Allergy Free (For me) Holiday Tradition

Well, it will be if I keep making it.

My mom told me  few years ago that her mother made cinnamon rolls every Christmas. That year, I made sure we had some, though I couldn't remember them at any Christmas before. Perhaps I just missed the significance. This year, with the recent diet restrictions, I wanted something similar. Something sinful and sweet to eat in the afterglow of ripped wrapping paper and new toys.

My father's love of apple pie is no secret, and gave me the idea for this year's Christmas day treat. He helped me make it, which was great. I finely chopped pecans and mixed with honey while he peeled, cored and thinly sliced five granny smith apples. I sprinkled the pecans on the bottom of an oven safe casserole dish. We piled the apple slices on top. In a skillet I melted a stick of butter substitute, three tablespoons of brown rice flour and a cup of raw sugar. I boiled it, then let it simmer as we finished the preparations, then poured this goop over the apples, sprinkled with remaining pecans, and threw it (not literally) in a 425 degree oven for fifteen minutes, then reduced the heat to 350 for another 50 minutes.

It was pretty good. I think next time I will try it with less flour- try for a more syrupy consistency, rather than the cake batter we had.

For those of you without allergies, here is the original recipe.

I must have lost my touch

I realized recently that I lost one of my most important skill sets: effectively swimming through hoards of apparently mindless tourists. Most people have little need for such a skill set. They are lucky.

My least favorite place to be in all the world is front street, in Avalon, around noon, in August (It's a little weird that I'm writing this as if it is for people who don't know what I'm talking about, when I know exactly who is going to read it, but whatever). Families of six and seven dig trenches into the beach, and there are just so many people going in every direction without any sense of destination.

As summer winds up, I do my best to avoid this situation. Leisurely walks downtown cease, I find myself taking side streets to avoid the congested areas, and most importantly, I just stay inside. A few years ago, when I eventually found myself faced with the crowded crescent avenue, I would dive in, expertly dart and dodge around strollers, wandering children, and stalled girls in tube tops and obscenely large sunglasses staring into store fronts with blank stares on their faces. I would bump shoulders just hard enough to not loose my place on the sidewalk, and most importantly, keep up a good pace and maintain my status as a moving target.

In contrast, it is July of a slow summer, and if I find myself rusty, moving slowly through the river of visitors. I have this acute fear that I'm going to wake up one morning (or return from Rollercon in Vegas) and realize it is August, it is busy, oh god there are so many people, and my mind is just going to melt. Everything will cease to matter, my priorities will fade away, and I will be an utter failure at transporting myself anywhere.

Hello Summer