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Apples are my favorite fruit. They are always in our fruit bowl, and they are automatically put onto the shopping list every week. My favorites are Golden Delicious and Gala, but I certainly don’t limit myself to just those varieties. Especially in autumn when there are so many delicious ones to try.

I do not, however, like applesauce. (Nor do I like apple juice, but that’s not the topic of this post, it’s really just an aside.)

To be absolutely fair and accurate, I must say that I do not like most applesauces. I only buy applesauce from the store when I want to bake with it. Homemade applesauces are a bit more tolerable, which makes me think it’s partially a textural thing. Homemade applesauce is (usually) not as thin and runny as commercial applesauce. I have found that I like an applesauce with chunks. And not too much sugar.

Hannah started on purees three months ago, and she very quickly demonstrated a willful desire to feed herself, in addition to what was a merely indifferent attitude towards any puree that wasn’t in a pouch. We moved her on to finger foods real quick. It didn’t really occur to me to make applesauce for her because it seemed unlikely that she would ever eat it.

Then we started giving Hannah bits of bread and found in the process that we could put purees on them and she’d eat them that way. Apples were difficult for her to bite into, but she seemed to like their flavor. Applesauce suddenly seemed like it might be a good idea.

So, three pounds of sliced apples, a little lemon juice and water, a sprinkling of cinnamon, and twenty minutes of boiling in the Dutch oven later, all it took was a little mashing to make a thick, chunky applesauce. I made it without sugar since we’re trying to limit Hannah’s intake right now. As it turned out, the Gala apples I used were sweet enough on their own. The applesauce, in all its simplicity, was perfect as it was.

It took Hannah a couple tries to warm up to it, but eventually, she decided that the texture was acceptable and the flavor more than simply acceptable. But I’ve found that she prefers to just pick up the chunks of apple on their own and eat them that way, rather than on bread. It’s been a nice way to let her eat the apples she enjoys, along with introducing her to different flavors and textures. It makes a bit of a mess, but so does just about everything she eats, so nothing out of the ordinary there.

And I like it. Because it’s chunky, it has a nice texture and holds up well with other foods. I’ve eaten it as a sandwich with some peanut butter, which was very nice indeed. Last week, I combined a cup of the applesauce with a cup of barbecue sauce and dumped it over some pork tenderloin in the crockpot. After eight hours, we had pull-apart pork that smelled divine and made for a very tasty dinner with more than enough for leftover lunches for the next couple of days.

So, with autumn on the way and the promise of an assortment of lovely, tasty apples with it, I’m already planning on making more applesauce in the near future. Which just goes to show that tastes may change over time – or else we learn how to adapt things and turn them into something that we can truly appreciate.

Except, probably not for apple juice. Cider is totally acceptable, but apple juice is just yucky.

Applesauce on a potato bread bun, ready to add some wonderful flavor to a delectable BBQ pulled-pork sandwich.

Applesauce on a potato bread bun, ready to add some wonderful flavor to a delectable BBQ pulled-pork sandwich. It was actually a lot chunkier than this, but the chunks made the sandwich awkward, so I gave them to Hannah instead. She enjoyed them immensely.


My first foodie experience was not in the kitchen. It was with a book, which is appropriate. Long before I ever became interested in food, I was interested in books, and the first time food really interested me was when I read Little House in the Big Woods. It was all so fascinating, how involved everyone was in the making of the food, how it took up such a large part of their lives. I was no more than ten years old, and food only interested me insofar as what appeared on the table at dinner. I was a child of very simple tastes, but Wilder’s descriptions of where their food came from and how it was made enthralled me.

Obviously, food has its place in fiction, but it’s more prominent in some works than in others. The “Little House” books were my first introduction to fictional food. The “Anne of Green Gables” series offered other selections, most notably the raspberry cordial that Anne is so proud to serve to her friend and turns out to be much stronger currant wine instead. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe introduced me to Turkish delight, which I, for many years, thought Lewis had made up. Tolkien gave me lembas bread. The Harry Potter series (which I admit I have not read and have no plans to read) may not have interested me with the story, but who can ignore such culinary entertainment as butterbeer and pumpkin pasties? Most recently, The Hunger Games trilogy practically made food another character, showing just how important it was to the lives of so many in the dystopian world.

And, oh, the cookbooks that abound for each of these various universes! A few weeks ago, Geordie came home with The Little House Cookbook, and a little idea grew in my head. I went searching for recipes from other stories, and they are certainly out there, in abundance. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to give some of these recipes a try.

So, here we go, a mini-feature for the blog to give me something to write about. It probably won’t be a weekly thing, but my goal is to do at least one fictional food a month.

I decided to start with Laura Ingalls herself, with something so basic that it formed a major part of the Ingalls family’s diet: cornbread. And it is a very simple recipe that can serve as a basis for so many different types of meals, savory or sweet. I made cornbread to be served with white chili for a cold winter night.

The cornbread that the Ingalls ate would have been bare bones by necessity, and the recipe reflects that. Plain yellow cornmeal (about three cups of it) and a bit of salt is mixed up with enough boiling water to make a soft dough. And that’s all there is to it. It doesn’t make for a very flavorful bread, but, as the author of the cookbook points out, even plain cornbread is better than nothing to eat at all. The dough is formed into two semi-circles, which are placed side-by-side in a greased cast iron skillet. It goes into the oven until the bread becomes dry and a bit crusty. It’s then cut into wedges and served any number of ways.


For the chili, I crumbled some cornbread into my bowl and ladled the chili over it. A good idea, because the chili ended up being thin and uninteresting on its own. The cornbread added a nice texture to it, and the corn flavor contributed to the overall flavor of the chili.

Since then, the cornbread has served nicely as my lunches. Broken up and soaked in warm milk and maple syrup, it’s a fairly decent little meal. Simple and sweet, almost like a throwback to childhood. I imagine it would be even better with buttermilk.


I also guess it would be pretty decent with some gravy, or broken up to make a stuffing for poultry. A versatile bread, a useful staple indeed. I’ve had good cornbread that could stand nicely on its own, but this works in a pinch when you need a blank canvas to match with whatever you’re intending to serve.

Personally, I think it was a nice introduction to the world of fictional food (though I suppose this is more historical than fictional, but still). I’ve got a list of foods I want to try, from any number of sources, and I’m eager to see how they go. I’m also open to suggestions!

They’re actually supposed to be something known as a Paris-Brest, a particularly special variant of a cream puff.

It all started with a bicycle race called the Paris-Brest-Paris (named after its route), which began in 1891 and is still run today, although not as an actual competition apparently. This celebratory version of a cream puff was created to commemorate the race, because everyone knows that pastry cream is exactly what you need when you’re riding a bicycle for 1200 kilometers (roughly 745 miles).

Traditionally, the Paris-Brest is a cream puff that is piped into the shape of an 8-inch ring, cut in half after baking, and filled with an almond-spiked pastry cream. It’s said that the ring shape mimics the shape of a bicycle wheel, which I suppose is true enough considering that they’re both circular. The dessert can be quite impressive to look at and undoubtedly requires some pastry-making skill.

I like to think I have some pastry-making skill and could make a Paris-Brest if I had the time and energy to do so. But, I have a two-month old baby, and time and energy are in short supply. I decided to simplify things and just make cream puffs.

I’ve made the pâte à choux before, long ago when the Doristas made the goat-cheese puffs in 2012. It’s easy to do, but – as I noted then – once started, they require full attention. Just like a baby! The pastry cream is pretty much the same type of thing, in that it demands full attention once it’s started. I made the pastry cream Wednesday evening while Geordie watched Hannah, and I was exceedingly pleased with it. It may be an involved process, but it’s a relatively short one, and one that ends with glorious results. One moment, the milk and egg and sugar mixture is all liquid and loose – the next, it’s lovely and thick and creamy. Very fine, indeed. The choux pastry I didn’t have a chance to make until today, in the afternoon. Hannah cooperated, for the most part; she woke up just as I was mixing in the eggs, cried a bit while I spooned out the puffs, and then pouted all the while they were baking. I think she’s just upset that she’s going to have to wait quite a bit before she can have one herself.

I’d pout too if I were her.


They’re not the prettiest little cream puffs ever made, but they’re delicious. I wish I’d made less of them, because I’m extremely tempted to make them my dinner. Much like the goat cheese puffs, I find these completely irresistible. The puffs are delightful enough by themselves, but the addition of the pastry cream puts them completely over the edge. Delicious doesn’t actually do them justice. They are beyond terrific. I want them all the time, except I also want to lose weight, so that’s right out.

I’ll be dreaming about these cream puffs tonight, that’s for sure. They’ll be haunting me for weeks. I can’t wait to make them again. Perhaps when Hannah is a little more autonomous. It certainly is a nice little treat I can’t wait to share with her in a few years.

To see some very lovely and proper Paris-Brest creations, check out the French Friday links. This seems to have been a popular dessert with the Doristas, no matter how the pastry came out. And no surprise!


I am a daughter and a sister, a wife and a friend. I am a reader and a writer, a dreamer and a realist, a teacher and a learner. I am the mother of a baby born sleeping. I am on a journey of healing, walking a path paved with tears and grief and hope.

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