apple cider donuts
making something out of nothing during the florida fall
when i was very, very little, my family and i lived on a 10 acre farm. it wasn't a farm, really, we didn't grow anything other than weeds, not even the littlest of basil plants or flowers, but we called it that — The 10 Acre Farm on lemon bluff road.
the land was in an unincorporated part of Volusia County called Osteen, where there was a diner, a brand new boot supply store and a pizza place called Scorpio's — among other things, i'm sure, but these are the places i remember the most. they built a big new Walmart months before i moved away, where i would spend afternoons in the toy aisle staring at the dolls modeled after characters in Spanish-language TV shows.
i loved my elementary school there, which was very worn down from age. the school system, however, finished building a new one when i was in the second grade, and i began my third year in shiny new classrooms. that's when i started reading Goosebumps and going to Girl Scout meetings. i loved them both.
i often joke about what i would have become if i stayed in Osteen, which is as country as country gets (or as country as Volusia County can get, rather). though some have left, many of the kids i grew up with in elementary school have stayed there all their lives. some of them have children. some work in the gas stations and diners we'd drive by every day as kids. some have dipped into heavy drugs, as it goes in Volusia.
there's nothing wrong with this (aside from the drugs, maybe), but it's a wildly different life than the one i lead now. i asked my mom last week if she ever has these types of thoughts — that her life would've completely different if she went down a different path or made a different choice or did this or that — and she said no. i thought that was funny. i never realized that not everyone thinks this way.
what would have i become if i stayed in Osteen? or remained in the private school i attended for one year in kindergarten, or the Seminole County school i attended for one year in first grade? continued with dance classes instead of Girl Scouts, or continued with Girl Scouts instead of drama?
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so — Osteen. living in that funny little farm house that wasn't a farm house.
there was an existing house on the land when we first moved there. it was small. it had a modest kitchen, a den, a dining room with a useless fireplace (why do builders in florida insist on adding fireplaces to homes? our home in debary has one, too) and three bedrooms — one for my dad, my grandparents and i.
i have very few memories of the house before we changed it. all of them are passing snapshots: listening to a promotional Drake and Josh CD rom in my grandparents' bedroom, mimicking a raunchy dance move i saw on Desperate Housewives while bouncing on my bed, playing in a tan sandbox in the backyard with a friend. i remember gagging on eggs one of my dad's partners made for me one morning, shucking corn with my grandmother in the sink, watching treehouse of horror on cable. there, i felt so safe, warm and loved.
when i was in first grade, my dad built another house on the property. it was an extension of the existing house, really. my grandparents would live in the old house and my dad and i would live in the other.
the ceilings were high. we had a big living room and den and a kitchen with dark red walls and chrome appliances. i had my own room and a bathroom with counters that were lowered for my then-height, though spent nights sleeping in my grandparents' part of the house because i had severe separation anxiety. my dad had a huge room, too, and a bathroom i could only describe as Tuscan Chic. my memories from this time also come in snapshots, like the spongebob squarepants pizza parties i'd have with my dad every friday night.
there are lots of unknowns about this time period. i don't know what motivated my dad to buy that tract of land after living in the suburbs of new jersey, marietta and seminole county. perhaps the allure of isolation or taking up space (there's a line in Sharp Objects where the narrator says her parents were motivated to buy their land by the sole fact that land is never not going to be a good investment — "they're not going to make anymore of it!"). i don't know how my dad paid for these renovations, either.
here's the thing about growing up — you start to put 2 and 2 together. answers to questions you've had for years come to you out of the blue. you realize that coincidental things weren't coincidental.
we moved during the summer before fourth grade to a brand new city: vero beach. i remember our first house fondly, too, with its vintage pink and blue tile bathrooms, ugly dark wood kitchen and bay window that would sunstain my toys.
my dad stayed behind in the frankensteinian house for reasons i'm sure i know deep down but have long brushed off as something else. he would join us in vero beach eventually, and soon thereafter we moved again. this time, it was to debary, just 10 miles east of our little farm.
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when i'm stressed out, i often think about leaving the city altogether, buying a derelict property out in deep north georgia and spending my days fixing it up. i'm not sure what i'd do for a living. teaching, perhaps, or — say we're still in a dream scenario and bills magically do not have to be paid — developing recipes. i'd love to convert an old fuel station into a weird restaurant concept akin to whatever erin french has going on at the lost kitchen (if you build it, then they will come).
or take an old barn, outfit with a refurbished AGA and spend my familial wealth (again, dream situation) raising chickens and cows and sending them off to be slaughtered to feed the greater good. you know, Christina's World.
it's funny to think that all my life i've been yearning to live and work in a city, and when i finally get there, i spend my time daydreaming about being out in the country. maybe this is why my dad bought that land in Osteen. i wonder what would've happened if we kept it.
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back to the farm: during the last few months of the year, i remember wishing and wishing that our fall season looked more like those in the movies (Halloweentown and Hocus Pocus). instead of cool temperatures and amber and gold foliage, we had humidity and yellowing flatland. thanksgiving and halloween always felt so disingenuous because the fictional scene was never set. why are we eating turkey and biscuits when it's still 89 degrees outside?
(so whenever the trees start to change in georgia i react like i've never seen such beauty before; i swear to never leave or move further into the city, closer to the densest parts of Midtown or Buckhead where the trees are all early and replanted; i remember why i love living here in the first place, even if i get homesick and contemplate why i left florida once a week.)
we did spruce up our house in Osteen for the season, however. i distinctly remember wrapping stuffed scarecrows around the white columns on either side of our front door with wire, and the rusty residue they'd leave behind. it reminded me of the rust that chains on the playground swings would leave on my palms.
another snapshot-like memory i have from living in that house was putting together my own makeshift apple bobbing station. i saw it in a movie and it looked like so much fun. i didn't have a bucket or barrel, so i filled a shallow mixing bowl with ice cold water and threw in a red apple. but the temperature was unbearable and my teeth were spaced out and i couldn't pick up one apple.
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all ovals two-day apple cider
i had apple cider for the first time when i was 10 or 11. i had just gone on a hayride in jacksonville, north carolina and was sniffling and sneezing from hay fever. i don't remember enjoying it much. things have changed.
DAY 1: begin at 5 or 6 p.m. the day before you intend to make the donuts (or further out, as the cider will keep well because of the sugar). chop a variety of 10 apples — i used honeycrisp, ginger gold, gala and granny smith — into quarters and throw them into a crockpot. add a peeled and quartered orange, 1 teaspoon of ground clove, 3-4 cinnamon sticks and 1/4 cup granulated sugar. fill with water until the fruit is submerged. cook on high for 3-4 hours. (you can also do this in a dutch oven, but gas is expensive as ever and i'm trying to do as much electrical cooking as i can, given that my landlord pays for electric — mwah). strain fruit twice: once through a normal strainer and the second in a fine mesh strainer. leave in fridge until you are ready to use it.
(if the cider is too watery, that is A-OK. it happened to me, too. in this case, bring it to a boil and let it reduce to your desired concentration)
DAY 2: donut time! the only special equipment you'll need is a donut pan. i bought an $11 Nordic nonstick pan from Target, though i saw one at goodwill on the same day for $7, which in hindsight is an insane price for a used pan.
adapted from this NYT Cooking recipe:
ingredients:
all purpose flour, 225g (or 1 3/4 cup)
baking powder, 1 1/4 tsp
salt^1, 3/4 tsp
cinnamon, 1 tsp
unsalted butter, 140g (10 tbsp); at room temperature
light brown sugar, 150g (just under 3/4 cup)
white sugar, 50g
eggs, 2 large; at room temperature
vanilla extract, 1 tsp
apple cider, 1/2 cup
steps:
preheat oven to 350 degrees.
in a mixing bowl, combine the AP flour, baking powder, salt and cinnamon. set aside.
in a separate bowl, cream together the room temperature butter and two sugars until combined. add in eggs one at a time and mix until thoroughly combined. stream in vanilla extract.
add in the dry ingredients. i did this in two batches.
add in apple cider while the mixer is running. it will be runny — it's more like muffin batter than the dough made for fried muffins.
grease pan with butter (i used a nonstick pan, but still greased it for good measure). divide batter among the rings — it's best to use a piping bag (or plastic bag with a whole cut out) to do this. bake for 12-15 minutes, but watch carefully, as the bottoms will crisp very quickly.
remove from the oven. in a separate bowl, melt together 2 tbsp of butter (or more, if needed). in another bowl, mix together two parts white sugar and one part cinnamon. when each donut is cool enough to handle, cover the lighter top with butter and roll in the cinnamon sugar.
notes:
^1 — i used standard bulk fine pink himalayan salt from the dekalb farmers market. nothing special — i don't really buy into the diamond-crystal-is-the-only-way-to-go drivel.
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other stuff:
books: speaking of apples, i have been engrossed in The Orchard by kristina gorcheva-newberry. i frankly do not care enough to analyze the book as a statement for or against socialism (in the same way that i’ll happy read through We The Living without feeling swayed by the very disagreeable Ayn Rand’s equally disagreeable take on communism — hey, i’m here for the fiction) — i’ll read anything set in the USSR during the cold war.
i also finished jennette mccurdy’s book (thanks for letting me borrow your copy, jenn) just like everyone else. she is an excellent writer — way beyond the standard we set for celebrity memoirs, which leans more toward pity than anything. her pain is palpable, particularly when she begins talking about her years struggling with bulimia. i recommend this one if you can snag it from the library.
as for food-related reads: i’m enjoying thanksgiving and christmas-related recipes from a 1973 issue of Southern Living that i picked up at an antique shop (where every photo looks like it’s set in the universe of Ang Lee’s The Ice Storm). when did american culture stray away from placing so much value on hosting dinner parties? every goodwill you go to has at least two sets of crystal punch bowls held together by saran wrap. still flipping through maira kalman's Cake and trying to figure out what to bake from it. eagerly waiting the next issue of Cook Casual to arrive in the mail (erin alderson’s now-defunct naturallyella blog was one of my gateways to cooking when i called myself a vegetarian).
music: chet baker, who occupies the same room in my mind as pete doherty and brad renfro. who let ethan hawke play him in a biopic?
oh, and TV: bake-off is back! last season is why i got into baking in the first place. the challenge of making a replica of their homes with cake was right up my alley. fun stuff
finally: thanks for subscribing! i can’t promise how frequent these will come out, but we’ll see how it goes.