I was flitting around the internet the other day, looking up recipes for apple butter, when I came across a conversational thread that started with the question, “What is the point of apple butter?” This made me laugh out loud, just thinking about the person out there who is so desperate to understand why this apple-based condiment even exists. One may as well ask, “What is the point of jam?” “What is the point of cheesecake?” or “What is the point of a seven-layer German chocolate cake with extra coconut and pecans?” They exist because they are scrumptious and they need no other reason.
A better question might be, “What’s the difference between apple jam and apple butter?” It comes down to texture and cooking time. Apple jam may have a few chunks in it, while apple butter is smooth as, well, butter. But apple butter is also different from apple jam (or applesauce, for that matter) in that it’s cooked for much longer, allowing the flavors of apples to intensify to peak deliciousness. The natural sugars in the apples slowly caramelize as the apple butter turns a deep brown. And here’s another thing I learned: Cooked apples release extra pectin, which is good for our gut microbiome. So that makes apple butter tasty and nutritional, especially if you ignore the added sugar.
Notwithstanding the tastes of our anonymous internet questioner, humans have been enjoying apple butter for a long, long time. Apple butter originated in medieval times as an especially yummy way to preserve apples. So I guess its “point” is to give us a wonderful way to enjoy apple flavor when apples are not in season, although for the modern consumer, fresh apples are always in season. (Lucky us! What would we do without versatile, crunchable, munchable apples?)
Another marvelous fruit that ripens in September is figs. You may see them in pint boxes at your local grocery store, purple-black gems shaped like fat teardrops, a modest disguise for their flaming pink, potently sweet interiors. If you’re like me, you buy as many as you can reasonably afford and then eat half of them in the car on the way home. (But maybe you’re not as passionately fond of figs as I am.) The thing about figs is that they must be consumed at exactly the right moment, when they’re soft but not too soft, sweet but not cloying, dark pink inside but not brown. Once fresh figs have turned the corner to mushy, what can you do with them except throw them out?