There’s a place out near where I grew up called Rousters that has the best apples. This orchard has crafted a particularly sweet and crunchy variety with a juicy white flesh and a freckled matte skin. They call ’em Krispy, and I’ve never been able to find their equal in the produce aisle of any supermarket.
Sometimes you have to get on a waiting list just to buy a bag of them.
Called em up today and they said they had them available. So I hit the road and rolled down the windows to let in the fall air, drove through tree covered backroads under the changing leaves, and picked up a huge bag and a half of these things, along with two gallons of cider.
I made some deliveries and got back home right around dusk, and I’ll be honest, I hadn’t stolen a bite of one yet. I was sort of afraid that maybe they didn’t taste as good. Perhaps my memory twisted them into something that was no more, or never was.
I’m glad to report, my memory is perfectly intact, I’ve several cores to prove it.