Dried Apples

The sweet, low hum of the dehydrator suddenly clicked to a stop. Throwing down The Bell Jar, I dashed over to my kitchen, where the Excalibur dehydrator perched regally upon the counter. I stood at its corner, my breath quickening in excitement, and marveled over the square, subtle black box.

"Don't be so surprised," it cooed, "I can do anything."

I rested my hands on top of the warm, sturdy plastic, savoring the heat that radiated through my body. "Go ahead," it urged, "Take a look."

Gently lifting up the lid, I peeked into its heart, where trays of carefully arranged sliced fruits had been placed hours before. I reached in and pulled out one tray, upon which I had earlier laid rings of cored granny smith apples. I nudged at one of the rings.

Soft? Check.

Pliable? Check.

Completely dry? Check.

I bit down and tore off a piece. The sweet and sour flesh combined together to form a perfectly tart, chewy, dried apple ring. I shifted my attention back to the dehydrator, meeting its cool, smug gaze. "Okay, you're right," I sighed in amazement. "Now, what else can you do?"