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Friday, November 28, 2014

Thanksgiving Apple Pie

Almaty (Alma Ata) Market

My daughter and I made an apple pie for the T-day, and we found it a little surprising.
Being used to store pies with lots and lots of sugar and tapioca stucco filling so firm that one could bed down on it, it was much, much more subtle.

She finally came up with the apt description: it was aromatic.
There was something about the apples - five MacIntosh and 2 Granny Smith - that was very much like those elusive bouquets that one hears so much about from wine lovers.

The MacIntosh apples had some indefinable aromatic, that struck me as evanescent lavander - a fugitive perfume that underlay the Life of Apples, that came to be in that original fruit-filled Eden that rose in Alma Ata, between the mountains and between the rivers.

It was like an answer to a prayer, for it was one way we converse with the world, by the hardly grasped aromatic concepts of taste and smell. They have those "long waves lengths" that make palaver last a billion years.


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