The oven door was already open. I don’t remember opening it.
It was cold again—radiator groaning like it had feelings, and the dog tracking salt from the porch across the tiles I still haven’t mopped. I’d meant to make soup. Something wet. But I saw the apples slumped in the bowl and my hand moved like it had done this before. Because it had.
Martha’s apple crumble. The one from the old green book with the peach jam stain and my grandmother’s handwriting in the corner that just says “Too much sugar?” with a question mark like she ever doubted herself.
What the Original Looked Like
Her Highness doesn’t mess around with her crumble. It’s orderly. Stacked. Butter creamed with brown sugar until fluffy, then flour folded in like linen. The apples get tossed with cinnamon and lemon and white sugar—not too much—and she tells you to scatter the topping like a perfect little mess. It’s neat but rustic. Elegant but not trying too hard. Like Martha always is.
She wants you to tent it with foil if it gets too dark. I never have foil when I need it.
I Changed It Without Meaning To
I didn’t soften the butter. Just smashed it into the sugar with a fork until it got tired. I added a pinch of nutmeg without asking permission—because the jar fell out of the cabinet and landed near my foot and I took that as a sign.
I didn’t measure the salt. I never do when I’m feeling like this.
The Way It Happened in My Kitchen
The apples hissed when they hit the hot dish. I’d forgotten to pre-mix them. They just went in raw with lemon juice and sugar poured over like I was salting a sidewalk.
The topping clumped in my fingers—too cold, too sticky, didn’t matter. I pressed it on top instead of crumbling. It looked like someone had dropped a biscuit dough on it. Mae used to do that when she was little. Called it “apple blanket.”
I burned my wrist on the rack. Same spot as last fall. Same little line that looks like a question mark now.
Halfway through baking, the scent hit me sideways. Cinnamon and browned butter and that note of apple that isn’t sweet, just soft. And suddenly I was back—Christmas before the divorce. The one with the vanilla candles and the cake that didn’t rise and everyone pretending.
I touched the Dutch oven by mistake. The dent’s still there.
I almost cried over fruit.
A Few Things I Learned
If you use cold butter, the topping gets chunkier. That’s not a flaw. It feels like armor.
Apple juice at the bottom of the dish tastes better than cider when it’s baked in. Something about the slow release.
You can burn your wrist twice in the same place and still forget to be careful.
What Happened to the Leftovers
Mae texted “Is that the thing with apples and crumbs?”
I said yes.
She said “Save me some.”
I didn’t. But I lied and said I would.
I ate it cold at 2 a.m. with a spoon that still had coffee stains on it. No bowl. Just the pan. Just me.
Would I Make It Again?
Yes. But only when I miss someone I don’t talk about anymore.
That’s As Much As I Remembe
The house felt warmer after. Not warm—just less hollow.
The kind of heat that stays near your hands but doesn’t reach your shoulders.
This reminded me of that plum crumble I scorched last spring when the power cut out mid-bake. softer this time. quieter.
FAQs
Yeah, but it goes a bit soggy when you thaw it. still tastes like comfort though. I microwave it with a paper towel over the top like it’s a secret.
Martha says yes. I say… depends how tired you are. I’ve left the skins on before and just called it “rustic.”
I used what was in the fridge drawer. I think they were Mutsu? or maybe Honeycrisp. something not too tart. if they’re soft enough to bite, they’re soft enough to bake.
You can. I’ve cut the sugar in half before when Mae was going through her “I don’t like sweet things” phase. still worked. just felt more breakfast-y.
Need? no. want? obviously. I’ve done whipped cream, yogurt, even milk poured straight from the jug when I couldn’t be bothered. it’s all good.
Check out More Recipes
- Martha Stewart Vegetable Lasagna
- Martha Stewart Butternut Squash Lasagna
- Martha Stewart Potato Salad
- Martha Stewart Pumpkin Pie Recipe
Martha Stewart Apple Crumble
Description
Made it because the apples looked tired. Stayed for the smell.
Ingredients
Instructions
- Butter a 2-quart dish with the edge of the stick, because who wants to wash another knife. Toss chopped apples with sugar, flour, lemon juice, cinnamon, salt, and that bit of nutmeg if you feel haunted. I didn’t measure right—some landed on the counter. Pile it into the dish, let it settle like laundry.
- In a bowl, mash butter and brown sugar with a fork until you forget why you started. Add flour, a bit more salt, and press it together with your hands if the fork gives up. Scatter or smush—your call.
- Bake at 375°F for around an hour. It’ll smell like holidays you can’t name. If it browns too fast, pretend you meant it. Cool for as long as you can stand. Eat warm if you’re patient. Cold if you’re not. I wasn’t.