Rhode Island! A nice state with a perfectly pedestrian, run-of-the-mill, mediocre state fruit: the Rhode Island Greening apple. I’d much rather they choose as their state fruit a truly gonzo choice, like their (in)famous New York System Wieners, a greasy hot dog in a steamed bun topped with a mysterious meat sauce, chopped onions, and I dunno, probably ground up sailor’s teeth or something. A gastronomical delight, and also may cause anal leakage. Have one of these with a nice cold coffee milk and kick the apple to the curb.

Or better yet, save it for a pie. See, not every apple is for eating out of hand. Many aren’t! Nor should they be! Arguably, I’m contributing to the ruination of our agricultural output because I’m over here reviewing every apple for how desserty it is, how good of a snack it ends up being, but some apples are snacks, some are pies, some are saucey, some are for cider, and some are for DOING EVIL. And that’s okay! Make the pie! Do the evil! But sadly, I’ve dedicated myself to the act of eating apples and telling you how good they are when rawdogged. And yes, I’m also part of the problem in watering down the meaning of the word “rawdogging.”

(Last night, while carving pumpkins, my son asked me if I was doing a specific design or what, and I just said, “Nah, I’m gonna rawdog it.” To which my son said, “Ah yes, unprotected pumpkin sex.” Children are a true joy, and I say that with zero irony.)

Anyway, let’s do this.

My review of a Rhode Island Greening apple, Scott Farm (VT), late-Oct:

I already spoiled this a little by saying, “Hey, some apples just aren’t for eating out of hand,” aaaaaand yeah, that means this apple.

Listen, I had one a little earlier in the season, and it was pretty unpleasant — tart, dry, a light lemon-elderflower taste, ultimately just a huge chore to get through. I didn’t review it at the time, and should have, but just as life finds a way in Jurassic Park, I live in Real People Park, where life gets in the way.

So, this was my second sample of the apple, and it was better.

Not like, crazy better, but better.

It was not a total chore to get through, and that lemon-elderflower taste become more overall effervescent and refreshing. It was finely-grained, and fairly crisp. The second example was juicier than the first. I’ve heard these keep for a while, and when they do, they develop better flavor, though still remain pretty mild.

I didn’t hate it. But it gets some cred, I guess — it’s one of the oldest apples in America, though for the oldest apple, I’ll be reviewing that tomorrow. (Spoiler: it’s the Roxbury Russet.) This one, though, dates back to the 1600s, grown by a fella named John Green of Green’s End, and I am 100% sure that this is referring to the author John Green, who is surely a time-traveler. I mean, he kind of has a time-traveler vibe, that guy. There is a wisdom to his eyes, and he’s clearly very smart, so I totally believe he’s capable of not only building a time machine but also using it to travel back through the centuries to give us a weird cool apple. The Rhode Island Johngreening.

Hank Green, also a time traveler, probably? (Also, Hank did a very good video about an older, now-largely-inaccessible banana, the Gros Michel, and whether it did or did not contribute to the banana flavor you find in candy. It mostly doesn’t, that’s a myth, but he did then help identify what the flavor is that goes into those candies from bananas: isoamyl acetate. And sometimes I’ve noted that there are bananas that taste not like banana, per se, but banana runts, and so then I looked up isoamyl acetate and apples, and sure enough, apples got it, too. And some have more of it, especially as they ripen! Which explains a bunch of stuff, like why I sometimes taste banana runts inside apples. Though you’re also free to believe in the INTELLIGENT DESIGN THEORY OF GOD PUTTING BANANA RUNTS FLAVOR INTO THINGS BECAUSE GOD REALLY LOVES BANANA RUNTS.)

Anyway. Still not an amazing apple eating raw. Or raw-dogging. Whatever.

Call it a 2.7 and head on home.

I eat it here, and also my dog makes an appearance if that’s your thing.

Rhode Island Greening: If pie, yes, if not pie, no

Reviews so far this year: Honeycrisp, Sweetie, Crimson Crisp, Knobbed Russet, Cortland, Maiden’s Blush, Cox’s Orange Pippin, Reine des Reinettes, Ingrid Marie, Hudson’s Golden Gem, Holstein, Suncrisp, Ashmead’s Kernel, Opalescent, Orleans Reinette, Black Gilliflower, Red Delicious Double Feature, Jonathan, Ruby Mac, Crimson Topaz, Esopus Spitzenburg, Mutsu, Hunnyz, Winesap, Stayman Winesap, Winter Banana, Ribston Pippin

Halloween should be a whole week. Halloweek. I mean, for those who are truly devoted, it’s the whole month of October, or for those truly obsessed (which is to say, correctly obsessed), it’s the whole year. Still, I just mean — it’d be great to have this week be a formalized week-long holiday. Or helliday! The Seven Days of Scares, like the Twelve Days of Christmas.

On the seventh night of Scare Week my Ghoul Love gave to me

Seven wolves-a-werein’

Six freaks-a-flayin’

Fiiiiiive Frankensteeeeeiiins

Four demon clowns

Three night hags

Two strangle gloves

And a slasher in a cornfiiiieeeeld

Anyway.

The big question is, why did I try to make apples scary? I love apples. Why make them the monster in Black River Orchard? (That book is available now hint hint poke poke oh and also Book of Accidents has references to that book even before I formally wrote it and oh shit TBOA is still only $4.99 at your various e-book merchant sites for reasons mysterious)? Why create the sinister Ruby Slipper apple? IF LOVE APPLES, WHY BETRAY THEM SO

Well, first, really the apple isn’t evil, per se — I mean, it is, but it’s really what it does to the people who eat it. Those who eat it and let the monster in, so to speak, were already capable of doing evil — the apple is just there to give them that sweet, sweet nudge. But still, the question persists: why apples?

I think in part it’s because eating an apple is such a visceral experience. You could argue, as many have in the past, that there’s something almost carnal about it — apples have long been associated with romance and sex, but also like, immortality and forbidden knowledge, too. Hell, Eris’ apple helped foment the envy necessary to start a whole goddamn war. And in eating an apple, it’s not a hard jump to find that carnal, erotic space and spin it to something altogether more grotesque at the same time. Juices flooding the mouth: sexy. Biting through a deep crunch of flesh: less overtly sexy and more cannibalistic. (Though don’t let me kink-shame you sexy cannibals out there.) This red, lush, round apple — biting through it, skin into flesh, all that sweetness flooding out, but don’t eat the seeds, they say — it’s just a very, and I know I used the word already, visceral thing.

And then the whole grafting process is its own kind of horror — the sheer human ego of saying, I want more of this fruit and so I must rip the limbs off this one tree, then cut the limb off a second tree and force the new limb onto the old injury. You might even clip the branches off the tree to which you grafted the new branches in order to ensure it no longer grows the apple you don’t want it to grow. Or you might try to get one apple tree to grow multiple varieties. That’s fucked up! That’s botanical body horror, baby. Doctor Frankenstein as a mad orchardist was part of that seed (ahem) that planted in my brain meat before writing the book. Hell, Johnny Appleseed considered grafting an act that was an affront to God! How fucking horror genre is that??

Plus, when you get into the cultural ramifications of the apple — not just mythological, but the American aspect of apples — you might see it as a fruit of colonization, a fruit given to indigenous who were then punished for being too successful (maybe even more successful) with it. It’s a fruit where once, if you planted the trees, it conferred ownership of the land upon you. And the apple itself was first a fruit associated with prurient attitudes — lustful carnality — and further tied to alcoholic consumption through cider. Then, there’s that cultural shift, demanding we view those things (sex and drinking) as sins, and the apple is forced into a role of serving as an icon of purity. That, done through Prohibition, through the act of burning down Johnny Appleseed’s cider orchards. Also done through the commodification of agriculture (see: the Red Delicious). Fruits that are shiny and perfect and inevitably dull. Glossed up, but flavorless, dry, absolutely unsexy. Plus, no drinking the boozy fruits, no no no. That’s a sin. No drink, no sex, no drinky sexy apple time. The phrase arose: as American as apple pie — even though apple pie isn’t even American at all. Just one more aspect of our cruel, callous cultural domination and colonization.

Anyway. All that stuff is fascinating. Even glimpsing the dark heart of agriculture and farming — fascinating stuff. So, that’s where you get apple horror. At least, that’s where my head goes. Even though apples are a thing I love, it’s both fun and interesting and, yes, horrifying to tackle that thing and turn it into terror.

Anyway, fuck all that, let’s review an apple.

My review of a Scott Farm (VT) Ribston Pippin, late-Oct:

As I’ve noted, most heirloom apples are either vampires or hobbits, and I’d say Ribston Pippin is a hobbit, for sure — though he might also be a cruel clergyman from Jane Eyre, who can say.

It’s going to be difficult not to keep this review short, because, the Ribston Pippin is a parent of the Cox’s Orange Pippin, one of my favorite apples. And as such, it’s like a lesser version of the Cox. That’s it. Take a Cox’s Orange Pippin, dial down most of the things about it, and you have the Ribston Pippin. The one thing it has is, it’s easily as nice looking as the Cox (tee-hee). It has that reddish-orange vibe and is pleasing to the eye, just less pleasing to the mouth.

It’s a perfectly nice apple!

Just, a little less sweet.

A little less tart.

A lot less of its tropical vibe.

Overall, just less interesting. The one interesting flavor is that it has kind of a weird musty dusty “used bookstore” flavor.

It’s a good apple, and I liked it, but the Cox’s is the superior apple, full-stop.

Watch me eat it here.

Ribston Pippin: The student has become the master, which puts the master out to pasture, sorry Ribston Pippin, you’re old news

Reviews so far this year: Honeycrisp, Sweetie, Crimson Crisp, Knobbed Russet, Cortland, Maiden’s Blush, Cox’s Orange Pippin, Reine des Reinettes, Ingrid Marie, Hudson’s Golden Gem, Holstein, Suncrisp, Ashmead’s Kernel, Opalescent, Orleans Reinette, Black Gilliflower, Red Delicious Double Feature, Jonathan, Ruby Mac, Crimson Topaz, Esopus Spitzenburg, Mutsu, Hunnyz, Winesap, Stayman Winesap, Winter Banana

We’ll get to the fact I’m reviewing an apple called a banana (shades of A Man Called Horse) in a moment: up front, let’s talk about food insecurity. We are entering a time of grave economic uncertainty — SNAP benefits are going away, health insurance costs are skyrocketing, inflation is simmering to boil, jobs are rotten fruits falling off the tree, and just in general, things ain’t great. And let’s be clear, that’s not happening in a vacuum — it’s not because it’s Mercury in Retrograde or some kind of external astrological circumstance, but rather, because we are under the boot of a cruel and callous administration run by autocrats and king-lickers who are glad to throw the lower and middle classes into a wood-chipper that turns them into chum to feed the wealthiest among us. As such, this is a very good time to —

Donate to a food bank!

I recommend Philabundance, but certainly, certainly you have local food banks to you, and you are more than welcome to drop links to those food banks in the comments below. Note, too, that generally the recommendation is to donate money to food banks rather than, well, food. They know their food needs and can spend the money accordingly — and often more efficiently. If you are donating food, my understanding is that communicating with the food bank to understand their needs first is helpful!

I’m sure somewhere here someone is very inclined to yell at me for bringing politics into these fun (“fun”) apple reviews — well, I mean, feel how you feel, but honestly? Eat shit. Eat all the shit instead of eating delicious apples. Food is inherently political. Agriculture and produce is inherently political. Think of all the things that goes into food: who has access to eat it, to grow it, how it’s kept safe, what companies dominate that market, where it is imported from and exported to, what food is kept to the wealthy and kept away from the poor, and so on. Food is political no matter who is in the White House — and with the current motherfucker up in there, the chaos inherent in our food system has never been more apparent.

So, drop a link to a food bank or click the ones people leave, and give some money, help people get the food they need. Cool? Cool.

All right. With all that said —

Let’s review an apple.

My review of a Winter Banana from Scott Farm (VT), late-Oct:

This is an apple called a banana. I am sorry to drop that cognitive dissonance in your lap, but here we are. Don’t even think about how there’s a banana called an apple-banana. (They’re amazing.)

Let’s just get this out of the way right now: this Winter Banana sucked, and not just because it didn’t even have enough banana to deserve the name, but because the texture was the texture of an old carrot that had gone too long in the fridge. You know the kind of carrot I’m talking about. That dread, rubbery thing. That floppy orange dong in the bottom of the veggie drawer. No crispity-crunchity texture, no hard-breaking snap — but rather, a dildoian character, a turgid latex tube of compressed vegetation. So right out of the gate, the texture was deeply off-putting to me. And the skin was shiny and waxy and didn’t help matters.

Really, though, all that could be skirted past should the flavor be amazing. And was it? Was it amazing? Will this apple pull itself out of the nose-dive?

It was not, and will not.

The flavor was absolutely mid. It wasn’t the “this Red Delicious tastes like apple-scented zero-calorie water” thing, but it wasn’t really doing much of a tap-dance in my mouth. The best thing I can say for the flavor was that it was somewhat refreshing, and called to mind some of the elderflower juice I had in places like Copenhagen, Oslo, Stockholm. Nice, light, floral. And it gets extra points for being fairly pretty — an ethereal, ghostly green with a true rosé blush to it. But that flavor was short-lived, and its beauty forgotten once you bite into it.

Oh, and did it have its trademark banana scent or flavor? Nnyyeaaaah no? Not really? I got a whiff of green banana upon biting into it, but that was the first and last scent of it, and caught zero ‘nanner taste out of it. So, even there, a sort of pre-promised perk of the apple didn’t show up to the party.

Meh? Meh.

3.3 outta 10 is what you get, silly banana.

Video here.

Winter Banana: I’d rather have an actual banana, and bananas are mostly terrible

Reviews so far this year: Honeycrisp, Sweetie, Crimson Crisp, Knobbed Russet, Cortland, Maiden’s Blush, Cox’s Orange Pippin, Reine des Reinettes, Ingrid Marie, Hudson’s Golden Gem, Holstein, Suncrisp, Ashmead’s Kernel, Opalescent, Orleans Reinette, Black Gilliflower, Red Delicious Double Feature, Jonathan, Ruby Mac, Crimson Topaz, Esopus Spitzenburg, Mutsu, Hunnyz, Winesap, Stayman Winesap

Have I asked you what your favorite apple is, yet? Okay, consider this the ask: hit me up with what is, for you, the very bestest apple. For eating, ideally, though recs for baking, saucing, cidering, chucking at wayward children, rolling down a hill in an apple race, or worshipping for evil purpose and dark intent — all those are welcome, as well. Meanwhile, let’s get to the review —

My review of a Stayman Winesap from Manoff Orchard, PA, late-Oct:

I did a dual video review of the Winesap and the Stayman Winesap, eating them both side by side — you can find the video review here, and the blog review of the Regular-Ass Winesap here.

The Stayman Winesap is, by reports, a seedling of the Winesap — which is to say, it’s related, but not in a way that necessarily matters flavor-wise, since seeds from an apple are a roulette wheel in terms of what grows from it.

That said, I did find some similarities between the Winesap and the Stayman Winesap, though those similarities might be imagined.

What I will say is this: the Stayman Winesap is like if you took the Regular-Ass Winesap and hooked its nuts up to a car battery. It unleashes a full-electric-charge into your face when you take a bite — you still get that vinous white grape thing, but then that swiftly transforms into a honeysuckle and pineapple vibe, and when I say pineapple, I don’t mean it’s reminiscent of pineapple, but rather, there were times when I was like, I’m eating a straight-up pineapple for sure. Then you’re left with a powerful lemon buzz on the lips, which I honestly love, because I crave any feeling and meaning in this dark and lightless world.

What else? Coarse flesh. Mega-juice, like, incredibly juicy, like afterward I literally had to towel off as if I just played a vigorous game of pickleball or had just finished up at the local orgy. Is that a thing? The local orgy? I’ve never been invited to one, so I wouldn’t know. Are orgies a thing you even get invited to or do you just need to be a person who knows orgy people and you sort of just end up there together? Or is it a vibe? Do you have to give off an orgy vibe and then the orgy finds you in an act of orgy manifest destiny? This is too much talk about orgies for an apple review so I’m going to try to find an exit ramp to this paragraph now, ah, there’s one —

The skin is fairly pleasant, which I did not expect because honestly the apple had this rustic look to it, as if it pulled up on a tractor and tipped its dusty John Deere hat at you. It’s got that working man’s apple thing, like this apple can work a plow, or this apple can change the oil in your Bronco. It looks a little like it would vote Republican, which did not give me hope — thankfully, it’s got way more flavor and zest than that, and clearly cares about other people too much to ever do such a horrible thing. Anyway. It’s great! Go get it.

Let’s call it a solid 8.0 out of 10.

Stayman Winesap: Doesn’t look like it, but this apple fucks

Reviews so far this year: Honeycrisp, Sweetie, Crimson Crisp, Knobbed Russet, Cortland, Maiden’s Blush, Cox’s Orange Pippin, Reine des Reinettes, Ingrid Marie, Hudson’s Golden Gem, Holstein, Suncrisp, Ashmead’s Kernel, Opalescent, Orleans Reinette, Black Gilliflower, Red Delicious Double Feature, Jonathan, Ruby Mac, Crimson Topaz, Esopus Spitzenburg, Mutsu, Hunnyz, Winesap

I keep coming back to the question of why I do this, and while the easiest answer is, I like apples and I want you to like apples too, and I find them interesting, and I want you to find them interesting too, I’ve come to the realization that there’s another reason, too–

Things are, I’d argue, really bad right now. Things are often bad in the world, because history is full of sinister forces, but right now in particular feels keenly, sharply bad. Like, every week is a brand new re-do of Billy Joel’s “We Didn’t Start The Fire.” I’m not going to go through the list, because doing so would probably take me hours, and by the time I was done writing it, a new list of abhorrent news would replace the former list of aberrations and atrocities, but suffice to say:

It’s not good, Bob.

But apples, well, apples are good. They are a simple thing. An elegant thing. They are a very nice product of the intersection of nature doing nature things and human beings doing human being things. (And on this front, I gotta recommend you read Sally Coulthard’s The Apple, A Delicious History. Thanks very much to my friends at The Montana Book Company for sending it along!) Apples are a nice thing, and it’s nice to have a nice thing in a not-so-nice time. Also great to have a simple thing in complicated times. A good thing, in evil times.

And for me this act of taking an apple, eating it, thinking about it, then talking/writing about it is honestly meditative. I’ll do the video review of the first bites, but then I’ll often walk outside with the apple and wander around, eating it. And while eating it, I’m trying to be mindful about eating it — what is it like, what do I taste, what weird flavors are nested in there, what is the texture, the aroma, what is an apple, am I turning into an apple, if I turned into an apple, what apple would I be? I enjoy the weather. I listen to the birds. I eat the apple. And as such, I get to unplug from reality for a moment and… plug back into a really-real reality. A better, nicer, truer reality, where apples exist, untethered from this troubled timeline. It’s not disassociating, not entirely. I’m not unpinning my mind from everything. I am simply pinning it to something pure, something essential, and above all else, something small. The humble, weird, wonderful apple.

Anyway. I’ve little advice for this current era, really, but had I something to tell you it’d be that: find you that thing that lets you disconnect. Something very explicitly not on a screen. Books, obviously, are wonderful for this. But it can be anything. Fish in a fishtank. Building a little terrarium. Cataloguing bugs. Birds, too–birds are a good one for me. None of this is advocating for not keeping up with the news and remaining active in action and advocacy and activism, I just mean, we all need to take time in the eye of the hurricane, in that place of calm, and maybe, just maybe, eat a fucking apple.

And now, a review.

My review of the Winesap apple, from Manoff Orchard, PA, late-Oct:

This is, in theory, a nice little apple. Kind of a Bob Ross apple — plain-spoken, maybe not entirely exciting, but contains hidden depths of wisdom and, perhaps, a secret squirrel. I’ve heard it referred to as vinous, which is to say, winey, though I found it to be less wine and more white grape with a little elderflower in there. That flavor isn’t particularly strong, though — it’s not so thin as to be the ghost of flavor, but it’s really quite mild. Unassertive, pretty chill, doesn’t want to get in your way, might be high on edibles.

Crisp. Juicy. I’d call it medium-grained. An easy eater. Except. Except.

We gotta talk about the skin.

(“I’ll take THINGS SERIAL KILLERS SAY for $500, Alex.”)

The skin.

This goddamn skin.

I bit into it — video here, which is actually a double-review of this and the Stayman Winesap — and found the skin was easily the toughest, worst skin I’ve had in my mouth. Maybe worse than the knobbed russet skin. It was like chewing wallpaper. You could line the fucking Space Shuttle in this shit to prevent space debris or to insulate it from the fiery heat of reentry. The skin is a nightmare. I think I’m still chewing it. I think I’m still digesting it. It may now be adhering to the insides of my stomach and bowels. My new interior skin.

Anyway, it was horrible, and it kind of ruins an otherwise nice-ish apple.

As such, I would’ve given this a nice score in the 5 outta 10 space, but dinging it down to nice-ish thanks to that fucking extraterrestrial ARMOR it wears, so we’ll call it *taps a bunch of numbers into an adding machine like I’m Sam Reich running a game of Make Some Noise* 4.9 out of 10.

Winesap: A chill white wine spritzer of an apple clad in the armor of an M1 Abrams tank

Reviews so far this year: Honeycrisp, Sweetie, Crimson Crisp, Knobbed Russet, Cortland, Maiden’s Blush, Cox’s Orange Pippin, Reine des Reinettes, Ingrid Marie, Hudson’s Golden Gem, Holstein, Suncrisp, Ashmead’s Kernel, Opalescent, Orleans Reinette, Black Gilliflower, Red Delicious Double Feature, Jonathan, Ruby Mac, Crimson Topaz, Esopus Spitzenburg, Mutsu, Hunnyz

Grocery store apples are quite often shit. At best, they’re terribly boring, even if they’re not themselves terrible. Though we’ve left the Red Delicious Problem somewhat in our dust, the mass production and distribution of apples still pushes onto us an army of thick-skinned Honeycrisp taste-alikes. I had mentioned before but the last time I was at the store, most of the apples looked faintly withered, like your pruned fingertips after spending too long in the bath. I half-expected the apples to have gone pale, and to spy a small vampiric bunny hopping around the produce section.

Still, while there, I found a grocery apple that was new to me, and that apple was named — and I swear to Christ this is the name, I’m not making this up, this is not a bit — HUNNYZ. It’s called Hunnyz. Fucking Hunnyz.

We used to be a real country, goddamnit.

Hunnyz.

“Let’s misspell HONEY and stick a Z on its ass, that’ll fishhook the millennials into eating our stupid new Honeycrisp variant.” What is this, 2005? Is this what passes for edgy in the fruit-based marketing world? Was Honeycrisp too formal, too buttoned-up, too Earl Grey and scones and sconces and pinkies out, so they needed a COOL APPLE to SKATEBOARD IN and do a KICKFLIP in time with Smashmouth’s ALL-STAR? This is definitely the thing a guy in his early 60s names an apple because he wants to reconnect with his daughter who cut him out of his life because of his shitty politics, and now there’s his grandson, Mylar, and he only sees pictures of Mylar on Facebook but he wants to be in his life, so hey, maybe Mylar will think this apple is cool-as-heck, and the sweet HUNNYZ branding will rebuild the bridge and bring his family back together again, and if it doesn’t, that’s okay, eventually this fruit marketing executive will join the second Trump administration as Branding Consultant for ICE.

Or, put more succinctly, the apple has strong Poochie energy.

It’s a Honeycrisp – Crimson Crisp cross. Whatever. Who cares. I can’t believe I have to do this. Fuck it let’s eat this fucking apple.

(p.s., I took a photo of the apple, but somehow fucked it up and deleted the photo, so I took another one mid-bite, but that’s an awful photo, so the photo at the top of the post is I photo I took of oatmeal with apples, which is a good thing to eat, with or without a HINEYZ apple chunked into it)

My review of, and really I hate typing this, a Hunnyz apple, from the Giant grocery store chain in PA, late-October but honestly who knows when this fucking thing came off a tree, it could’ve been 2015:

I want you to imagine this review is mostly just me sighing a long sigh and kind of shrugging a bit and then mumbling a loose acquiescence, a shoulder-slumping resignation of mind, body and soul.

It’s not that this apple is terrible. It isn’t. It’s — it’s fine. It’s very sweet because of course American consumers are all viewed as children who need CANDY FRUIT or they’ll fucking riot, but it’s sweet without complexity — it’s not even the rich molasses of a brown sugar, it’s just rock candy but in apple form. It breaks hard, this apple, but not necessarily in a satisfying way: it’s like you’re biting into compressed styrofoam. It’s juicy as hell, which is nice. There is a tartness there, but it’s maybe, maybe at a 70/30 split with the sweetness, and that sweetness is so deeply straightforward. It’s a long, unswerving highway. It’s I-80 across Pennsylvania — it’ll get you there, but it ain’t gonna be exciting. It also has a long chew to it, partly due to the skin which wants to hang out with you like a weird guy at a party, but also because that hard-breaking texture means this turns into you eating dirt for a while.

It’s fine. I’m being meaner to it than it deserves. Honestly, if it didn’t have that name, I might rate is a 4.6, but as it stands, the name is an impasse for me, just a high ugly mountain peak I am unable to surmount, and this obstacle forces me to give this sweet crunchy sadlump a 3.9 out of 10.

Watch me eat this apple here, if you dare.

Hunnyz: Divorced dad energy

Reviews so far this year: Honeycrisp, Sweetie, Crimson Crisp, Knobbed Russet, Cortland, Maiden’s Blush, Cox’s Orange Pippin, Reine des Reinettes, Ingrid Marie, Hudson’s Golden Gem, Holstein, Suncrisp, Ashmead’s Kernel, Opalescent, Orleans Reinette, Black Gilliflower, Red Delicious Double Feature, Jonathan, Ruby Mac, Crimson Topaz, Esopus Spitzenburg, Mutsu