Who wants to bake something for me with my apples?

The other downside of not working at the bar is no more food scraps. Although a little Ebola might stop me from eating somebody else’s food. Might.

The good news is I have a lot of apples to eat because I’ve gone apple picking twice in the last 3 weeks.  My little sister asked to go apple picking and she wanted to go to the same place we went last year. There’s a giant moonwalk that looks like a huge pillow and 30 people can jump on it at one time. Super fun and you feel like you could squash a small child at any moment.
I didn’t want to stop jumping before she did, but 45 minutes later I wave my white flag. She continues for another 15 minutes. Then we’re ready for some apple picking. We go to buy the exorbitantly priced bag to put the apples in. The woman at the counter tells me,
“There aren’t many apples out there. So if you can’t fill up your bag we’ll fill it in the store.” 
I have mixed feelings. We just drove almost an hour to pick apples. But I sure as heck didn’t drive almost an hour to pay $20 to fill up a bag in the store with three dollars worth of apples. I look at my little sister. We’re gonna have to try to pick some apples.
Off we go. For the record, much more fun is had, and the reward much greater, when you have to scour an entire orchard for a few decent apples, fighting off hipsters in between.
We put in a solid effort and did not need to supplement with any cheap store apples. I tell my little sister,
“I don’t know what I’m going to do with all of these apples!”
“You could bake something.”
“I could…”

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