Putting Up the Last of the Apples: A Slow Oven Applesauce

The apple tree in the back corner of our property is old and half-wild. It drops fruit all through September and into October, and by the end of the season there are more apples on the ground than any one family can eat out of hand. Those are the ones I gather for sauce. They are small, often bruised, sometimes a little wormy, and they make the best applesauce I have ever tasted.

I do not peel them. I do not core them carefully. I cut them in quarters, cut out the worst of the damage, and throw them in a heavy pot with a splash of water and a squeeze of lemon. That is the whole recipe. The skins and cores give the sauce a deep pink color and a flavor that is more complex than anything you get from a jar at the store.

Slow and Low on the Stovetop

Put the pot over low heat and let it go. Stir it every ten minutes or so. After about forty-five minutes, the apples will have collapsed into a soft, fragrant mush. If you want a smooth sauce, run it through a food mill, which will catch the skins and seeds. If you want it chunky, just mash it with a potato masher and pick out the seeds by hand. I usually do the food mill because it is faster and I like the texture.

At this point you can sweeten it if you want. I usually add a tablespoon or two of honey, and sometimes a pinch of cinnamon or a few cloves. But if the apples are good, you do not need much. Taste it first. A lot of apples are sweeter than people expect, and once you add sugar you cannot take it out.

To put it up, ladle the hot sauce into clean jars, leaving a half-inch of headspace, and process them in a water bath for twenty minutes. They will keep for a year on the shelf. If you are not into canning, it also freezes beautifully in quart containers, and it will last a week or two in the fridge.

A Jar of October in February

There is something deeply satisfying about opening a jar of this sauce in the middle of winter, when the tree outside is bare and the ground is frozen. The color is still that soft pink. The smell is still October. I eat it on toast, stirred into yogurt, or straight from the jar with a spoon while I am standing at the counter. It is not fancy. It is just the season, saved.