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Photo by Daina Savage |
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Photo by Matt Lindler |
Apple butter makes sweet memories
Nothing captures the essence of autumn quite like the taste of apple butter. Dark and spicy, with a rich, buttery texture, this concentrated, caramelized condiment is imbued with the best flavors of the season. Slathered on fresh bread, pancakes or even as a topping for pork, this simple fruity spread evokes images of the laden orchards and glowing fires necessary to its production.
As a child, our annual family outing to Camp Minnetoska near Oakland, Md., was a weekend celebration of community as neighbors and friends gathered to concoct this marvelous creation. Organized by matriarch Hannah Sincell, whose family orchard in nearby Romney, W.Va., provided brimming bushel baskets of ripe apples, the event called for full, lively participation of all hands. Even the littlest among us would find twigs for the fire, while the elders would regale us with stories to pass the time.
Armed with paring knives, mothers and fathers would peel ribbons of blushing skins, which spiraled and snaked to the floor in intertwining nests. Like little birds, we would beg, open-mouthed, for slices, then run off again to rustle and wrestle in piles of leaves and pelt each other with acorns, the taste of tannin and apple mingling in the air about us. As our cheeks grew rosier, the piles of apple slices overflowed buckets and bowls, ready for cooking.
In our eyes, Macbeth's witches had nothing on the mysterious ministrations over the steaming copper cauldron as water, then the cored and peeled apples were added, stirred with a long-handled wooden ladle that looked curiously like an oversized hoe.
Stirring to avoid scorching was a constant chore, handed off in shifts as the hours passed. The fire was stoked, careful to keep the wood from touching the bottom of the kettle. Families brought covered dishes to share while the apples cooked down, the enticing fragrance mingling with the wood ash in a heady aroma.
As night fell, the stirring of the simmering brew continued, silent shadows moving in the light of the glowing embers. Near midnight, a good 12 hours after cooking started, the first tastings would begin, with Hannah giving the final say as to how much sugar should be added. After another two hours, it was time to add the potent drops of oil of cloves and oil of cinnamon to taste. Another half-hour for the spices to mingle, and the mixture was ready to ladle into an assortment of canning jars. Then, in the wee hours of the morning, the best job of all — soaking up the last remnants with Hannah's homemade bread, the warm apple butter melting into the slices.
Camp Minnetoska only resides in memories, but the tradition lives on in many communities through regional festivals, fall fundraisers and educational living history programs at museums and parks. Here participants can take a turn at stirring the pot, tasting the results and taking home samples to savor.
For me, now living in the Amish country of Lancaster County, Pa., homemade apple butter is plentiful at farm stands and local markets. It is these Pennsylvania Germans who are credited with originally bringing the tradition of apple butter to this country. The slow cooking process and addition of spices aid in preserving the harvest longer than simply canning applesauce.
The Jacob Fisher family of Strasburg, Pa., uses more than 68 varieties of heirloom apples from their White Oak Nursery orchard to make cider, which they mix with slices of 20 Ounce, Razor's Russet and Golden Delicious apples to create their apple butter.
Their recipe uses 40 gallons of cider, reduced by half or more. Then adding 41⁄2 bushels or 16 gallons of apples, peeled and sliced. Depending on sweetness of the varieties, no sugar may be needed to sweeten the concoction. Add two tablespoons of cinnamon and one tablespoon of allspice and cook until thick.
For those who don't own a 40-gallon copper kettle or don't want to spend a full day cooking over a fire, a passable facsimile can be created with an electric slow cooker. Applesauce seasoned to taste with cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice and cloves can be reduced for at least 12 hours. (Be sure to leave the lid slightly ajar to allow steam to escape.) You'll achieve a dark, spicy spread, but nothing can replace the joy of the process and the company of generations of good friends. — Daina Savage
