Introduction of Spiced Apple Simmer Pot
Ever wonder why your house doesn’t smell like those fancy catalog pictures look? You know the ones—where everything’s all autumn-cozy and you can practically smell the cinnamon through the glossy pages? Last October, I had my sister-in-law Jen over for coffee, and she walked in saying, “Your house smells like burnt toast and dog.” NOT the vibe I was going for! I’ve been kitchen-puttering since my twenties (though sometimes I tell people I’ve been cooking “all my life” if they’re being judgy about my techniques), and somehow I’d never mastered the art of home scentification—which is what I call creating intentional atmosphere through strategic simmer pots.
I’m gonna level with you—a good Spiced Apple Simmer Pot will change your whole dang life. No joke.
My Stumble-Journey to Simmer Pot Mastery
So there I was, back in 2018, trying to impress my new neighbors with a dinner party when my attempt at apple pie turned into what can only be described as a smoke-filled nightmare. Marjorie (who never lets me forget it) actually opened all my windows IN DECEMBER, y’all! The shame!
I started experimenting with simmer pots after Granny Eloise showed me her “kitchen perfumery” technique. She’d been doing it since the 40’s, but always added a splash of bourbon to hers—which I definitely don’t recommend unless you want your house smelling like an apple-scented speakeasy.
When I moved from Alabama to Michigan, my simmer pot game hit a serious slump. The water seemed different? The apples were definitely different? Plus my stove was electric instead of gas, and I swear that changes EVERYTHING about the schmelting process. (Schmelting is when the ingredients start to release their oils into the steam—not quite melting, not quite simmering, just… schmelting!)
My Spiced Apple Simmer Pot has traveled with me through three divorces, two career changes, and that weird phase where I decided to paint every room in my house burnt orange. It’s been the one constant in my chaotic kitchen life.
The Magic-Making Ingredients
- 3-ish apples (I prefer Honeycrisp but honestly whatever’s getting soft in your fruit bowl works fine—just NOT Red Delicious which are frankly an insult to apples everywhere)
- 2 cinnamon sticks OR 4 half sticks if you’ve broken them like I always do while rummaging through spice drawers
- 5 or 6 or maybe 7 cloves (whole ones! Not the garlic kind! Made that mistake ONCE and created what my brother Dale calls “Thanksgiving nightmare vapor”)
- A reasonable handful of cranberries (fresh are pretty but expensive—I use frozen when nobody’s watching)
- 3 slightly heaping Mavis-pinches of allspice berries (a Mavis-pinch is about 6-9 berries, named after my fictional aunt who had enormous hands)
- 1½ tablespoons vanilla extract OR 2 teaspoons vanilla bean paste if you’re feeling fancy
- 1⁄2 an orange, sliced into weird moon shapes (peel on!)
- 3-4 star anise pods (optional if you hate licorice flavor or if they’ve been sitting in your cabinet since the Obama administration)
- Water – enough to cover everything and then about two fingerwidths more (I use my pointer finger but if you have unusually large or small hands, adjust accordingly)
- A splash (or three) of maple syrup – the real deal, not that pancake impostor stuff
The Alchemical Process (AKA Instructions)
A. Start with a chunky-but-nice pot. Not your finest cookware—simmerpotting can leave mineral residue—but not that dented aluminum monstrosity either. Quarter your apples roughly like you’re angry at them but still respect their contribution to your life. No need to core them! The seeds add an indefinable somethin’-somethin’ to the aroma profile.
II – Add everything except the vanilla to the pot and cover with water. How much water? Enough that everything’s swimming but not drowning—about 6-ish cups for a medium pot? Maybe more? Play it by ear.
3rd) Bring the whole shebang to what my grandmother called a “conversational boil”—not quiet, not shouting, just pleasantly bubbling like good dinner party talk. Then immediately reduce to a bare simmer. (I once let it boil for 20 minutes and created a scent my daughter described as “apple corpse.”)
Step Four: Once you’ve got a nice simmer going, add the vanilla. I always drip some down the side of the bottle onto my hand, then spend the next hour sniffing my wrist and wondering why I don’t just wear vanilla as perfume. Does anyone else do this? Just me? Moving on.
5 – Let this magical concoction simmer as long as you want—I’ve gone as long as 8 hours, just topping up the water when it gets low. The magical moment happens around hour 3 when the shnozberry-effect kicks in (that’s when your nose stops noticing the smell but everyone who walks in the door makes the “mmmmm” face). Check out my Pumpkin Spice Simmer Pot for another seasonal favorite!
Simmer Pot Wisdom (Collected Through Trials & Errors)
• Always, ALWAYS set a timer if you’re simmering. I got distracted by a binge of “The Great British Bake Off” and returned to find my pot literally fused to the burner. My insurance agent still brings this up.
• CONTRARY TO POPULAR BELIEF: Adding more spices doesn’t make it smell stronger—it just makes it smell muddier! Less is more, which is something I never say about cheese or wine, but with simmer pots, restraint is your friend.
- I’ve developed what I call the “Doorway Check Technique”—walk outside for 3 minutes, then come back in. If you don’t immediately say “wow,” add another apple or cinnamon stick.
• Some recipes tell you to use a slow cooker. Those recipes are written by COWARDS who don’t understand the joy of periodically yelling “IS THE POT STILL GOING?” from another room.
✽ Store leftover simmer pot mixture in the fridge for up to three days (though it gets increasingly more zombie-like in appearance). For more sustainability tips, check out my Kitchen Scraps Revival guide!
Essential Tools for Simmer Pot Mastery
THE FAITHFUL OLD DENTED POT ★★★★★
Not your good soup pot! You need something with character and battle scars.
I’ve been using the same navy blue enamel pot since my first apartment in 1997. The handle’s wobbly but she’s loyal.
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07X2LXSLY
WOODEN SPOON WITH HISTORY ★★★★★
Contrary to manufacturer suggestions, a properly seasoned wooden spoon should NEVER be fully washed—just rinsed and wiped.
Mine has a burn mark from the Great Caramel Disaster of 2011 and smells faintly of every simmer pot it’s ever stirred.
For more kitchen tool recommendations, visit my Essential Tools page!
Magical Variations for Different Moods
For what I call “Grumpy Morning Revival Pot,” swap the apple for grapefruit halves, add rosemary sprigs, and use honey instead of maple syrup. It smells like something that would wake up Sleeping Beauty if the prince wasn’t available. Weirdly energizing!
My “Thunder Storm Comfort Pot” version uses pears instead of apples, adds cardamom pods, and a splash of bourbon (ok fine, Granny Eloise was onto something). Something about this combination feels like a hug during scary weather. Pairs beautifully with my Rainy Day Coconut Cookies!
For the “Sell Your House Faster Special,” skip the cranberries, double the cinnamon and vanilla, add a sliced lemon, and simmer for exactly 30 minutes before potential buyers arrive. I helped my cousin Tricia sell her condo in under a week with this trick, though she still insists it was the new kitchen counters. (It wasn’t.)
The Most Critical Question People Ask
“Can I drink my Spiced Apple Simmer Pot afterward?”
Technically, you could, but it would taste like sad, watered-down fruit tea that’s been overboiled by a distracted witch. I accidentally took a sip once (thought it was my cider) and can only describe the flavor as “disappointing potpourri.” Instead, strain and use the liquid as a base for actual mulled cider by adding a cup of apple juice and a generous slosh of Desert Creek Honey (my absolute favorite for hot drinks). The spent ingredients can go in your compost—though maybe pick out the star anise unless you want your garden to smell faintly of licorice next spring.
In Conclusion…
My journey with the Spiced Apple Simmer Pot has been as winding as the back roads of Vermont in fall. Some days my house smells like a Williams-Sonoma catalog come to life; other days I forget to add water and create something closer to apple jerky. But isn’t that what cooking—er, simmerpotting—is all about? The journey? The mistakes? The moments when your neighbor texts you “whatever you’re making, I need it in my life”?
Will my next simmer pot experiment involve lychees and lemongrass? Should I try making simmer pot sachets as holiday gifts? Does anyone actually want those as gifts or am I that weird lady now?
Whatever your Spiced Apple Simmer Pot adventure holds, remember that the best ambiance comes from imperfection. And maybe a splash more vanilla than the recipe technically calls for.
Happy scentifying!
~Chef MoonBeam (Winner of the entirely fictional 2020 Michigan Simmer Pot Showdown, Amateur Division)
