Homemade Apple Cider (Sans Press)

As I was looking for an activity to entertain the kids during (my much-needed) fall break from homeschooling, my cousin mentioned something about making homemade apple cider without an apple press. This might seem like an arbitrary, new hobby for a forty-something, Arizonan mother of five to tackle, but I was up for the challenge. I told my fourteen-year-old son, who was supposed to be working on his essay on the Constitution, about my autumn beverage-making pursuit, and he pondered, “I always wondered how they get the juice from the apples. It’s not like it’s an orange that you can just squeeze.”

“An astute observation, my son; put away that essay; let’s find out how to do it,” I announced.  Equipped with a bit of instant internet expertise, we dove in.

My husband has observed that summers in Phoenix make one realize how very reasonable were the beliefs of certain ancient peoples, who held that the devil resides in the desert. So an autumn drop to double-digit temperatures (for the first time since May) provided the perfect excuse to celebrate with a grand, fall adventure, and let our (slightly) less overburdened air conditioner carry the delightful waft of cinnamon apples throughout our abode.

Now some readers may have an orchard right next door, but in the Southwest, we grow cacti. So, I procured my apples at our local grocery store. You, however, get extra points if you shop at a farmer’s market or pluck the fruit from your own backyard tree.  Cider experts recommend a variety of sweet apples. We are big fans of Honeycrisp in our home, but alas, they were not on sale. So, I went with a combination of Gala, Golden Delicious, and classic Red. For several hours, our home inhaled the aroma of real cider simmering on my counter. While every Thanksgiving we pour cider from a jug into our slow cooker, and enjoy the same cinnamon apple scents, but concocting this brew from scratch seemed more satisfyingly rugged — as though autumn itself had tipped its coonskin hat at my endeavor to authentically embrace the season.

Thanks to eager children repining over their long wait, I may have prematurely harvested our first batch. Learn from my mistakes, young Jedi — ignore your children’s pleas, and let your cider simmer for a full eight hours. Nevertheless, my finicky flock enjoyed the blend we produced. As an added bonus, I threw the cooked apples and oranges into my blender to puree a subtly sweetened applesauce, which I served with dinner that night.

I don’t use the word hero often, but after making my own apple cider sans an apple press, I think it’s clear I am pretty much the most significant pomaceous folk-hero since Johnny Appleseed. And you can be sure that as we gratefully bid adieu to summer heat in the desert Southwest, this resourceful mother will continue to search for new ways to harness the spirit of autumn using the internet, fall crops, and a little improvisation.