If there were only one kind of apple on earth, it would have been simple, but in the complex tapestry of cultivars there exist 7,500 kinds of apples grown throughout the world and 2,500 varieties in the US alone . It’s incredible how insatiable our appetites are for novelty and this is only apples.
In the complexity of existence, can one ever aim for simplicity if it means having only one kind of apple for eternity. That apple too, forsakes its form in our kitchens, crumbles into a dessert, disappears into pie, is crushed to oblivion in a smoothie, jellied into a preserve or unmoulds as a tarte tatin.
I made one, a tarte tatin or an upsidedown tart for our guests last evening. I enjoy cooking and the creative endeavour involved in food, even so, it made me wonder, as it did in this case, if the apple tastes better when it is no longer an apple …
In the transmutation of an apple, a fruit tastes passion in a steamy kitchen. A cup of sugar sits quietly on a pan, melting in tears until I remember to take it off, salve it in five tablespoons of cold butter, to the whisking of a caramelized fate. This must be chemistry in a kitchen.
Nine Gala apples, cross bred clones, shed their skin and split to hold shape in that molten lava frothing like Vesuvius on the stove. It takes ten minutes for a youthful apple crisp idealism to retire into the cloying influence of worldly caramel.
Two cups of floury expectations amalgamate one stick of cold chopped butter, like a lesson to be learned, some salt, sugar and some cold water to soft crumb into a tantalizing fate, take some punches, pull together, chill for a while and then roll fine and round like a cotton moon.
An hour, perhaps less, for those apples to stew under cover of this floury sheet in a cast iron skillet. They will ponder here of the sin they were charged of, the temptation of Eve, except that there weren't any apples in Eden. Their only knowledge is of the minimal sugared cyanide in their seeds, the exuberant crisp of their sweet flesh, the blush of their skin. Damned for the fate of Snow White, sleep inducing apples are simply poisoned narratives.
And here, in a kitchen, it's an exorcism of sorts, when I tip the pan over a plate to reveal the alchemy. An apple no longer an apple but a ghost of its past in the spirit of the future.
Process and form: I chose narrative style and free verse for this poem along the lines of a visual story telling. Philosophical questions thread the narrative. Related perhaps is an anecdote shared with me by a couple of friends, who had once trekked through Amerindian villages near Mt. Roraima. They spoke of hamlets separated by a river, one that consumed a variety of snail which the others across the river avoided, despite it being abundantly available in their area. This is perhaps an answer to conservative simplicity with a snail commonly found in the central rainforest. If they had a few more varieties they could have all had escargots à la Roraima in cassareep, and in a way make simple snails highly complex.
Apple seeds (and the seeds of related plants, such as pears and cherries) contain amygdalin, a cyanogenic glycoside composed of cyanide and sugar. When metabolized in the digestive system, this chemical degrades into highly poisonous hydrogen cyanide (HCN) 
You would need to finely chew and eat about 200 apple seeds, or about 40 apple cores, to receive a fatal dose. The Agency for Toxic Substances & Disease Registry (ATSDR) says, that exposure to even small amounts of cyanide can be dangerous 
The best recipe for Tarte Tatin ~https://smittenkitchen.com/2019/11/perfect-apple-tarte-tatin/
For simple pie dough, use this ~https://www.davidlebovitz.com/apple-tart-tarte-fine-aux-pommes-recipe-french-pastry-puff/
Or his recipe for Quince tarte tatin which is just as good ~https://www.davidlebovitz.com/quince-tarte-tatin/