I think I'm going to make an apple pie, but I might look for a different apple pie than the apple pie I usually make. I love apple pie. This apple is a Jonagold. I don't know if I've ever made a pie with Jonagold apples? I like sweet apples. My grandpa ate a yellow apple — I guess it was a Golden Delicious apple — after lunch every single day. He peeled it with a sharp little paring knife at the kitchen table. When I went to Italy when I was in college, I walked into the room at our pensione (which was somebody's very old apartment that they'd turned into a sort of hotel) and it reminded me so much of my grandparents house, with a little square oilcloth-covered table, that I promptly burst into tears. The strangest thing was that my grandma's house had a very particular smell — kind of like Italian cooking with just a hint of mothballs — and earlier that same day, on the train from Munich to Rome, all of a sudden I had smelled that exact same smell. And I'd never smelled it anywhere else; my grandparents were gone, their house long sold. So when I later saw the table I just cried.
My grandpa was the fastest eater I've ever seen. My father was constantly yelling at him to slow down. But he ate an apple a day and he lived until he was in his late eighties, I think. Every time I eat an apple I think of him and his yellow apples. Always yellow. From the "pepper store," which is what we called the Italian greengrocer he liked to go to. I think it was this one, in Elmwood Park. Caputo's. I see from reading their history page that the founder was from a seaside town in Italy that was close to where my grandpa was from. I wonder if he knew that. He probably did. Those guys liked to stick together.