REMEMBER, WE WERE FARMERS. REVISITING APPLE HILLS.

Tucked away in the northwestern hills of Binghamton, there is a magical place. When you open the door a skeletal bride and groom greet you, and tchotchkes line the aisles. An alcove to the right is filled with more baubles, delicious local jams and fruit preserves, New York maple syrup, and (no joke) pickle ornaments for your Christmas tree or Festivus bush. I’m talking, of course, of the Apple Hills Market and Café.

My mother loves apples. Particularly, what you can make from apples. Specifically, applesauce. She loves applesauce. If she could have married applesauce, I would have a different form and my globular fingers would necessitate plastic wrap over the keyboard I’m writing on to keep my dripping fingers from ruining it. Enough. In any case, I have seen her order applesauce with every conceivable dinner combination. Spaghetti and meatballs? Check. Fried haddock? Slather it on! Lamb covered in gravy with mint jelly slid through applesauce? Could there be a better combination?

That being said, my mother makes the best applesauce, and apple picking at Apple Hills was a staple of my childhood. Every fall, she’d bundle up my three brothers and me, make the 15-minute drive, and use the energy of our youth to pick the low-hanging fruit. Bushels upon bushels. I’ve eaten a lot of apples, is what I’m saying. We weren’t allowed to watch T.V. anyway, so picking fruit seemed like some sort of fun adventure. When we got home with the apples, she’d simmer them slowly on the stove, pull out the old Foley food mill, and strain out the guts. No added sugar, no cinnamon, just the delicious, natural flavor of boiled, strained, and ground up apples. Best applesauce ever.

Wait.

I’ve got to tell you about the food they make at the Café.

I’ve been to the Apple Hills Cafe many times in the past, and I’m sure I’ll go back many more times. They are only open for breakfast and lunch, but that’s okay because their breakfast is more delicious than mine and their lunch is worth at least a 50 minute drive, and for most of Binghamton they’re only about 15 minutes away, so that’s a pretty good bargain. Even an excellent one. Definitely, an excellent one.

My friend Kylie has informed me that breakfast is most important meal of the day (like I didn’t know that), so I’ll start with their smashing breakfast food (my personal favorites), and how incredibly large a large stack of pancakes really is. Their menu consists of simple and delicious home-style cooking. You have all the standards: oatmeal, omelets, waffles, pancakes, and French toast, all made from scratch. The French toast is divine- cut thick, and cooked to perfection, it will leave you feeling pleasantly full. They only have real maple syrup on the tables, a luxury that should be available everywhere. You get a choice of bacon or sausage with every meal, a welcome delight for all who indulge in meat.

I once made the mistake of ordering the large stack of pancakes (they advertise that if you eat the large stack, the next large stack will be free). I used to have large stacks of pancakes and French toast in high school, and my appetite is usually insatiable, so I thought I would have no problem earning myself a free meal. I even ordered a side of raspberry applesauce, thinking I would have room left over.

My waiter seemed confident that I couldn’t do it, but I felt good. I was ready. I was wrong. Half way through my third pancake, I knew the gig was up. Something was wrong. My stomach was pushed to the limits. My mouth was giving up on chewing the deliciously fluffy-yet-crispy pancakes. My mind was racing. I persevered through the third pancake, but the thought of the fourth was too much. I cracked. I asked for a box. My waiter looked at me, triumphant. Tragedy had struck my stomach in the most delicious of ways. I felt I had to make up for it, so I ordered hot mulled cider and a doughnut. He looked at me like I was a buffoon. “No room for the pancake, but a doughnut huh?” It was like I could hear his thoughts. I felt like the room was watching me. I hastily finished up and left, buying a balsa wood glider on the way out (is there nothing about the place that doesn’t remind me of my childhood?)

Moving on, the lunch menu contains a superb array of sandwiches, and I’ve eaten just about every one. If you’re a first timer, you absolutely have to order the open-faced apple sandwich. Thinly sliced ham is layered between scrumptious toast and fresh apple, and the sandwich is smothered in cheese. It’s a bite of heaven. For vegetarians, the Tuscan sandwich is absolutely divine, cooked to perfection with olive oil, tomato, and basil. Each meal is served with one of their ever-changing daily sides, from fresh made soups to homemade mac ‘n’ cheese.

Apple Hills isn’t just an eatery or a store or even an orchard. It is an experience. It is nostalgia for a time when we slowed down, not because we thought about how fast we were moving, but because the simple joys in life are so powerful. Picking your own food. Eating with family. Petting a goat (there’s a petting zoo!). So take the time, make the drive, and remember to enjoy every moment. It won’t be hard.

Apple Hills Market and Café is located at 131 Brooks Road, just about a fifteen-minute drive from Binghamton. For a full menu, and an up-to-date list of the fresh fruit available for picking, check out applehills.com.