On Saturday, I made a quick batch of apple sauce with the apples off a friend’s tree. I also threw in a nectarine that was about to have its last gasp in the bottom of my lunch bag; it sort of disappeared into the apples, but added some colour and a little extra tang.

The plan for this little fruit stew was to ship it with The Electrician to his grandparents’ house. His grandpa is a serious apple sauce fan, so I hoped to send him the (ahem) fruits of my labours to enjoy with dinner sometime soon. I missed the boat on that one, though, because I slept too late on Sunday morning to hand off the ziploc. The Electrician was intrigued when I mentioned that the sauce would make a lovely topping for ice cream, so I don’t think I can send it out now.

Mentioning ice cream is generally the best tactic to get The Electrician’s attention in a hurry. His eyebrows just about disappeared into his hairline when I suggested the apple sauce. Not surprisingly, he picked up some ice cream when we stopped for a few groceries last night after our dinner date. The difference between me buying ice cream and The Electrician buying ice cream is that I look for the lower-fat, good for my midsection stuff as a general rule. Last night, however, my sweetie tossed the most decadent vanilla available into the cart; I did point out that the half-fat stuff was also on sale for the same price, but he gave me the same look I saw when I offered to paint his toenails.

The first thing he did when we returned to the dollhouse was take off his giant sneakers. The second thing he did was to scoop up some ice cream and spread my mostly apple sauce on top. Then he smiled grinned at me and dug in.

I was doing well until I saw the look on his face after the first bite: truly, I didn’t want ice cream until that point. Watching him, and listening to the accompanying sound effects, I started to think perhaps I needed to try this concoction. I asked for a little bite. It was divine. Why, I asked myself, had I never bought the super rich vanilla ice cream before? This was the stuff of dreams. This was also the stuff that could undo all my swimming and dog walking and eating my veggies (yes, even the cauliflower) in a matter of spoonfuls. Ah, that’s right: it don’t buy that one because it tastes way too good for something I shouldn’t be eating.

Clearly, almost apple sauce on The Electrician’s ice cream was a very dangerous proposition. I had three small bites –okay, four bites– off his spoon. He didn’t let me hold the spoon myself, probably because the look in my eye warned him to keep control of his shovel, but that was enough for me. I quit before I lost control of myself entirely. It was a wise choice.

Then, after working late tonight and arriving home hungry, the first thing I saw when I opened the fridge to grab my salad was a bag of apple sauce. After that point, it was all over.

I only had a small helping of ice cream, and a hearty ladle of apple sauce. I think the fruit part overrides the treat part, right? Sometimes it’s best for the spirit to eat dessert first.

I guess I’ll be making more apple sauce for my sweetie’s grandpa. I don’t think The Electrician will let me give away this batch, now that he has the ice cream to go with it.

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