On Sunday Afternoon

I have turned on the oven

and if you have no plans for them

I will take the Bramley apples

which have been sitting

in the fruit bowl

for three weeks now

and I will wash them

under a running tap.

I will peel them and remove their cores

and cut them into regular cubes

or at least

into random chunks of

approximately

the same size

I will place these cubes

or chunks

into the large brown crockery casserole

that you bought from that Antiques Shop

in Kirkby Stephen

while we were on that walk from Crosby Garrett,

you remember,

when the children were little,

the one where we

also bought

the large flat soup dishes

that are now all broken.

(You didn’t buy that there?

oh

well at least you are aware

of the one to which I refer.)

I will sprinkle dark brown sugar

and a little spice all over the

apples although I will not

measure

the sugar

and there will always be

a faint unknowing

as to whether the

finished dish

will be deliciously sweet

or religiously sharp.

I have a sense of it

though

and a certain amount of experience

and besides

I enjoy the risk

- like the heat of chillies.

In another bowl I will rub

ounces of

butter

into twice as many

ounces of

plain flour

I will add as many

ounces of

demarara sugar

as I have added of butter

and a similar

amount

of the large rolled oats

that we both like.

This topping

I will sprinkle on to the apples

and pat down lightly

running the back of a fork over it

to create small furrows

so that the finished dish

will resemble

a ploughed field.

I will then place 

the completed crumble

into the oven

which I have preheated.

Gas Mark 4

It is in the oven

that the magic will happen

and after about forty minutes

(during which time I will

clear the surfaces

and

wash the bowls and utensils

I have used)

I will

take it out

and check the look of it

and the aroma of it

and the texture of the crumble topping

for signs of perfection.

A little lava-like

outflowing of

the bubbling sweet apple juices

onto the ridged and crusty surface

may not be a bad thing.

If all these signs are right

I will stand the crumble

in its brown crockery casserole

on the pot-stand by the kettle

to rest a moment

while I quickly make some

custard.

Not an elaborate real custard

but a simple one

made from the

Bird’s Custard Powder

we keep in the cellar head

with perhaps a teaspoon full of

Madagascan vanilla extract

and a small pot of that

thick double cream

that you insist on.

The crumble

I will then spoon into bowls

one for you

and one for me and

the custard

I will tip into a jug

and, with the small headed ladle,

and a couple of dessert spoons,

I will bring them

in to you

in the sitting room

while you sit and

watch

the Antiques Roadshow

where you discover

that

the large flat soup dishes

which are now all broken

would have been worth about

ten times what we paid for them

were we never to have used them

and then 

felt the need 

to sell them.

Your disappointment is short-lived

however

as you taste

the Bramley apples,

sweetened and spiced to perfection,

under the crumble topping,

crunchy but not too hard,

golden brown and yet not too brown

with a slight caramelisation of apple juices

baked on around the crumble edge

and the three ladlefuls of rich sweet custard

albeit only Birds

that cover the contents of your bowl

and ensure that it is

a delightful

and delicious

remedy

on Sunday Afternoon