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Apple Butter Ginger Hand Pies

Rolling out dough for hand pies

A Trip to the Orchard

“Look, Samuel, I mean to make a garden of my land. Remember my name is Adam. So far I’ve no Eden, let alone been driven out.” It’s the best reason I ever heard for making a garden, “ Samuel exclaimed. He chuckled. “Where will the orchard be?” Adam said, “I won’t plant apples. That would be looking for accidents.” “What does Eve say to that? She has a say, remember. And Eves delight in apples.”

East of Eden, John Steinbeck

Inspiration

Autumn arrived. We felt it ease into our days. The bright late afternoon sun gave way to crisp nights and mornings. By the first week in November, the Indian summer was gone. A longing for apples, pumpkins, pears, and all manner of things warm and comforting replaced our sandals and juicy ripe tomatoes. Hazy thoughts of apple pie came into focus. Childhood memories of trips to the orchards of Pajaro Valley mingled with the remembered scent of ripe apples and the warmth of cinnamon. As a young child a bushel of apples seemed daunting to me. I knew I would be standing on a stool and peeling, until the box was empty! READ MORE . . .

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Apple Strudel

Freshly baked apple strudel

Makes 2 strudels—This is the easy version!

About

This recipe is recalled from fond childhood memories of living in Austria when I very young. The strudel is not too sweet. It’s lovely with coffee or tea. The combination of the crisp buttered crust with walnuts and bread crumbs between the thin layers of dough paired with an apple filling evokes memories of this delicate European pastry. My mother learned to make strudel while we lived in Austria, from our landlords who became lifelong family friends. I was three years old. By the time I was four, we had moved to Italy and I had 2 new brothers, twins! I can still picture my mother clearing the entire wooden table, flouring a clean tablecloth and then with buttered hands slowly stretching the dough until it hung over the sides of the table. She used her fingertips and the palms of her hands to gently transform the dough. I was not allowed to help! I was amazed! I had never seen such large piece of translucent dough. With great patience my mother worked. “Was it ready?” I would ask. “No not yet.” She would tell me. She would instruct me to watch her hands work the dough until we could clearly see the pattern of the tablecloth underneath and the dough hung over the sides of the table. Like magic, she would roll up the very long dough, now filled with apples, by lifting the floured tablecloth. I was always in awe.

“Lee brought the gray enameled coffeepot to the table and filled the cups and sat down. He warmed the palm of his hand against the rounded side of his cup.”

East of Eden, John Steinbeck READ MORE . . .