You can literally smell it in the air — fall. Sure, maybe there are wafts of infamous pumpkin spice latte, and that warm aroma of ovens everywhere finally getting turned on again, churning out crusty breads, oatmeal cookies, and roasted squash.
But I’m thinking about fall itself, apart from the culinary scents that arise as our bodies turn to the cuisine of autumn. Though of course there are regional variations (not to mention national), I think fall in nature, more than any other season, has a distinct aroma: simultaneously both so ephemeral and so tangible that I know exactly what I mean but I’m not sure I can say what it is. You step outside and suddenly with one inhale — ah! — you know it’s fall.
Sometimes that scent comes tinged with the nascent color-change of leaves, or spiked with a hint of pine that wasn’t noticeable in the summertime. It’s fresh and crisp; the air is chilly and the sun is shining warm straight through it.
There is at least one fall smell for me that bridges the gap between the kitchen and the outdoors: apples. My family had an orchard behind our house in Ohio, planted by my grandpa about thirty years before we moved there. Though the dwarf apple trees had grown past their heyday, there were still about 70 of them going fairly strong, especially to us kids who had never had a single apple tree before.
The different varieties would ripen at different times throughout the fall, from the aptly named Early Harvest (or was that just what we called them?) to the Paula Reds to the McIntoshes, so there was always something going on out there for weeks. The scent lingering through those rows of trees was a combination of the elusive sweetness of fresh crisp apples ripening mixed with the more astringent aftermath thereof, the smell of fallen apples gently or not-so-gently decaying on the ground.
Rotting apples are a totally different deal than the rank putridity of, say, rotting tomatoes, onions, potatoes. Those are bad. I don’t exactly recommend bottling the odor of brown squishy apples, but while it kind of bites you in the nostrils a bit, it’s still a little sweet under all that heady earthiness.
In hindsight, that’s possibly a terrible segue into the kitchen smells of apples. My dear memories in that orchard are what make the smell of apples in all forms sweeter, and you may not feel like jumping into a recipe after reading about decomposing apples. But here we are... and honestly, there’s no overlap between the aroma of those fallen apples lying in the grass too long and that of freshly pressed apple cider. Rich, ripe, heady sweetness of apples filling you with an unmistakable aroma of fall!
Last year the kids and I had the opportunity to join some neighbors in pressing a bit of cider, and I was delighted to stack that onto my memory bank of visits to the local cider press as a child. The setting was different, the apples were different, but the particular smell of crushed apples and cider-soaked old wood fit right into me like it belonged there.
Sweet Cider Chicken
Just as the smell of apples and cider is quintessential fall to me, so of course is the taste of apples and cider! I like a cold glass of apple cider, or a hot mug of it, but sometimes I want to do more than just drink it — and this chicken recipe hits the spot. It feels just right for these beginning days of fall, pairing well with late-season fresh produce (an apple-cabbage slaw for us) as well as hearty cool-weather sides (hello skillet-roasted golden potatoes). As an added bonus, it’s super quick and easy, so there’s more time to spend outside in the beautiful weather.
Prep tips: I brined the chicken for an hour or two before cooking to help retain moisture, but it’s not essential. Raw apple cider has the best flavor.
- olive oil
- 1 pound chicken breasts (or other boneless cut)
- salt, pepper, smoked paprika
- ½ cup apple cider
- ¼ cup local honey
Heat a good drizzle of olive oil in a cast iron skillet over medium heat. Add the chicken, and season liberally with salt, pepper, and smoked paprika. Sear for several minutes, until getting a nice browning; flip over and repeat on the other side. Whisk the cider and honey, then pour over chicken. Simmer for a couple minutes, then transfer the pan to a 425°F oven and cook until the chicken temps at 165°F. Let rest for several minutes before slicing and mixing with the sauce.
Lettuce Eat Local is a weekly local foods column by Amanda Miller, who lives in rural Reno County on the family dairy farm with her husband and three small children. She seeks to help build connections through food with her community, the earth, and the God who created it all. Send feedback and recipe ideas to hyperpeanutbutter@gmail.com.
