Big Mac

I moved to California about 12 years ago from Western New York, where despite really cold winters and late, unpredictable springs, they grow all kinds of wonderful fruit. Strawberry season is only two weeks of heaven in the middle of June. Cherries have a little longer season but it, too, is fleeting.

Apples, however, enjoy a much more prolonged and delightful season in and around Rochester, NY, stretching from the first Macintoshes of the late summer on into the fall and winter with the varieties that keep better than Macs do.

I love Macs the best. In twenty years of living in WNY, I eagerly anticipated the first fresh, crisp, tart-sweet Macs. They make the best cider, they make the best applesauce and they make the very best eating apples, as long as you snag them early in the season. But, they don't seem to grow in California - or at least I rarely see them here.

So, you can imagine my delight when last week I found shiny, red-accented-with-apple-green beauties and immediately recognized them as Macs! I bought four, even though My Beloved is away on a business trip, and paired them with sharp cheddar for dinner three nights in a row. On the first night, I pigged out and ate two.

I don't miss much about WNY other than my friends who still live there - California has lovely fruits and far more sunshine - but on the rare occasion when I find Macs, I am reminded of one of the simple joys of life by the Great Lakes.