Not much that I can think of, which is why I’m canning a batch of it now. There’s enough to can another partial batch, but H. and I looked into that pot and inhaled that delicious fragrance, and I mentioned something about a crisp or cobbler. H. promptly went off to get some vanilla ice cream. So, that’s that!
Many of the apples I picked yesterday were not in the best of shape–I had to compost quite a few of them. But I put in a call to another friend who has better ones, and I’ll go pick up some of those once this batch of goodness is out of the canner and cooling on the table.
And the boozy fruit reminds me of a great old song from the temperance movement:
We never eat fruit cake because it has rum
And one little taste turns a man to a bum
Oh, can you imagine a sorrier sight
Than a man eating fruit cake until he gets tight
We never eat cookies because they have yeast
And one little bite turns a man to a beast
Oh, can you imagine a sadder disgrace
Than a man in the gutter with crumbs on his face
[“Away With Rum.” Full lyrics here.]