We had an amazing dinner last weekend that got me dreaming about apples. Our friends L. and Tex invited us to dinner at L.'s family home in Stone Mountain. The home over looks a lake, but the real sight was the kitchen island where L. and her dad were slicing apples to caramelize for a pork loin.
Dinner came quickly-- sauteed kale with pan-seared tenderloin and caramelized apples, and amedley of root vegetables. Since Chris had been in Chicago, this was our first non-restaurant meal in a few days and it was good. Dessert reminded me -- in taste at least -- of the birthday cake I made for Chris some time ago. Lots of chocolate, mousse filling, and ganache. Heavenly.
Unfortunately, I came down with a cold that very evening and for the next few days it was chicken soup from wherever Chris could procure it (my favorite was Poncho's.) While I was sick, Chris finished the grout work in the bath with Al and installed our toilet -- a funny thing with two buttons for flushing.
This weekend, we head to Big Canoe for a wedding. More importantly, and perhaps selfishly, we will also be celebrating our first anniversary of knowing each other. As I told him, all other options were off the moment I met him.
Which brings me back to apples. On our first date Chris cooked for me. I wanted to contribute something to the dinner, so I surprised him by bringing an apple pie that I made just a few hours before I headed to his house. Initially, I drove to my friend's house in Atlanta from Spartanburg, SC, with a cooler full of cut up apples and fresh pie dough. A few hours later, I arrived with my pie in a red plate and heart full of hope.