As a food writer whose primary purpose is to highlight and comment on the insults of the food world, there are certain protocols to what makes and does not make sense to review. Limited edition products, new fast food items, and strange foreign products are all fair game. Things like Oreos and Cool Ranch Doritos are as much a part of any child's body now as their pinkie fingers and appendices are. Nobody needs me shouting out into the internet about cream viscosity or flavor powder. Likewise, it's silly to select things in the produce section. Like I'm really going to derail the kale industry by claiming that it tastes like grassy vomit. At least in the case of the new products, sometimes the commentary can be used as useful feedback or at the very least, quote fodder for later ad spots. Hint, hint.
Sometimes, though, there's an anomaly in the sections I've vowed to not pick from. In today's case, it's Crazy Apples. There are products that define me as a food writer. This terrible, Dr. Moreau-inspired abomination is one of them. This is what separates the beasts from the bloggers, folks. An apple that science and God deigned to taste like Bazooka effing Joe. Why do they always take the healthy ones? Why, baby Jesus, why?!
Okay. So, following the success-ish of the Grapple comes Crazy Apples in three quease-inspired flavors, pomegranate grape, tropical fruit, and bubble gum. Being the masochists we are, bubble gum it was. Let's start by getting the elephant out of the room, or in this case, the bubble gum out of the apple. This thing stinks to high hell. It smells like junior high school and organic co-ops. It's housed in a manically advertisement-forward bag, quotes, trademarks and registered symbols slung all over the place.
Outside of the bag, the apple is ominously normal. It even has a Fuji sticker on it to assure you of its legitimacy. A likely story. This exterior appearance and promise of inner flavor brings to mind the classic suburban legend of strangers tampering with candy by injecting them with poison. But there's no need to worry here. This time, a corporation is injecting them with love, so it's all good. In actuality, Crazy Apples denies any injecting or prodding of any sort. We're convinced they gas and/or soak them in bubble gum solution. Your guess is as good as any.
Sliced open, they still smell cloyingly sweet. Close your eyes and you'll swear you're in an old-timey candy store or drowning in a real-timey gum factory, dealer's choice. Sliced open they look like all other apples but somehow appear as though they've absorbed just a little more water than your average fruit. A quick bite confirms that. They have a slightly, yet noticeably looser texture than other apples. The flavor isn't too syrupy or sweet but it's astringent from the thick, bitter skin of the Fuji apple. A middle piece yields the powdery-sweet flavor of bubble gum. Slightly grapey, mainly mild, but distinctly not apple.
I think the creepiest thing about these is that they masquerade as normal apples but taste somewhat tainted when taken out of context. At least when you're eating a Mrs. Prindable's you're obviously comfortable and well aware of your ranking status as a certified hambeast. With these, you don't know what you're doing or when you'll be kidney-free in an ice-filled bathtub. It's not worth the price.
Labels: 0, fruit, snack
Okay. So, following the success-ish of the Grapple comes Crazy Apples in three quease-inspired flavors, pomegranate grape, tropical fruit, and bubble gum. Being the masochists we are, bubble gum it was. Let's start by getting the elephant out of the room, or in this case, the bubble gum out of the apple. This thing stinks to high hell. It smells like junior high school and organic co-ops. It's housed in a manically advertisement-forward bag, quotes, trademarks and registered symbols slung all over the place.
Sliced open, they still smell cloyingly sweet. Close your eyes and you'll swear you're in an old-timey candy store or drowning in a real-timey gum factory, dealer's choice. Sliced open they look like all other apples but somehow appear as though they've absorbed just a little more water than your average fruit. A quick bite confirms that. They have a slightly, yet noticeably looser texture than other apples. The flavor isn't too syrupy or sweet but it's astringent from the thick, bitter skin of the Fuji apple. A middle piece yields the powdery-sweet flavor of bubble gum. Slightly grapey, mainly mild, but distinctly not apple.
