Opening post by Lady Wynafryd Hornwood · #1
When the stores run low, I bake Silverbrook apples. I core them with the small knife I keep for kitchen work, pack the hollows with oats and a little butter, then set them beside the coals. The smell brings back the riverbank, though memory is poor company at supper.
I burned the first batch by trusting the hearth to behave while I fetched water. The skins split, and the oats turned black at the edges. I scraped away what I could; hunger is not improved by pretending ash is seasoning.
If you have only a few apples, bake them whole and save the pan drippings for bread. I add one thing before they go in, but I will not share its measure. A cook should keep something back, especially when the pantry is bare.