Apple Brown Betty

Honestly, folks, I am not a big fan of cooked apples or pears, so why I used apple brown Betty in the book is a mystery. Maybe it was because I knew it was an old recipe containing ingredients one would have on hand in 1883.

When I was researching for a recipe, I discovered that traditionally stale bread was used which adds to the beauty of nothing going to waste. I found many recipes that used lemon or orange juice, which one would not have on hand in Gold Hill in 1883. I decided to go out on a limb and use apple cider vinegar and apple juice, or cider. I love the result! I actually like these cooked apples!

Being Celiac, I steer clear of bread, but I had to taste whatever I made to make sure it was palatable. I opted for oats and my gluten-free flour mix, which baked up crispy and buttery. If I were to experiment with this further, I might add vanilla to the apple mixture, and then dollop three tablespoons of butter pieces on the apples before topping it with the oats and flour.

I included a link with some speculation on how this dessert got its name and a recipe with cake crumbs that could be substituted with bread crumbs.

Brown Betty, Dessert or Racial Epithet? ⎮ Milk + Honey (milkandhoneythebakery.com)

Recipe

5 Pealed cored and cubed Granny Smith Apples (6 cups). Pears can be delicious for this too.

1Tablespoon Apple Cider Vinegar

2 Tablespoons Apple Juice or Apple Cider

1Teaspoon Cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon ground ginger

1/4 teaspoon nutmeg

Combine all the above into a bowl and let sit.

Topping

3/4 Cups Flour (any gluten-free flour works if desired)

3/4 Cups Rolled Oats

1/2 Cup Brown Sugar

1/2 teaspoon Cinnamon

1/2 Cup Cold Butter cut into pea-sized cubes

Combine the topping ingredients and mix until it forms a good crumble mixture. It's okay to have the chunks of butter not fully mixed with the flour and oats.

Pour apples into a greased 8x8-inch baking pan.

Press the topping mixture on top of the apples.

Bake at 375 degrees for 40-50 minutes.

Serve warm topped with whipped cream or ice cream.

Excerpt from the book.

“I wanted to tell you I saw Samantha the day of the cave-in at about one in the afternoon.  I was shopping at the General Store, where I picked up some tea and white thread to finish a quilt I’d been working on for years. Do you know how long it takes to make a quilt alone, Mr. Lefebvre?”

“I would assume a very long time, Mrs. Edith. You were saying about Miss Aikens?”

“Oh yes, Samantha. You know, there’s a quilting group in town, but I can’t stand the gossip at those gatherings. Those women chatter on about all sorts of issues that don’t concern them, like town politics for instance. That subject will get them in a twitter faster than who makes the best apple brown betty in town. Do you like apple brown betty, Mr. Lefebvre?”

“I do, Mrs. Edith. Now, you said you saw Miss Aikens after shopping?”

“Yes, she was walking up the street, probably going home from work or something, and she stopped to look at Mr. Boyd’s window displays. You know he does the nicest displays of sugar and bean bags?

“Yes, Ma’am, sugar, and bean bags. And Miss Aikens?”

“Well, she suddenly turned around and walked back down the street, and I thought that was odd, but none of my business. So, I finished with my purchase and when I came out, I could see her heading up Horsfal and a very quick clip, like she was on a mission.”

“I see, is that all?”

“Well about that time, Mrs. Boyd stopped by to bring lunch to her husband, and we started chatting. You know, their family has been in this town since it was built?” she asked, leaning forward as if the world hinged on that question.

“I did not know that Mrs. Edith. Was there something else you wanted to share about Miss Aikens?” his patience waning. 

“Well, here’s the odd bit. About ten minutes after Samantha sped up the hill, I saw Warren Culver follow her. It was very clear to Mrs. Boyd and me that he was drunk because he was staggering, as is usual with that disgusting excuse for a man. He hasn’t been seen sober in a long time.”

“He was following her, you say?”

“I can’t say for sure. She was well ahead of him by that point.”

“So, you’re not certain he was following her?” he asked, trying to steer her in a direction that might help.

“No, but Mrs. Boyd and I discussed it and decided it was none of our business. Then I saw Samantha again a while later and she looked a sight, like she’d been crying. When I asked her how she was doing, she was very distracted and seemed upset.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Edith, I appreciate you coming by.”

“And did you know, Mr. Lefebvre?” she began again. “Rumor has it that Samantha didn’t have anything to do with the planning of her stepfather’s funeral. The mortician said Mr. Cotter made the arrangements, him, and that whore of Mr. Stine’s. Rumor has it that she bought the headstone! Of all the nerve!”

James was about fed up with the conversation, but this statement put a new light on the matter. “I’ll be sure to speak to the mortician,” he said, officially.

“And his whore, you should speak to her too. Such a disgrace. Poor Anna, she was a good wife to that man,” James made a note, dreading a visit to the brothel. 

“The name of the prostitute, Mrs. Edith?”

“Clarisse, but I’ve heard tell her real name is Janet. And another thing you should know, the poor child showed up in rags at the funeral and didn’t shed a single tear for her stepfather.  Now, I have my own theory on all that. I live across the street from the Aikens home, and I can attest to hearing Olaf yelling at Samantha all the time! I’m not sure if I faced the same abuse that I’d be sorry my stepfather was dead,” she added, hoping her observations would help. 

            “Thank you, Mrs. Edith, if I need any further information from you, I will send for you.  Enjoy the rest of your day,” James said, ushering the small woman from the room. He was convinced Mrs. Edith felt she was truly helping Samantha and not just gossiping out of spite or attention.  

            Samantha was just finishing the polish on the stair rail as James stepped out, showing Mrs. Edith the front door.

            “Good day, Mrs. Edith,” she said to her neighbor. 

            “Good day to you dear, Samantha. I believe I have everything sorted out for you with Mr. Lefebvre, so you’re welcome. I’m going to make it a point to bring you a Brown Betty, Mr. Lefebvre, mine are actually the best in town,” she said contentedly, as she left.