It starts as a low-volume chime. As the seconds pass, the
beeping becomes higher pitched, louder, and more obtrusive. Roused from sleep,
I lean over, half blindly groping for my phone to dismiss the alarm. “Time to make
the donuts…” my girlfriend whispers in my ear, kissing me good morning. That’s funny,
because unlike me, she doesn’t wake up hungry.
The other day, we attended a party bringing a mulled cider. We
juice the apples ourselves, autumn’s bounty still filling my fruit bowl. Auburn
liquid removed, the catch basin of my juicer was filled with the pulp of what
until recently where red, green, and yellow orbs of crunchy goodness. To many,
this is trash, to some, compost, to others, dog food, to me, another
ingredient.
Moist mash plopped into the mixing bowl with a wet splat. An
egg provided moisture and with flour, became a binder, oatmeal for body and
heartiness, a pinch of salt to heighten the flavor, and just a splash of milk
to bring the dough together. The evenly spread mixture transformed from dough
to confection under the 350⁰ heat coils of my toaster oven. A tiny
slice popped into my mouth, the oatmeal had toasted nicely, but without the
juice, the apple flavor wasn’t as pronounced. Cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, brown
sugar, these spices are typically used with apple concoctions, but with the
seasonal fare, my palate is growing weary of that combination. A remembrance of
The Big E brought inspiration. A layer of apple butter provided the intense
fruit flavor, while thin slices of reserve cheddar brought sharpness, salt, and
creamy tastes. Back under the broiler, the cheese melted and toasted, sealing
the spread adding another flavor of blistered nuttiness.
Wrapped in foil, my “NutriGraham” bar slid into her backpack,
another culinary token of my affection.
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