My friend, Rachel. The goddess of Quicken. Spent hours (and hours) with me to set up Quicken in my attempt to ditch receipts and bank statements and year-end hours of organizing tax junk forever. I totally owe her.
She loves crab apple pie.
I had no idea one could do anything with a crab apple other than make it into jelly that doesn’t sound very good or squish it on the sidewalks.
I, for one, have never cooked a crab apple. Nor picked one. Nor cored one. Nor anything elsed one.
Until Rachel told me she loves crab apple pie. That was the precursor to me developing potentially incurable arthritis in my right thumb knuckle. But it was all for Rachel.
The crab apples on my tree were easily confused with marbles. I am not even going to try to core, slice or cook a marble. So, when I found the mother load of crab apples the size of golf balls, I knew I had hit the jack pot.
There were only two issues. Or three.
1. It was on the side of the street just outside the gate to a private neighborhood. Mostly the only people who drive on that road are people going to their really big homes inside that private, gated neighborhood. And their guests. I was pretty sure…no actually, I wasn’t one bit sure…if this tree was on public or private land. But decided to chance a drive by picking anyway.
2. I was in a cute summer dress and even cuter summer flats. Not your typical picking attire.
3. My sister with her days-old-baby was in the car, illegally parked across the road from the tree in the only spot of shade we could find to keep them out of the blazing sun.
Well, I thought, if it’s private, I’ll be picked and outta here before the legal authorities arrive. And, why not pick fruit in my summer dress and flats? When the mansion owner in the BMW drives by, at least he’ll think I’m not some random riff-raff invading the neighborhood. And, my sister and precious niece can survive a quick stint in the shadish type area.
So, pick I did.
That tree was naked when I left. I was not arrested. And those crabs went happily into Rachel’s pie.
After a lot of work.
I picked about 50ish. Then cut them into quarters. Then cored them.
50 golf balls x 4 quarters each = 200 wedges to core.
Now, that will explain the hour or so I sat on the deck that day.
And, it will explain the frightenly rapid onset of arthritis in that thumb joint.
(It does not however explain the frightenly lizard-like skin on my 35 year old hands. Note to self: Must use more lotion.)
And after being frozen for a couple months awaiting the perfect time to make the pie, today was the day. Rachel was here with my mom, Patty, for the bread making class, so we slipped in a special pie making edition as well. This is how it turned out.
Rachel is on the left, Patty on the right. Salivating.
I made them both smell it before I cut into it.
And, crab apple pie just might become a (once a year) staple.
My thumb can’t handle any more than that.
– The Goat Cheese Lady