For some folks the signs of fall include football season, a return to school and trees shedding their leaves. For me, fall is red hot applesauce.
As long as I can remember I have visions of my grandma’s knobby fingers cutting, peeling and dicing apples with her silver-handled paring knife. She would hunch over the kitchen sink in the farmhouse, flanked by large boxes of freshly-picked apples until a large pot was filled to just the right amount. She would add some water from a tall glass and a scoop of sugar as the apples cooked down on the stove. While the sweet-smelling mixture brewed on the stove, she would return to the sink and start peeling and cutting for the next batch.
The stewing pots needed occasional stirring, mashing and sometimes additional water from the tall glass depending on the juiciness of the fruit. When the texture and consistency was “just right,” a very non-standard measurement of red hot candies was poured into the mixture. These were stirred in until the candies dissolved completely and the concoction turned a deep color of pink. The applesauce was then scooped into reasonable sized Tupperware containers to be distributed to family members or frozen for later.
Just like any family there are some picky eaters and spoiled relatives who don’t care for the red hot applesauce (probably the same people who don’t like clams in clam chowder). A separate batch or two, sans red hots, were made with a few teaspoons of ground cinnamon instead.
This process evolved over the course of the years to include microwave cooking and was adapted for the new kitchen in 2005. When my grandma passed away, my grandpa took over the task. Another contraption was added to the process after he caught wind of a kitchen gadget that would peel, core and slice the apples with the turn of a crank. His weathered, well-used hands appreciated that.
When I was teaching sixth grade and our team celebrated a “Johnny Appleseed Day,” I used this same recipe with my class of 11- and 12-year-olds. I was teaching in a portable at the time and hadn’t anticipated the microwave oven would trip the circuit breaker every few minutes. But, being a teacher is a lot like being farmer – one must be prepared for anything. Just like the cows, those kids keep showing up. Every day. You monitor and adjust until the job is done. With the help of a couple of dedicated parent volunteers, we produced about a half dozen batches that day.
Grandkids and great-grandkids alike were involved in the applesauce assembly line each fall as my grandparents aged and eventually passed away. My daughter even used this recipe for a special cookbook project in preschool.
At my grandpa’s memorial service, two of his great-grandchildren spoke. One was 7 and the other was 3 years old at the time (let me take a minute to express how grateful I was to have spoken before them rather than after – talk about a tough act to follow). They both shared memories of making applesauce with him.
My brother and sister-in-law have taken over our family headquarters where my grandma’s kitchen is located – the kitchen that was designed and built with applesauce, candy and pie-making in mind. We continue to crank out batches of that applesauce, some with red hots, some without. There are even still a few silver handled paring knives in the drawer for cutting the apples as they come off the peeler-corer-slicer.
Join me as I raise my spoon of red hot applesauce with a toast to fall. Cheers!
