cinnamon, warm, sentimental
My gran was the warmest woman I ever knew. She was always welcoming, but she expected you to pull your weight whenever you went round to her place.
She had an apple orchard, and when the fruit came in season, she called for all hands on deck to harvest them.
Once that was complete her kitchen became a production line of peeling, stewing and preserving.
She laced her stewed apples with cinnamon as she argued the cinnamon was important in good health and she’d then point to herself as an example of living a healthy life thanks to her apples and her cinnamon.
Years later long after Gran passed and when I attend the local fairs and look at the entries in the preservative section, I have a sentimental spot in my heart for stewed apples in cinnamon as they remind me so much of my gran.