I celebrated my very first Hanukkah with my husband’s family nearly two and a half decades ago.  It was memorable for many reasons, not the least of which were my mother-in-law’s latkes.  Until then, the only latkes I had ever eaten were from a tiny deli in Cincinnati, Ohio.  On the occasional Saturday when my dad would have a hankering for a corn beef sandwich, he would make the trip across the river to Izzy’s and return with a paper sack bearing sandwiches layered with brined beef tucked between slices of rye.  Crispy, oily, oniony latkes, along with sour cream and applesauce, accompanied every sandwich served at Izzy’s.  I couldn’t have imagined or known then that latkes would become a yearly ‘event’ in my life; an event that eventually would require me to learn not only the intricacies of frying the perfect latke, but also how to make homemade applesauce.  Of the two, the applesauce posed the bigger challenge.

Grandma Ida is my husband’s maternal grandmother.  By the time I entered the family her recipe for applesauce had long been famous.  I cannot recall how many years passed before I was given the honor of bringing the applesauce to the family’s Hanukkah dinner.   I was not intimidated by the task of making applesauce but I was on edge about the reviews it might receive.  I have no vivid memories of those reviews or how my applesauce compared to Grandma’s, but it must have been good enough since requests are still coming in all these years later.
I’m not sure if a written copy of Grandma’s recipe ever existed.  The first time I made it I called her on the phone and took down extensive notes as she described her process.  I treasure my handwritten copy that came about from that conversation.  Her recipe, as simple as it is, leaves room for personal interpretation.  Early on, I kept pretty much to her instructions.  Grandma preferred Granny Smith apples and I have never deviated from that.  Her recipe called for granulated sugar and for a very long time I abided by that as well.  Then, for a period of time I switched to a combination of granulated and brown sugars.  Now I use only brown sugar, preferring the caramel-y note it lends the apples.  Cranberries are a much more recent addition, and one I love for the beautiful pink hue they give the sauce.  As for cinnamon, I would be banished from the family if I ever omitted that ingredient.  How much to add is strictly a personal choice.
With applesauce being such a basic recipe, you might be wondering why I’ve bothered posting it to my blog.  I’ve posted it for my daughter Jael.  Grandma’s recipe is a treasure to me and it could have easily been lost forever had I not taken the time to write it down.  Over the years, I recall many times I have phoned my mom asking her to walk me through one of our treasured family recipes from my childhood.  Sometimes a list of ingredients isn’t sufficient,  the process is where the true secrets lie.
One of my motivations to begin this blog was to share my passion for baking.  The other was to have a place to chronicle recipes for Jael.  I realize that although this applesauce does not fit the baking category in the least, it is a recipe that connects her to her past. One day she will want to know what apples I used or how much water should be in the pan as they are brought to a boil.  She will see the changes I have made over the years and decide for herself which to keep and which she might want to change to make it her own.  I imagine the future when Jael’s children refer to the applesauce she makes as ‘Grandma Mary’s’ and my heart sings.  🙂  Heirloom recipes are more precious than silver and gold, they link one generation to another and keep tradition alive.  This one is for you my Sweet Girl!

A side story:  After reading my post, Jael reminded me that her first word was ‘applesauce’.  I know what you’re thinking.  Really, a three syllable word?  It was way before she actually began to say words like mama and dada.  She wasn’t even a year old yet.  I was holding her on my hip as we peered into the refrigerator looking for a snack.  I asked her if she wanted some applesauce…over and over again…”applesauce” “applesauce”,  repeating the word as mothers do when teaching there child to speak.  Shockingly, she baby-talked the word applesauce back to me.  I about dropped her on the floor.  I looked around hoping someone else was present who could confirm what I had just heard, but I was alone.  How I desperately wished there had been a hidden camera in the room.