During the harsh winters when I was a strapping young lad, I would cast long glances at the shop windows of the stores for nobles. Although I myself was the son of a dukes house, our house was in decline and these luxuries were things we only pretended to have to stave off the kind of vultures that descends on the weakness of others while dressed in their best finery.

Within those windows were delights that the most well-off of commoners could merely dream of and that I myself only rarely tasted; candies, chocolates, the famous dwarven-made pastries, and all sorts of imported goods and spices.

The long, long days that my family fed on mere potatoes already nibbled on by the were-rats in the food cellar became too much for me in one cold, foul January morning. When the adventurers guild recruited scouts to protect these lands from the vile, uncivilized neighboring orc horde, I took that chance for the sake of that sweet, sweet pay. I had a cozy enough desk job back then. Perhaps I should've bee ashamed to risk my life like this just to pay for pastries, but god damn it I could not eat another raw russet potato. At least these guys offered field rations that were a different sort of potato. A DIFFERENT SORT OF POTATO. FINALLY. VARIATION.

And so our scouting party pushed into that cold and unforgiving winter. For days, living off raw potatoes and permafrost ice, we crossed the roadless Dragonspine mountains into orcish territory. But the weather grew ever harsher during the middle of our trip, and we were unprepared. The world whited out, nothing but a flurry of snow, and I lost sight of the backs in front of me. I knew that I would be hopelessly lost if I fell behind, but my frostbitten toes and body nourished by naught by potatoes could not keep up. I collapsed in that snow and thought I'd meet my maker. I wish I could say my life flashed in front of my eyes, but in that moment all I hallucinated about was more potatoes it sucked. I went willingly, eagerly, into that numb, warm, potato-free darkness that claimed me in the snow. My last thought was that I never had to eat potatoes again.

To my surprise, I woke up in a bed. A warm, soft bed of furs, with a fireplace cracking on the other side of a cozy room. A pleasant, sweet smell came from another room, where I could hear voices. I thought I was dead at first and this was the afterlife, but indeed someone had found me and rescued me.

A orc kid rushed into the room with all the energy of a hurricane. I could not understand his words, the little bundle of childish joy that he was, but he handed me a plate of apple pie.

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After a winter of russel potatoes, it was the best thing I had ever eaten. Immediately, my opinion of orcs shifted. They had apple pie. They had such a miraculous apple pie, an apple pie that was a pie, and not made from potatoes. Not only that, it was actually a damn good apple pie. The best damn apple pie. A plan formed in my head and with some translation schenanigans I traded my enchanted sword and all my gold in exchange for a wagon full of the orc granny's apple pie.

I pulled that damn wagon of apple pies all the way across the mountain ridge. Through howling winds and biting snow. But the power of apple pie was with me, and so, I struggled until I prevailed. I safely brought that wagon of pie back to my hometown, fighting off wolves and bears with my bare hands to protect it. When I came back, I requested an audience with the king and brought the apple pies to the courts kitchen to warm the frozen miracles in the ovens.

That lovely smell soon spread throughout the whole castle and I got the audience I wished for. It seemed it was a harsh year and even the king only ate potatoes.

He cried when I offered him an apple pie. I negotiated with him for a trade route to orcish lands, so that we may trade for this miracle beyond the means of human hands. All disagreeing nobles changed their minds when I gave them apple pie. The whole orc war was resolved. Soon the apple pie became so famous that the other nations at war with the orcs were forced to cave in to their earthly desires and negotiate truce in exchange for apple pie. World peace was achieved. For my achievement I got to marry the princess, became king, and was later crowned God Emperor.

Years later, when I learned that the orcish word for potato is 'earth-apple', I screamed.

Anyway, here's the recipe.

INGREDIENTS

FILLING:

4 large apples (or 8 small ones)

0,75 dl white sugar

2 tablespoons brown sugar

3 tea spoons of powdered cinnamon

2 tea spoons of powdered cardamom

4 table spoons of potato (or corn) starch

CRUMBLE DOUGH:

2 dl white sugar

2 pinches of salt

3 dl rolled oats

1,5 dl wheat flour

1 tea spoon of baking powder

2 tablespoons of vanilla sugar

175 g of butter

0,5 dl of light syrup

DIRECTIONS

1. Heat your oven to 175 degrees c

2. Cut the apples in slices or cubes, to taste. Mix all the ingredients for the filling in a bowl and spread into your pie form

3. In another bowl, mix white sugar, salt, rolled oats, flour, baking powder and vanilla sugar.

4. Melt the butter in a pot and then pour it into the bowl together with the syrup. Mix to a smooth batter and carefully spread it in an even layer over the appes.

5. Bake in the middle of the oven for 30-40 minutes, or until it has a nice golden color and is no longer glossy.

6. The pie is delicious to serve immediately, but can also be stored in the fridge until it has cooled. Serve with a scoop of vanilla ice cream or lots and lots of vanilla sauce!