hen I found myself nearing the end of an autumn cycling vacation with too many apples to cram into my saddlebags, Betty came to my rescue. I was only vaguely familiar with the retro apple dessert—my aunt Kathy may have served me one once—but I had a sense that it was simply fruit baked with buttered, lightly sweetened bread crumbs and that it offered all the coziness of pie, crisp, and crumble with only a fraction of the effort. Just the thing to cobble together in my tiny rental
