Dreaming of Apple Butter and other October Things!
#CountdowntoHalloween
Every year, I eagerly await the arrival of autumn, with its enchanting abundance that beckons me back into the kitchen. While I enjoy the light meals of summer, it’s the slow simmer of autumn stews, the sweet perfume of apple butter, and the warmth of a long braise that truly nourish my soul. This year’s Indian summer, though touched with rain, has brought a handful of bonfires, an abundance of crisp apples, clambakes, and plenty of fresh cider to enjoy. Now that I’ve felt the season’s first chill kiss my cheeks, my thoughts turn to Cidre’—that irresistibly magical French hard cider my son and nephew adore, as well as the slowly baked Apple Tarte Tatin that emerges from the oven, glistening with butter and dripping with salted caramel.
Back when I still lived at Windesphere, my son Alex and I would go apple picking at a nearby farm, spending sun-soaked days among the trees, collecting fragrant Concord grapes and filling our baskets with more apples than we could ever eat. One autumn, we decided to try our hand at making Cidre’. When Jim came home to find two bubbling carboys perched on the kitchen sink, Alex proudly declared, “It’s an organic chemistry experiment, Dad… we’re making Cidre’!” Though he gave me a skeptical look, Jim was soon drawn into the delicious alchemy. We labeled the bottles with my ‘Windesphere Witch’ seal, gifting them to friends throughout the year. It was that same year we tried our hand at winemaking, stirring up laughter, magic, and a little mischief—a true lesson in the joy of learning something new.
This year, I think I’ll also make some apple cordial—just a bit of old-world enchantment bottled for winter’s chill. All it takes are fresh apples, peeled and cored, soaked in spiced rum with a vanilla bean, cinnamon sticks, raisins, and a touch of molasses. Let it sit for a month, then decant into pretty bottles, and you have a potion fit for holiday merriment. Sip it by a cozy fire, perhaps with a purring feline companion nearby—pure magic.
Today, I’m ready to dive into my annual ritual of making apple butter with bourbon, and as many jars of chutney as I can conjure. The process is simple, yet deeply rewarding. If you’ve never made apple butter, you must try. In its most traditional form, it’s made in a great copper cauldron over a bonfire, just as they do every year at the Apple Butter Festival in Burton, Ohio. We used to wake Alex before dawn to stir the pot, adding crates of apples, cider, cinnamon, butter, and sugar until the whole mixture shimmered like gold. Bees buzzed thick in the sweet air, drawn to the scent of magic brewing. Occasionally, I’d buy a jar containing a stray bee—a sign, I always thought, of good fortune and a charmed year ahead.
These days, without a bonfire to call my own, I make do with a copper pot on the stove, which still fills the house with the spellbinding fragrance of autumn. For the extra bit of smoky depth that a fire imparts, I add a touch of organic liquid smoke at the end, along with a generous pour of bourbon. If you prefer, you can also use a slow cooker, though it won’t quite yield the same creamy texture as when you patiently stir the mixture yourself, imbuing it with your intentions and happy thoughts.
Into my slow cooker I put about 14 sliced but unpeeled apples, a cup of maple syrup, a cup of apple cider and a cup of really good bourbon. Then I added no less than 4 teaspoons of cinnamon, several teaspoons of cracked star anise, 1 teaspoon of allspice, 3 bay leaves, half a stick of butter and some organic liquid smoke. I turn the slow cooker on for 10 hours on low heat and leave it, only lifting the lid every couple of hours to stir it.
Making apple butter this way ensures that the house is filled with the most incredible fragrance of fall. Towards the end I add a bit more smoke, a large pat of organic butter and then removed the bay leaves. I ladle it into clean mason jars and process them in a water bath for about 30 minutes. I love to enjoy this apple butter with fresh scones out of the oven, a fine wedge of vegan cheddar cheese and maybe a chilled mug of fine hard cider!
The art of making apple chutney follows a similar path, though here I add raisins, lemons, walnuts, and onions, sometimes a sprig of sage from the garden, or a splash of brandy. If you make chutney, because the ph level is different you will need to pressure canned it, or just do what I do, freeze it! Serve it with roasted chicken, fresh bread, and sharp white cheddar. And don’t forget a good ale; it’s the perfect companion for these autumnal delights.
Promise me this—take time to savor the harvest, even if your stillroom is a tiny apartment kitchen. These foods are meant to be slow, creative, and joyfully made. Let them become part of your seasonal rituals, the kind of magic that sustains us through the long winter nights.