Cause your ass just got neglected.
Not quite, though. Between Durangoing out to Ithaca, being sick as all giddyup and general work related delay, you wouldn’t have wanted the quality of contribution I would have been able to muster up until this point.
It really is, both geologically speaking and as a pun, gorgeous. As a town, its either got a serious personality crisis or its unwilling to be defined. You can only get there from highways- no freeway access at all- and Highways 206, 79 and 96B are all beset by farms, deserted farmhouses and trees that put the UTU back in autumn.
Applefest is currently in full swing and features more apples than you can shake a stick at. Cortlands, Macouns, Snows, Winesaps and Fujis. Apples sold by the peck, pound, doughnut, glass of cider and slice of pie. Feel the Rush.
I won’t describe the event in too much detail as I neglected to bring my camera and thus, there is no documentation to say I was actually there. However, my bank account and brother will vouch for it.
However undocumented it was, it was the food highlight of my year. My brother and his wife live an idyllic life while she studies nutrition at Cornell. They cook constantly and eat meals on their back porch that overlooks a gorge. Its not often that I’m jealous of someone to the point of actively trying to hijack their beautiful life, but I briefly considered pulling an upper decker (not linked, look it up, its gross) just to take them down a notch.
I took my apples back, sliced ’em up real pretty and made individual serving banana bread apple crisp upside down cake things. It was weird, something I have come to expect of any attempt I make at baking, just ask The Bistro. If I wasn’t accidentally subbing powdered sugar for flour I was making weird fucking pies. Just like Tony is a Bad Adult I’m an awful baker.
For that reason, no recipe for you right now. One of Satan’s Hounds ate the rest of my banana bread off the counter today, Saran Wrap and all. Here are the culprits.
Worst. Dogs. Ever.
Tomorrow I have plans to try once more my hand at individual serving breakfast cakes with apples. If that doesn’t work, you’re getting a recipe for fried egg sandwiches. Damned if I do, fat if I don’t.
Let the beats drop like frosh panties after acapella night.
As the dogsitter said on her note letting me know that one of the dogs ate their own poop, “GO SOX.”