With all due apologies to John Keats and Percy Bysshe Shelley it's not an ode, but more of an essay. I don't write poetry, but Essay to an apple doesn't sound right.
So apples. I like apples. I especially like MacIntosh and Courtland apples. I love the colors of them. Half red, half green with the clean white insides. They have great crunch when you bite into them. That first explosion of sound and taste. Then, the are crisp and sweetness of the white interior. I eat them raw, but they are great to cook with.
I also dug out apple recipes. Apple cake was last week and I'll make apple fritters this weekend. Those always remind me of my childhood and my grandparents. Warm apple fritters and milk. Ah, nothing better in the chill fall afternoons. Unless you are talking about homemade applesauce. So simple, so easy, so good. Apples, water, a big pot, some low heat, cinnamon, nutmeg and a strainer and you're done.
It's great on toast. I highly recommend it in yogurt too. Again something from my childhood.
Fresh picked apples in the fall. One of the joys of New England.