Yesterday, Morgan and I headed to the farmers market to pick up two more boxes of apples. This is due to my apple addiction at this time of year, and also because I sold all my apple butter and I had wanted to keep some by for myself and for gifts. I need more apples! Before they’re all gone! It’s apple season, and soon the cheap, fresh, local apples will be no more.
I knew I would go home and spend some quality time with my Squeezo, so I was contemplating what easy thing I could fix for supper. I told Morgan we’d stop by the grocery store, too, and asked her what she wanted to eat. Something simple. Cereal? (Ha.) She said, “I can cook, you know.”
REALLY?! I asked her what her name was and how she got into my car. And what she’d done with Morgan. Then, afraid she’d whip that gift away from me, I asked her what she wanted me to get at the store so she could fix supper.
She was very, very hesitant to give me her ingredients list.
“You’ll post the recipe on your blog,” she said.
Aha! This WAS Morgan! She knows me so well! I’m a recipe-sharer. I believe recipes are made to be shared. I even share recipes of things I sell, like whiskey-raisin apple butter. How have I raised a recipe-hoarder?
I told her I could not post a recipe from a list of ingredients. Well, after I saw her fix it, I could, but I am restraining myself.
When we got home, my apples made love with my Squeezo and Morgan fixed supper.
She didn’t even like me taking pictures while she was creating.
She was sure I was deducing her recipe!
Which I was, but I will not post it out of respect for the fact that she made supper for me. And now that I know she can….. (She fixed beef soft tacos and deep-fried stuffed jalapenos! It was delicious.)
I came back to the house around the time she’d finished up, my apples sauced out back in the studio, and I was met with a cloud of smoke in the house. Morgan was standing there with a fire alarm in her hand that she’d torn down off the wall, looking sheepish. I’m quite well known for setting the fire alarms off myself when cooking, for which I’ve taken a lot of derision for over the years from my so-called children.
Morgan opened her mouth to start explaining, and I stopped her.
“NOW YOU UNDERSTAND!”