Emma Slager

I remember sitting on the counter in our kitchen as a little girl watching applesauce ooze out of the little holes of our Victorio strainer's silver cylinder, sliding down the ramp into a waiting pan while the garbage parts--the seeds, peels, and stems--fell out into a separate bowl. I snuck quick tastes of warm, soursweet apple on my finger when no one was looking, and even sometimes when they were. Mum removed the pan of fresh sauce and scraped it…