghetti pots at a time, side by side on the stovetop, at least one day a week each fall. I try to put up enough for the year, maybe 40 containers (ditto my system with tomato sauce; same two pots, same quantity, a day a week, week after week).
I think of these colorful pink and red bricks in my freezers as my applesauce and my love-apple sauce (love apples being an old term for tomatoes) and I remember writing about them not so long ago here.
Your adoring and “annoyingly Zen” sister,
Margaret
Yum — applesauce — as springy as it is fally. Sounds heavenly. I bought a tray of a dozen gorgeous red pears at Sam’s Club last week and am still waiting for them to get ripe. I wonder if “pear sauce” in the crockpot would work? Anyone ever tried that? Otherwise, I’m going for pear crisp or maybe a pear tart.
I make it both ways, depending on whether I’m in the mood to tend the pot. From now on, I’ll say “Am I in Marion Mood or an Annoyingly Zen Margaret Mood?” :)
Big Difference — we leave the skin on, too, but we always add a little cinnamon.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. See that, Margaret? Someone else is getting a kick out of our differences! Who’dda thought it possible? I love that, Elizabeth, though if you are in Marion Mood/Mode, do behave like a redhead, please. http://thesisterproject.com/roach/newly-reds-and-those-born-so/
Hi, Christine: I have not yet cooked pears like that. I love pears and think it will be divine. Let us know. Now, I am all about tarts. Just love making them. Do you have a favorite recipe you can send along?
Marion — finally! I’m getting back to you with a tart recipe (2 actually).
I did use up several of the red pears in a tart and it was lovely. I just used a recipe from the Web (criteria: the easiest one I could find) and ended up wishing I had simplified it even further. When I make it again, here’s all I’ll do, assuming the pears are nice and ripe, as mine were:
* 1 pie crust
* 5 or 6 pears (any variety), quartered, cored, peeled, and sliced
* 1/3 cup sugar
* 1 TBSP lemon juice
* Couple handfuls of sliced almonds (optional)
1. Preheat oven to 400.
2. Line 10-inch tart pan with crust. (I used a bigger pan, and 6 pears instead of 5.)
3. In a large bowl, toss pear slices with the sugar and lemon juice. Add almonds, if using. Arrange slices on crust (in concentric rings or orderly rows for a fancier look, or just dumped in for a rustic look).
3. Bake 10 minutes at 400. Reduce heat to 350 and bake about 30 minutes more. Crust should be brown and pears tender.
I also make this peach tart quite often in the summer. It’s a recipe from Real Simple magazine…
Rustic Peach Tart
* 1/2 cup flour, plus more for work surface
* 1/2 tsp ground ginger
* 1/4 tsp ground nutmeg
* 3/4 cup plus 2 TBSP sugar
* 8 peaches, sliced (peeled if desired)
* 1 pie crust (recipe calls for refrigerated; I use my own)
1. Heat oven to 425.
2. In a large bowl, combine the flour, ginger, nutmeg, and 3/4 cup of the sugar. Add the peaches and toss.
3. On a lightly floured surface, roll the dough into a 12-inch circle. Transfer to a baking sheet lined with aluminum foil.
4. Arrange the peaches in the center of the dough. Fold the outer edge of the dough over the peaches, allowing it to fall into pleats, leaving the center of the tart uncovered.
5. Lightly brush the dough with water and sprinkle with the remaining sugar.
6. Bake until golden, 15 to 20 minutes. Reduce oven to 350 and bake until the juices bubble and thicken, about 30 minutes more. Let cool for at least 20 minutes before slicing.
Oooooooh, Christine. These are divine. Perhaps my very favorite edible in the world is cooked peach. It mght be. I grate a little fresh ginger into my peach pies and whammo, zingo! you get yourself a whole new experience in the mouth.
I am trying the pear tart this weekend. Thanks for sharing.
Here at TSP we are gearing up to do some serious recipe swapping from our families’ collected recipe card files. So keep your eyes peeled — as well as your potatoes, of course.