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Golden Delicious, Rome Beauty, Mc Intosh, Cortland — music to the ears of apple lovers. Now, the early fall is the best time for them — one of natures most abundant and versitile fruit. Surely there is not a cook around who has not perfected some dish with apples. They are great as flavor boosters for meats, as side dishes to a main course (apple sauce), not to speak of — oh so many ways to have them in desserts. And what about apple cider — its tangy fla vor is just about the best thirst quen cher. But the healthiest (and they are overflowing with vitamins and all other kinds of beneficial ingredients) way to have an apple is to bite into one. Apples may be considered a staple fruit, being in relatively constant supply in the supermarkets throughout the year. As a matter of fact, they have been around and all over so much so long that they have played a rather "heavy" part in the annals of history. We all remember how Eve tempted Adam with an APPLE; sure ly every child knows about Johnny APPIeseed and his one-man environ mental improvement campaign — with APPLE seed; would we be aware of the pull of gravity if an APPLE did not fall on Newton's head& How about the ex pression — "American as APPLE pie!" Next time you pick up an apple — con sider its background. Here is an easy apple cake: 1 1/2 cups flour 1 teasp. baking powder V 2 cup sugar 2 whole eggs 1 egg — separated 1 vanilla sugar V 2 pound soft sweet butter 6 medium apples, sliced 1 tblsp. sour cream Mix flour with vanilla sugar. Mix eggs plus extra egg white with sugar, butter and 1 tblsp. sour cream and add to flour mixture. Grease a 10 x 14 x 2 baking dish. Pour in batter. Spread egg yolk on top„ Arrange apples so that all barter is cov ered. Sprinkle with brown sugar. Bake at 350 for % hour or until golden brown. Serve with whipped cream, ice cream or plain, Enjoy! THAT WHICH WE ARE Cont. We had never met them before but had decided to stop by on our way to the Exposition. We arrived in a dreary quarter of Montreal. Quite unlike the hilly, more elegant sections of the city, this area was in an industrial "park", near a railroad, old, run-down and the kind of place, where, you envision, it does nothing else but rain. We were greeted by an old Babtsya, who's hair was tightly wrapped in a kerchief and feet in bobby socks and slippers. Plump and jovial, she immediately embraced us and we found ourselves hugged and kissed as never before and christened "Nashi Molodyata" She led us past the white-washed halls into a room dominated by a round table covered with an embroidered cloth. The walls, I remember, were adorned only with a huge map of Ukraine, a Hutzul crucifix and a portrait of Ivan Franko. Her husband was a slight man, frail, but his hugs and kisses were no less powerful than her own. She rushed out with a basin filled with warm water, some soap and a linen towel over her arm and welcomed us "officially". We were home. A small window was graced by geraniums and we saw sunflowers and bright, happy hollyhocks in the yard. I remember wondering how they managed to thrive in such an area. No sooner were we seated than she placed two deep bowls of tomato soup with rice in front of us. It was cold and I'd never tasted the Ukrainian dish before. We asked why she hadn't served herself and her husband and they both immediately explained that they had already eaten that morning. It was four in the afternoon. He excitedly started to convince us they weren't hungry — after all they'd had a meat dish on Thursday. It was Saturday. They went on to tell us of their lives — he had come home from the First World War with a bouquet of flowers for his fianceee — only to place them on her coffin for she had died of typhoid. "Babtsya" was the local school teacher whose husband died in the war. As freedom fighters they were both exiled and found a common bond in their tragedy. They were on pension but managed to send as much as they could to the people "at home" for "they really need it so much more than we" They wanted us to stay with them but we returned to our motel, instead. Today, I am sorry we didn't. The next morning, at 6:00 a. m., we were awakened by a telephone call — "It's St. Peter's and Paul's holy day'— we MUST go to Church together" We did. The elderly couple looked somber and proud in their Sunday best of greys and blacks and we were proud that they had invited us to join them. We spent a quiet day with them talking about the rest of the family and left the next day. We never saw them again. 10 years later, they are dead, but the heritage they left us is richer than any we had ever received. They had shown us Ukrainian generosity, love of their fellow man and their God. Видання C оюзу Українок A мерики - перевидано в електронному форматі в 2012 році . A рхів C У A - Ню Йорк , Н . Й . C Ш A.
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