Windfall Apples

Confession: for the past two days I have been embracing my inner domestic goddess, I cannot tell a lie.

It may have been the crisp autumnal air, the glorious shades of copper, russet and gold all around, the euphoria of two new comments on my blog, one accompanied by a recipe for damson gin (recipes warmly welcomed, keep them coming!), or perhaps that my copy writing has been a bit slow of late. It was probably all of this and the fact that I could simply no longer ignore the carpet of windfall apples on our cattleman’s lawn that has been catching my eye (and conscience) every day for the past two weeks when returning from my morning walk with the dogs.

So on Monday afternoon, I rapped on his door and asked permission to harvest the apples, not admitting I’d already been pinching those I could reach from across the wall that divides our apple tree-less garden from his. And what a harvest! There were dinky Golden Nobles, grass green globes blushed with pink, knobbly lime Catsheads, yellow skinned Greensleeves, and the most beautiful rosy Blenheim Orange apples. I set about dividing them up – the reds and pinks for jelly; the rest for stewed apples and chutney.

Normally I just make chutney, but as the farmer didn’t get round to making raspberry or strawberry jam this year (see What kind of farmer’s wife can’t make jam?), I thought I’d try my hand at jelly, recalling the fragrant peach-hued stuff of my childhood. And this, I can report, is my new favourite preserve; no tedious peeling or coring, simply bung the fruit into a big pan, barely cover with water and simmer till soft and pulpy before straining the juice through a jelly bag overnight. Except that the next morning I was dismayed to see that my juice was a cloudy pink instead of clear...

A bit despondent, I measured the liquid into my pan and added the sugar (450g per 600ml), heated to dissolve then brought to a fast boil, large spoon at the ready to skim the scum. Ten minutes and a bowlful of froth later, I was ecstatic to see that the jelly had cleared to a brilliant glossy red topaz. It had even set perfectly!

So happy was I with this culinary triumph that I was, in hindsight, a bit blasé about my chutney. By the time I’d got through the triathalon of peeling, coring and chopping 3 kilos of apples, 2 of pumpkin and 1 ½ of onions, taking almost 3 hours, I couldn’t wait to abandon my pan for the recommended 2-3 hours cooking time. And it was all going swimmingly until I detected a sharp whiff of that all too familiar caramelised tang... Yes, once again, I had burned the bottom of the pan (I couldn't make this stuff up!). Fortunately because it was such a huge batch and I didn’t stir it, I was able to salvage all but the charred bottom layer.

By the time the farmer came in last night then, there were 8 jars of jewel-bright apple jelly on the counter, 5 tubs of stewed apples (ready to freeze) and 15 pots of pumpkin and apple chutney. ‘Look at you, good farmer’s wife!’ he enthused. Then I showed him the pan. ‘Oh,’ he said.