I did it all for the apples

I've still got... ummm... at least fifteen pounds of apples. Fresh, juicy, orchard-ripe apples. We'd demolished the Labor Day apple crisp at the barbeque, so I decided to make another one.

I swear to you, I finished filling the dish and got it into the oven, and the bag of apples was just as full as it had been before I started. Freaky. If I were a better person, I'd see this as my opportunity to feed the starving masses. But I'm not, and so mostly I see it as me having way more apples than necessary.

The recipe I used tonight was a new variation, using crushed ginger snaps in lieu of flour in the topping. Oh. My. Good. Ness. I kept picking bits off the top while I let it cool for all of about thirty seconds. Then I dished myself a generous bowlful and realized--horror of horrors--I was out of vanilla ice cream.

Hot apple crisp. No vanilla ice cream. Jesus wept.

What's that they say? Desperation is the mother of ingenuity? (Yes, I know that's not it. Shut UP.) I grabbed the half-gallon of chocolate/vanilla patchwork and carefully dug out a few vanilla squares. What other choice did I have?

And then... bliss. Sweet bliss. Later, as I licked my bowl (hell yes I licked the bowl) I contemplated the possibility that I don't even like apples. It's possible. If I could make an entire pie plate of that crumbly, buttery, gingery topping without experiencing guilt and/or heart disease, that's what I'd be doing. But you put that magic stuff on a mound of apples and--voila!--it's practically healthy. I can work my way through a few apples for absolution.

Do you think the kids will believe me if I tell them it's yucky? Oh, wait. Better yet! I'll tell them it's delicious and good for them. That's perfect. They'll never want any, then!