The Daughter of the Famous Singer Has Just Passed Away

Apples – as many as you need (choose firm ones: Honeycrisp, Fuji, or Granny Smith)
Honey – a drizzle (or maple syrup if honey feels too sweet right now)
Cinnamon – a dusting (warmth without sharpness)
Butter or olive oil – a small pat (fat carries flavor—and comfort)
Warm water or tea – to fill the baking dish (steam softens the edges)

Optional: a handful of oats, a sprinkle of nuts, a splash of vanilla—only if it feels right.

Instructions (Go Slowly)

Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C).
Let the quiet hum of it fill the space.
Wash the apples.
Feel the cool skin under your hands. Notice their weight. Their imperfections.
(Grief, too, is uneven. That’s okay.)
Core them gently.
Use a knife or spoon. Leave the base intact so they hold their shape.
(Some holes cannot be filled. But they can be held.)
Place them in a baking dish.
Nestle them close if you’re making more than one.
Pour in warm water or herbal tea (chamomile, mint) to cover the bottom.
Fill each center:
- A small piece of butter or a drizzle of oil
- A spoonful of honey
- A pinch of cinnamon
Bake for 30–40 minutes.
Until tender when pierced, but not collapsed.
The kitchen will smell like childhood, like care, like hope.
Serve warm.
Alone, or with someone who knows your silence.
No need to speak. Just eat.

🌿 Notes on Grief & Cooking

It’s okay if you burn it. Grief clouds focus. Try again tomorrow.
It’s okay if you don’t finish it. Set it aside. Come back when you can.
It’s okay to cry while stirring. Salt is already in the sea.
It’s okay to make enough for two—even if you’re alone. One portion is for you. The other is for the love that remains.

❤️ The True Ingredient

This recipe isn’t really about apples.
It’s about showing up for yourself when the world feels hollow.
It’s about saying: I am still here. I deserve tenderness.

And sometimes, that’s the bravest thing you can do.