This year, I am considerably daunted by the prospect of doing in-depth apple reviews — I want to! I do! But with our brand new dog, Cooper, and with one big leg of a book tour over and now a second, shorter leg coming up (see you in New Hampshire, Vermont, Ottawa, and Rhinebeck NY?), oh and a whole book I gotta finish writing, I’ve been sorta maybe kinda busy. So busy I can’t even edit that sentence down to a manageable length.
That said, I am still eating apples, and of course I’m gonna talk about them.
So I figured, let’s do a first round of capsule reviews here — a big post of yummy and, er, not so yummy apples what I done ate.
(As a sidenote, I think my last formal apple review was last February — #41, The Wild Twist. And you’ll find link backs to the 40 reviews prior to that.)
We begin with —
Gravenstein

GRAVENSTEIN WAS THE DOCTOR, NOT THE MONSTER, YOU PLEBE. What? Sorry.
I’ve had a real mixed bag with Gravensteins, but this one was pretty darn lovely. Not as crisp as I expected it to be, but juicy, and with a profound taste of vanilla, rooibos, and a hint of honey and elderflower. Skin had a nice pop, too, and was not deleterious to the eating experience. I know these can be a bit fussy here in America (it’s a Danish apple, I believe?) but this one, from Scott Farm, was a damn delight.
Let’s call it a 7.5 outta 10.
Hubbardston Nonesuch

“HUBBARDSTON NONESUCH, YOU GET OUT OF THAT BARN AND STOP TINKERING WITH THAT GOAT.”
I dunno, it sounds like some old-timey Depression-era farmer name. Or maybe like snake oil. Whatever. I ate two of these — one out of the box, a second a couple weeks later. Both times, got hit by a tongue-scrubbing astringency. First time, was real dull. Juice hits, then it’s replaced with a kind of bright white nothingness. With maybe a ping of elderflower or some other florality. Second apple had a stronger taste — suddenly sub-acid, having lost all of its zip-zoom-zap. Very sweet. But once again, that flavor didn’t last, ghosting into the hedge like Homer.
Uhh, Simpson, not the sightless Greek poet.
Not my favorite apple of the batch. From Scott Farm, Vermont.
Let’s call this a 3.7 out of 10. Why 3.7 and not 3.8? Or 3.6? I don’t know. I’m just making this shit up. Using decimals make it seem like math. (Also it lets me get a bit more granular, if anybody cares about that. Which you shouldn’t. I am not an appleologist and any opinions I offer here should be viewed subjectively and honestly, suspiciously.)
Lamb Abbey Pearmain

I dunno what lambs are doing what in what abbey, but I support my sheepy monkbrothers and monksisters. Baa, baa, my brethen. Baa, baa.
Anyway. Last time I had one of these about… five years ago? I was largely unimpressed. It was a good, not great apple. Maybe a little boring?
This time, not boring at all. A happy-making apple. Kind of a platonic ideal of an apple — crunchy-crispy flesh, great balance of tart and sweet, classic apple flavor with a hint of tangerine or some other kind of citrus? And a slightly weird-but-pleasing umami MSG thing. Sometimes pearmains are expected to taste like pear; this did not. Anyway! It was nice. Not jaw-dropping amazing, but much better than I got last time around. It’s why it’s always good to try apples of the same kind from season to season, or even at different times within a season. Apples change. It’s fun. They’re a chaos fruit. Eris knew it.
That’s another 7.5 / 10.
Hewes Crab

Crabapples, which I initially mistyped as “crapapples,” oops, are a pretty neat little thing. A handful of species are native here, unlike Malus domestica, which is only native to my heart. Crabapples have long-served as a good way to make cider, or jelly, or to improve standard apple stock, or to throw them at children without hurting the children, but really just as a way to let the children know, “I don’t care for you, child, and that’s why I’m throwing a small apple at you — not to harm you, but simply to assert my distaste for you and your diminutive kind!”
Anyway, this little fucker is the Hewes Crab. Or the Virginia Crab. More a cider apple or throwing-at-children apple than one you eat.
It’s weird. Crabapples are weird. But it is interesting, at least. The ones I had were a bit mealy, without juice, but had a curious pear-meets-pineapple-meets-savory-tamarind thing? And then as I ate it, more kinda happened in the mouth. It finished with a complex butterscotch hit. Which is pretty strange. And fun. So try one. But then throw the rest at children.
Worth a 5 outta 10, just for the butterscotch thrill.
Opalescent
No photo here, just a brief update — I reviewed this last year and gave it a nut-kick of a score: 2.5 outta 10. But this year, I had a batch, and found them pretty sublime. Crisp, dense, a berry hit of tart-sweet, a tinge of something floral. A major fucking glow-up for this apple. From dud to stud. Easily bumping it to a 8 outta 10, which again: wow, zero to hero. Good job, Opalescent. Good job.
Chenango Strawberry

Is this the sequel to Django Unchained? No. It is fun to say though. Especially as some kind of exclamation of surprise. “Chenango Strawberry!” you exclaim, as the masked killer leaps out from behind the curtain.
Ate this fun friend in Wisconsin — the first of many apples I bought and consumed there (from Brightonwoods, a great orchard). First, the smell off that apple was profoundly strawberry. Which, okay, it’s right in the name. But a lot times, you don’t always get what a name advertises. The Hubbardston Nonesuch does not smell like a guy named Hubbardston, for instance. Or maybe it does. I’ve never met a Hubbardston.
So, beyond the smell… it was a tough apple to review. Lovely aroma, and the taste was honestly fairly berry-like. But the texture on my iteration of it was just gushy mushy mealy mess. Like, a pre-applesauced apple. You don’t even need your mouth to make it. It just exists in that state already.
So, sadly, a 4 outta 10 from me.
William’s Pride

William! You fool! With your damnable pride! Yes, you are an apple! Yes, you have a butt, unlike other apples! But your juicy butt will be your downfall!
Another softer apple, but not mealy or mushy — just on the side of still pleasant.
Very juicy, drippy juicy, with some warming pie spices attached to the aftertaste — you know, that cinnamon-clove-nutmeg. Autumnal shit. Though also there’s an after-aftertaste, where it tastes like the air in a used bookstore. Or maybe like you’re just licking a used book. I dunno.
It’s good. I coulda used more tart. Maybe something a little more exciting. I’m not sure William really deserves all that Pride. But I’ll afford him a 6.3 outta 10. In part because of that juicy butt.
Blenheim Orange

Real dense cronchy boy here. The skin is forbidding. It’s like you’re trying to open plastic packaging with your teeth. But the flesh…
THE FLESH
SAVOR THE FLESH
Okay sorry, got weird there.
It has the sunny disposition of a Cox’s Orange Pippin. It’s bright, friendly, a floral zip, an electric lemon tickle. The density of it though is difficult. It’s like eating an apple at the center of a black hole. An apple crushed by all the pressure of collapsing space-and-time. Not pleasant in that sense.
But tasty otherwise!
7 outta 10. Woop.
Golden Nugget

Boy, that’s an ugly fucking apple. It’s some kind of goblin butt canker. Like you pried it off an ogre’s back and then it fell into the dirt.
In short: tough, gnarly apple with a green, unripened smack of tartness — as the flavor resolves, it goes straight for unripe banana. Not under-ripe. But totally un-fucking-ripe. Green. No yellow. Like you’re eating the banana while it remains hanging from its tree. Or bush. Or shrub. I don’t know how bananas grow. Maybe you pluck them from a monster’s diaper, I have no idea.
Ummmmmm. I think I should really hate it, but my mouth did find it interesting, and my mind was more compelled by it than I expected.
The sign notes it develops in cold storage, which I did not give it a chance to do. Like a GoldRush, it may really mature off the tree.
This one sucked but I also liked it, because tastes are weird.
I still can’t give it more than a 5.9 outta 10. I mean, let’s be real.
Doctor Harvey

“DOCTOR HARVEY, DOCTOR HARVEY. WE HAVE HUBBARDSTON NONESUCH ON THE LINE FOR YOU, DOCTOR HARVEY.”
This very old apple (er, variety, I’m not eating a 400-year-old vampire apple) is designated a cooking apple — which is to say, good for sauce, pie, what-have-you.
This would not be good for pie because it was a bit too soft. Not mealy! But soft. It’d turn to PIE GOOP, I think.
Still, for a cooking apple — it’s fairly pleasant, and I encourage you to watch the video of me eating it, because the pop of the skin is honestly unparalleled. I’ve never had an apple pop like this. It’s straight up ASMR shit.
The flavor itself starts nice — it’s got this berry-flavored wine cooler thing going on. And it was juicy as all heck. Just a gusher. A real squirter.
The flavor, though, recedes quickly, as to flee a crime scene.
So, it’s a 5.1 outta 10 for me, just over the line with that magnificent pop.
All right. More apple reviews to come! I’ve still got an absolute shitload of apples to talk about — and next week, I’ll be in New England, so you can be sure that Imma eat some fancy goddamn apples there, too. Just don’t tell Delilah I’m dragging her to an orchard and we’re going to sacrifice ourselves to the apple trees. Shhh. Shh!
Also if you want a perfect spooky-season-apple-season read, I feel obliged to remind you I wrote a book about a sinister orchard and its evil apples —
Black River Orchard, out now. Grab signed/personalized copies from Doylestown Bookshop, and they’ll mail ’em right to you.








































