The Sebastopol Gravenstein Fair was this past weekend. I had a few food adventures planned in the city, but Craig, Linnea, and I decided a little jaunt up North might be fun. It’s been strangely cool in the mornings and evenings here; the light is even starting to change. I’ve been in denial that Fall is looming. The Gravenstein Fair, I figured, would be a nice way to come to terms with this fact.
When I was going to graduate school in Boston, I couldn’t wait for Fall. The leaves turned overnight (I kid you not), the air was crisp without being frigid, and there seemed to always be a good reason to make soup. One of my favorite things to do was go apple picking out on an old family farm in New Hampshire. They gave you special apple picking bags with super sturdy handles, and you could buy provisions at the little country store to have a picnic out in the orchards: honeys, apple butter, farm-fresh eggs, apple chutneys, and homemade apple breads. I miss that. But I was thinking the Gravenstein Fair might be similar: paper cups full of cider, bales of hay, maybe pick some apples. Instead, I found something very different. I realized quickly that, amidst the Thai BBQ and corndogs, there wasn’t going to be any apple picking. I really had to hunt for cider. And people were walking around with carnival toys and huge, furry hats. But the more I excused the fact that I’d had the wrong idea of what the festival would hold, it was actually a nice afternoon. We saw a restored tractor exhibit, ate doughy apple fritters, and tried Grandma’s Fried Apple Rings (apple rings, lightly battered and fried, and dusted with powdered sugar by none other than Grandma herself):
Grandma agreed to pose for a picture, and took great care to sprinkle the powdered sugar evenly and liberally. I found a bag of Gravensteins to take home–didn’t get to pick them, but they’re still delicious. They’re sitting in a big bowl by my sink and I’ve been having one before bed with a little almond butter.
We found an amazing shady spot under a big Madrone to rest after indulging in food we’d never usually eat, we tried (and tried) to win a hermit crab by tossing ping pong balls into fish bowls, and we sat on long wooden benches under the late August sun watching locals in a riotous apple juggling competition. Even better: we got to take in one of the last weekends of summer outdoors, together… before the back-to-school traffic picks up again, before the evenings become darker earlier, and before Summer slinks its way on out. Although I’m not in New England anymore to experience Fall, it still happens here and it still happens overnight. And now I have a few new early season traditions– from another coast.
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I have the exact same photos from 2 years ago! I love the fritters, and also there's a woman baker from Bologna who makes incredible, refined apple tarts and turnovers. Most importantly, the apple pie-eating contest, where children line up with hands tied behinds their backs and dig into the pies with their faces, their mothers begging them to stop, fathers goading them on. Hilarious – we also knew our dog would win if she was allowed to enter.