My wife and I were grocery shopping the other day, and on kind of a whim, I bought about a half a gallon of fresh squeezed cider. Not the frozen concentrate, not the stuff that’s so clear it looks like it’s already gone through you once. This was the real stuff, and I wanted it because – oh – here, hold the bottle and just come with me into my time machine… Let’s go back about 40 years or so to when I was a kid…
My dad was off at college to get a degree for his second career while we were trying to live off his military pension. Mom was using ductape and paperclips trying to make ends meet, and doing her best to keep us from being worried, or even aware of how little money there really was.
So we had our own little special things that didn’t cost much.
Among the many things we couldn’t afford was soda – or pop – whatever you call it in the part of the country you’re from.
So we did something else.
We made it ourselves.
We had apple trees, and we had my grampa’s cider press, and we put the two together and made apple cider, just as the last of the apples were falling.
There was a special time, several weeks after the cider had been made, when it started to ferment a bit, and get fizzy. Understand, we kept it outside. It was just cold enough to keep it from fermenting too fast, but not so cold as to preserve it perfectly. If you haven’t had this treat, you’re clearly missing something – it’s something they try to sell in stores – you can buy “hard cider” just about anywhere now, but what made this special was that time in the fermentation process where the sugars were just starting to turn to alcohol. There was a mixture of the still-present, but fading sweetness, that was a being replaced by the zing of the bubbles and alcohol that you simply can’t get from a store. It’s a transitional state… Not too sweet, not too… Hard, I guess. And that was the perfect time to have it. Usually about the second half of November through the first half of December was when it was best…
That’s when I especially looked forward to Friday night… Pizza night.
Pizza wasn’t delivered out where we lived, so we made our own. Made the dough from the USDA donated flour we got because we were too poor to afford any. You could smell the yeasty warmth of the dough rising throughout the afternoon. We grated the cheese from the USDA commodities donated cheese we got. We put the homemade pizza dough in a flat rectangular baking pan. I never understood people not eating pizza crust, for us, the corner pieces were fought over.
So that time at the end of fall and beginning of winter, that was when, if the cider wasn’t frozen from being outside, it would be cold as I brought the bottle in, then fizz as I opened it, sometimes fizzing and leaving little chunks of ice all at the same time, and we pretended we were like the rich people who could afford soda.
What I didn’t know then was that it beat anything you can get in a bottle or a can today. We’d squeezed it ourselves, from apples we’d grown, and it had aged either on the back porch or out in the pump house, which was always pretty cool anyway.
It was a family meal, at the dinner table, and it was special.
When the last of the hot pizza was gone, washed down by the last of that bottle of ice cold cider, I leaned back, trying to decide which felt better… the savory pizza still warm in my belly, or the last bits of sweet coolness from the cider fading in my mouth.
And it got me thinking – standing there in the grocery store, with a rather expensive bottle of apple cider in my left hand, something just clicked. Growing up, we often forgot how poor we were financially, because we were so rich everywhere else.
Happy Thanksgiving, folks…
6 comments
Comments feed for this article
November 26, 2014 at 9:57 pm
Mary Hinely
Wonderful post Tom. Appreciating what you have at any given moment can be overlooked so easily. Some perfectly fermented apple cider sounds really good right now. Happy holidays to you and your family!
LikeLike
November 26, 2014 at 10:28 pm
tomroush
Thank you Mary! It’s one of the things that I’ve come to slowly realize over the years – that nothing is permanent – and the smallest things can have the biggest meaning…
Take care – and have a wonderful, stress-free thanksgiving!
LikeLike
November 27, 2014 at 9:49 am
way0utwest
Happy Thanksgiving, Tom, and hope you enjoy this day, as well as all the memories of times past.
Always a pleasure to see you and glad I did in 2014.
LikeLike
November 27, 2014 at 10:15 am
tomroush
Thank you Steve, very much. I’m glad we were able to see each other and chat a bit. I wish you and yours the same for your Thanksgiving, may it be joyful, peaceful, and full of turkey, stuffing, and pie. 🙂
LikeLike
November 27, 2016 at 2:16 am
Nancy Hazen
Hey Tom – I don’t know if you remember the big ancient apple trees in my parents front yard, but we pressed the most delicious apple cider in bumper crop years (those autumns when my father braced the branches up with 2x4s to prevent the weight of the harvest from breaking them). We froze gallons of cider and chipped away at the frozen sweetness to have the most incredible slushies, and we also just drank it. I’ll never forget being in the garage with my Mom one summer day when we found a dusty old glass jug on a shelf in the back of the carport. My Mom took one taste and said, “Apple Jack!” then handed me the jug for a taste. Pretty sure I was in 9th or 10th grade. All I can say is, “Wowza!”
LikeLike
November 27, 2016 at 3:07 am
tomroush
Can’t say I remember your folk’s place. But yeah. But yeah, you’ve pretty much got it nailed. :-). Fun memories.
LikeLike