Apple Review: I Just Bit into a Crisp Red Sphere of Wet Sawdust and Sadness

We have all been there. You are strolling through the produce aisle, feeling like a beacon of health because you bypassed the neon orange cheese puffs, and you spot them: the apples. They are glistening under those grocery store misting machines like they are posing for a fitness magazine. You pick one up, envisioning a crisp, refreshing snack that will satisfy your hunger and keep the doctor away, as the prophecy foretells. But then, you take a bite, and you realize you have made a terrible, tooth-shattering mistake. You have purchased a Hard Apple.

I am not talking about a pleasantly firm fruit. I am talking about an apple that has the structural integrity of a bowling ball. These are not snacks; they are geological specimens. When you attempt to bite into a Hard Apple, you hear a sound that shouldn't come from fruit. It is a deep, structural groan, followed by a crack that makes you wonder if that was the apple skin or your own mandible giving up the ghost. I recently bought a bag of Honeycrisps that were so dense I am fairly certain they were harvested from the center of a dying star.

Why are they like this? I suspect that the agricultural industry has started cross-breeding fruit with construction materials. Maybe they wanted apples that could survive a fall from a skyscraper, or perhaps they are trying to market them to people who enjoy chewing on granite. If I need a power tool to slice my mid-afternoon snack, we have moved past the realm of nutrition and into the realm of masonry. I tried to use a paring knife on one yesterday and the knife just slid off the side, nearly taking out my kneecap. The apple didn't even have a scratch on it. It just sat there on the cutting board, mocking my weak, human limbs.

The worst part is the social pressure. You can't just stop eating it once you have committed to the first bite in public. You have to sit there, jaw aching, slowly grinding your molars into dust while pretending it is delicious. You look like a horse trying to eat a brick. Your friends ask if you are okay, and you can't even answer because your jaw is locked in a battle of wills with a piece of fruit that has a higher PSI rating than a concrete slab.

Maybe this is nature's way of telling us to stick to the soft stuff. Perhaps we should leave the Hard Apples to the creatures with industrial-grade teeth, like beavers or woodchippers. Until then, if you see me in the produce section tapping apples against the floor to check for a metallic ring, mind your business. I am just trying to protect my dental insurance premiums.