Preserving the glorious bounty of autumn

September is a busy month in the kitchen garden. After months of coaxing, watering, and the odd grumble over slugs, everything seems to come together at once.

Our grapes are now plump, juicy and sweet and are getting picked for a quick snack or added to one of our frequent cheese boards.

But it’s the apples that really mark this time of year for me. Buckets of them, sweet and tart, windfalls and perfect blush-red beauties, piling up faster than we can possibly eat them.

The first wave of preserving has already happened. A bubbling pot of chutney filled the kitchen with vinegar and spice last week, and the jars now line a shelf like jewels, promising to brighten cold suppers in winter (it’s best to leave them maturing for a few months).

Apple muffins have made their way onto teatime plates, their crumb moist with fruit and warmly spiced.

Yet even after all this, I look at the mountain of apples still waiting and think: what next? That question always sends me back to my childhood in Germany.

Autumn there meant jars (shop bought, I’m afraid to say) of silky apfelmus, the apple compote that seemed to go with everything. We spooned it warm or cold straight from the jar, spread it on pancakes, but my favourite way was alongside potato pancakes, the salty, crisp edges meeting the smooth sweetness of the apples in a combination so perfect that I still dream of it.

Apfelmus is simplicity itself, just apples, a little sugar if needed, sometimes a hint of lemon or cinnamon. Yet in that simplicity lies comfort, and the thought of a few jars tucked away for winter fills me with a quiet joy.

Making it is a pleasure too.

There’s no precision required: peel and chop the apples, cook them gently with a splash of water until they collapse into softness, then mash or puree depending on your taste.

I love leaving a bit of texture, but the smoother version feels like the true taste of childhood. The key, if you want to preserve it, is to treat it with the same respect as jam or chutney. Sterilised jars, filled to the brim, sealed and stored in a cool dark place, will keep that golden purée ready for months.

Opening a jar in December feels like opening a little piece of September sunshine.

September may be the month where the fruit of our labour bursts into life, but with a little preserving, it can carry us right through the cold months ahead.

And for me, nothing says that better than apfelmus, the taste of both childhood and home. But for now,

I am labelling my apple chutney with cute labels and a fabric hat, ready in a few months to join our cheeseboard to warm us on cold winter evenings.