Don’t let that last post fool you.  I wrote most of it weeks ago, before my life changed.  Before Dad died.

In real time, I’m much more melancholy, as you might expect.  I vacillate between emotional devastation and numbing denial.  In fact, since the funeral, I’ve mostly been an automaton. A zombie. A shell of my usual self.

Apparently my mind wants no part of this whole grieving process, because I can’t string together a coherent thought for all the tea in China.  Call me, my brain said, when it’s over.  I can’t handle anymore.  I’ll be in Bora Bora.

The other day, I went into our guest bathroom without having any business there and randomly washed my hands.  Holding the towel, I asked my mirrored reflection why I had done so.  She didn’t have an answer.

Another time, while getting dressed, I packed a dopp kit for no reason.  Every item I used, I packed.  Shampoo, conditioner, comb, razor, toothbrush. All that.  When I was done, I zipped it up and carried it across the house.

The next morning, I couldn’t find anything.  I didn’t remember that I’d packed it all.  Matt saw my confusion and asked what was the matter.  I can’t find anything, I said, distressed.

“What anythings?”

My deodorant.  My face lotion.  My stuff.

His face softened.  He knew.

“I saw you packing it all yesterday.  I didn’t want to question you.”

I walked out to the garage, where the dopp kit was sitting, alone, in my car.  No suitcase. No clothes.  No real memory of putting it there.

Maybe my brain convinced the rest of me to make a run for Bora Bora.  Who knows.

Automaton.

Zombie.

That dopp kit thing happened two weeks ago.  Now…. now I don’t quite know what to do with myself.  I’m back at work, and everything is pretty much the same.  Except that nothing is the same, and it never will be again.

My good friend Jamie sent me a text.  It read: Paradise in the everyday.  You know that.

I knew, but I hadn’t been seeing it.  I didn’t have to look far.

 

“Mommy?”

Yes?

“I love you.”

Aw, I love you too, Sugar.

“I love you moah.”

Well, I love you all the way to the moon.

“And back.”

Paradise.  Every day.

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I liked how the combination looked on Eileen's pretty blue plate.

I’ve never been less interested in eating and more interested in cooking than I have been lately.  I wouldn’t have guessed that.  Honestly, it’s a little weird.

When Mom died, my primary concern was Dad.  What did he need?  How would we manage?  How could I help?  Cooking was not on my radar at all.

I didn’t think anything of it then, but that seems like a luxury now, to have him to be concerned about.

This time, it’s different.  Maybe cooking is a predictable, known thing for me in this strange post-parental world I now dwell in.  Maybe cooking connects me to the memories.  Maybe I don’t know what else to do with myself.

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Mom adored homemade ice cream.  Dad loved apple pie. 

Me, I can’t seem to leave well enough alone.  My favorite dish is the one I haven’t tried to make yet.

So it seemed natural to make a an apple galette instead of a perfectly good pie, and add booze to some perfectly wonderful ice cream.  What resulted seemed to me to represent the three of us on a plate. 

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A galette is essentially a free-form pie, without the pesky dish.  The flavor profile is very simple — just butter, sugar, and cinnamon — and the proportions of crust to filling much closer to 1:1 than with pie.  In my world, that’s a good thing.

Apple Galette

Adapted from Joy of Cooking

Pastry dough for 1 pie crust
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
4 tablespoons sugar, divided
2 large firm apples (I prefer Granny Smith), peeled, cored, and sliced very thinly
1/8 teaspoon ground cinnamon

Position a rack in the lower third of the oven.  Preheat the oven to 425 F.

On a sheet of parchment paper, roll the crust out into a 12-inch round.  Brush the crust with a thin layer of melted butter, and reserve the rest.  Sprinkle the crust with one tablespoon of the sugar.

Transfer the paper with the dough to a baking sheet.  Layer the apples on the crust, leaving at least a 1-inch border around the edges.  If you’re feeling fancy, arrange the apples in a pretty overlapping designs; if you’re not, just kind of toss them in there.  Fold the dough border up over the apples, again making it as pretty as you please.

Combine the remaining three tablespoons of sugar with the cinnamon.  Drizzle all but about 2 teaspoons of the remaining butter over the apples, then sprinkle with the cinnamon-sugar mixture.

Bake at 425 F until the pastry begins to brown, about 20 minutes.  Reduce the oven temperature to 350 F and bake until the pastry is crisped and golden brown, about another 20-30 minutes.

Remove from the oven to a rack.  Brush the apples with the remaining butter, and let cool.  Serve warm or at room temperature.

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The alcohol in this boozy ice cream keeps the texture very soft — it’s a perfect accompaniment to the slew of upcoming holiday desserts.  The addition of nutmeg gives it the flavor of egg nog; dial the amount up or down (or leave it out) to suit your tastes. You could also vary the spirits to mix things up a bit.

Rum-Brandy Ice Cream

I stashed some in my in-law's freezer.

Adapted from Williams-Sonoma’s Thanksgiving

2 1/2 cups half-and-half
1 1/2 cups heavy cream
4 egg yolks
2/3 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 tablespoons dark rum
2 tablespoons brandy

In a heavy-bottom saucepan, combine the half-and-half and cream. Cook over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally, until tiny bubbles start to form around the edges and the mixture reaches a temperature of 170 F.

Meanwhile, whisk the egg yolks until smooth. Add the sugar and nutmeg and whisk vigorously until the mixture is thick and pale yellow. When the cream mixture reaches 170 F, slowly pour it into the egg yolk mixture while whisking continuously.

Return the combined mixture to the pan over low heat. Continue to cook, stirring constantly, until the mixture is thick enough to coat the back of a wooden spoon and reaches a temperature of 185 F. Do not bring the mixture to a boil.

Pour the mixture into a clean bowl and cool to room temperature. Stir in the vanilla. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap, pressing it directly onto the surface of the custard to prevent a skin from forming. Refrigerate overnight, or for a minimum of 2 hours.

Freeze in an ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions until softly frozen. Add the rum and brandy and continue to churn until the ice cream freezes further. (Again, it will probably not freeze solid and remain very soft.) Transfer to an airtight storage container, cover, and freeze overnight before serving.