So, the upshot of this whole post? A perfectly sweet and crisp recipe for a fall drink.
But, first.
Last week CJ and I sidestepped off of Fifth Avenue and took a walk to the Central Park's Conservatory Waters. We had already been on the 5 train, switched to the 6 train, sat through a doctor's appointment and walked a handful of city blocks, half of which my hands were full carrying a little boy whose knees "were too heavy to walk anymore." My feet were throbbing from it all, too. {Truth: I was also breaking in a new pair of oxfords. Ouch!} I debated just doing the whole Central Park thing another day.
But.
It's fall.
In Central Park.
Another day and it could be winter.
And we don't get uptown often.
So we ducked in and walked along the path, especially slow, on account of our heavy knees and uncooperating oxfords.
We saw the usual hot dog vendors, the perfect skyline of the Plaza seemingly painted behind the trees, the artists asking to draw our picture, the tourists staring at maps instead of losing themselves in one of NYC's gems.
You know what we didn't see?
The blaze of red, yellow and orange of leaves on fire with fall. Sure, we spotted a few leaves speckled with brown and softer greens that were, maybe, if you winced your eyes tight enough, faintly yellow. But nothing looked intentional, purposeful. We heard a saxophonist play Sinatra over and over. Central Park was hitting the same note, too. Green. Everywhere. Where was the power of the season?
And our knees were heavy and our feet hurt.
Back onto the sidewalk, back on the 6 train and then the 5. And then home.
But before home, a stop at my favorite coffee shop. The barista was new. He had a toothy smile and wore a beat-up grey beanie and he was well versed in all the fall fixings. Pumpkin spice lattes, hot cider, hot chocolate, dashes of nutmeg on your drink.
There it was. Fall. 71 blocks downtown and right in my face. Or mouth.
Iced coffee with soy, to go.
The toothy-grinned barista in his beanie looked like I had committed a cardinal rule against the whole fall season by idolizing a drink that isn't steamy or foamy or filled with a pumpkin patch. Or maybe I was just grumpy because the blistered feet and the heavy kid and the wobbly knees.
Iced coffee with soy, to go.
For the final few blocks home, the light was soft like honey. The brutal sun of summer had melted away. Leaves rattled along the ground like whispers for cableknit sweaters. The air was fresh and biting, nipping at the impending arrival of winter. It was unabashedly fall. Maybe without the crimson leaves or the cinnamon drinks.
But, fall, nonetheless.
And you know what? We'll make it uptown again and so will the bright leaves, buttered in all the shades of the season.
And in the meantime, the upshot, a little fall drink that isn't warm or filled with pumpkins.
Cranberry + Apple Tea
eight cups of water
four tea bags
a handful of cranberries
two apples, sliced
a few glugs of agave syrup, or 1/4 of a cup of raw brown sugar
Boil the eight cups of water in a pot on the stove. Reduce to simmering and add the tea bags and fruit. Let it all mull together for 15 minutes or so. Stir in a little agave syrup or sugar to sweeten it up. Pour into a pitcher over ice. Or not. Warm is good, too.
P.S. Pumpkins, we still love you.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012 at 4:50PM 
