crisp

My parents live in what was, 100 years ago, an apple orchard tended to by old-timey prisoners. The neighborhood is still home to some of the old trees, which has been good for my father's decades-long quest for the perfect apple cobbler. Good, too, for Mac, who helps with the picking, and the horses, who score the scraps. Mom has planted more trees, too, so now you can have your pick of the varieties.

Dad says Near Food isn't half as good as what he's begun calling Among Food. We took the apples from tree to freezer in under an hour.

















Also made on Sunday, my soon-to-be-famous parsley pesto:



and our first attempt at escabeche: