Fall is my favorite season, hands down. And for good reason–I spent most of my early childhood through my teens in Brookline, a suburb of Boston. September meant apple picking. October often meant trick or treating wearing a heavy coat over our costume. November usually ushered in the first light dusting of snow. To me, autumn tastes like the snap of a Honeycrisp apple, my absolutely favorite variety. Fall, with its leaves a riot of flaming reds, yellows, and oranges, is the last exhale before the brutal, breath-snatching New England winter. It was–is–magical.