Henry bought a new (to me) apple-brand home last night called Kiku.
IT’S EXOTIC YOU GUYS. And I’ll tell you what else it is: It’s the goddamn Sumo wrestler of apples. Motherfucker was so wide, it got itself stuck a quarter of the way down in the apple corer at work. I had to seek out the nearest Man for help. That happened to be Nate, and it (probably) required him to imagine he was pushing a cranial-sized corer down onto the face of some Batman villain. (Nate likes Batman.)
(I don’t know what I’m talking about.)
It even peeled itself on one side.
Misplaced your bowling ball? The Kiku’s your guy.
My verdict is that while it’s semi-sweet, I did not get any flashes of exotic lands while eating it. The slices were so thick that it was extremely difficult for me to maintain my delicate flower facade while trying to force my teeth all the way through. Carey came over to talk to me while my molars and jaw were exhausting themselves trying to break down the chunk of Kiku meat in my mouth and felt like a horse on display. Someone needs to teach me how to eat an apple like a lady, short of turning it into juice, and not a farmer dishing out slop.
I feel like people in other departments can hear the snap of the skin every time my teeth sink down. I am so hyper-aware of my cacophonous apple snacking.
It officially took me an hour to finish it, and the whole time I could hear Pee Wee Herman’s voice in my head chanting, “It’s like an apple that someone keeps on chewing, a-h-hand chewing, a-ha-hand chewing, a-ha-hand chewing, A-HA-HAND CHEWING.”
However, once all the work was done, the Kiku was pleasant with slightly sweet undertones and although it was on the crisper side, I would probably eat it again.
Or just use it as a gag for that bitch I’ve got stowed in the trunk.
EDIT: Henry asked me how it was and I said, “It was neither exotic nor sweet, although if I closed my mouth and breathed out through my nose, it filled my mouth with a slight undercurrent of sweetness.”
“What are you, tasting wine?” Henry scoffed.