Books and Baked Apples: Simple Pleasures for a November Evening
If November had a flavor, it would taste like cinnamon, browned butter, and a plot twist you didn’t see coming.
This is the month for fuzzy socks, questionable candle purchases, and baking something that makes the whole house smell like you’ve got your life together. For me, that’s baked apples—simple, sweet, and entirely forgiving if you forget them in the oven because you got lost in a good book.
The Victorians would’ve approved. They were the original cozy-core crowd—bundled by the fire, reading by lamplight, pretending they weren’t freezing to death in drafty manors. They’d sip spiced cider, gossip about who danced with whom at the winter assembly, and probably quote Byron for dramatic flair.
And really, that’s the kind of evening I want this time of year. The world is loud. The news is grim. But an apple stuffed with butter and brown sugar? Yes, please.
So, in the spirit of nineteenth-century coziness—and because we all need something easy and delicious—here’s my go-to baked apple recipe.
Lazy Victorian Baked Apples
You’ll need:
4 good apples (Honeycrisp, Gala, or whatever’s rolling around the crisper)
4 tablespoons brown sugar
4 tablespoons butter
1 teaspoon cinnamon
¼ teaspoon nutmeg (optional, but highly recommended)
A handful of chopped pecans or oats if you’re feeling fancy
To make them:
Core the apples but leave the bottoms intact (nobody likes a sugar leak).
Set them in a baking dish and stuff each hollow with a mix of brown sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg.
Top with a pat of butter.
Pour about ½ cup of water into the bottom of the dish and bake at 350°F for 30–40 minutes, until they’re tender but still holding their shape.
Spoon the syrup from the pan over the apples when serving. Add a scoop of vanilla ice cream if you want to feel like you’ve won at life.
Then grab your softest blanket and settle in with a good book. Whether it’s a moody Gothic romance or a cozy mystery, let the story simmer alongside the apples.
Because November isn’t about rushing toward Christmas. It’s about the quiet moments when you remember that warmth, words, and baked fruit can fix more than you think.
Tonight’s recipe for contentment: one story, one spoon, and zero guilt.
