(An ode to the country I am currently in: Argentina.)
Apples. Red. Green. Fuji. Rayburn. Apple pie. Apple sauce. Apple cider. That annoying remainder of the apple: the core that you bite round and round, the uncomfortable eyesore on the table withering into an unsightly brown. Yet. Sweet. Tart. Classic americana. I love pink lady apples the most—for the rosy happiness inspiring color, right balance of tartness and sweetness equivalent a healthy version of ice cream (of course!). The sweet crunch. The magic of an apple corer and the friendly lady at a hotel restaurant when I was 10 who cut our apple for us when my parents asked for a knife. These are my memories of apples.