Honey Crisp Season

Several years ago, we were loading up the rental car with supplies, preparing for a trip to Monument Valley, Arizona.  We recently discovered that we could enjoy the national parks, yet we could stay in decent hotels (we don't camp), and we could bring plenty of liquor to accompany us on those legendary starry nights in the American west.  What could be better?  

On our way out of town, we stopped at Whole Foods to pick up some fruit and cheese for the ice chest. While shopping, we spoke to an enthusiastic produce clerk who turned to us and said, "Have you tried these?" She handed each of us a neatly carved slice from a Honey Crisp apple.  We'd never heard of Honey Crisps before.  We'd just adopted Gala apples a few years before, and we weren't necessarily looking for a replacement. But, it took only one bite of the honey crisp to realize that our produce consultant had steered us right.  We bought a few dozen honey crisps and headed west.  

Our honey crisp apple supply, which seemed vast when we left Austin, was completely depleted before we crossed the New Mexico border.  True, it's 650 miles to El Paso, but we found ourselves mainlining these apples as if we were eating popcorn at a double feature.  It didn't help that we were taking turns reading "The Botany of Desire" to each other as we drove, and in that book author, Michael Pollan, has a long essay on the apple.  His notion that Johnny Appleseed was welcomed into the frontier communities not so much because he was bringing apples, but because he was bringing apple seeds, which would grow the fruit needed to ferment into liquor, was an insight into the legendary figure that we didn't hear about in grammar school.  But we could understand it completely.  Our trunk was filled with hiking boots, camera equipment, and liquor, all the gear needed to handle the frontier.

But the interesting thing about apples that Pollan points out is that the seeds from a truly great apple, like a Honey Crisp, will not yield a tree that produces honey crisp apples.  The DNA is different, and the fruit from that seed will taste nothing like the apples we were enjoying.  On the one hand, this is the apple's way of protecting itself against ever-changing environments.  On the other hand, this caused a slight sensation of panic in us.  The supply was remarkably finite.  While in El Paso, we found a grocery store and restocked our cache of honey crisps.  These apples were natural and organically grown, yet they were also a genetic and scientific miracle that didn't seem to perpetuate itself.  Human beings had to step in and preserve this DNA, to make sure that we had more of these things. We were co-dependent.

After spending 14 days on the road, our trip home was a little sad on many levels, not the least of which was that honey crisp season was over.  Our fears had come true.  The supply was exhausted.  We had to wait until the following October for next year's crop.  

Today, honey crisp season lasts much longer than two weeks, but it is still finite.  It is one of the events we look forward to about the fall season, and adding sliced honey crisp apples to a salad gives it a transitory sweetness that is a metaphor for Autumn itself.  We suggest adding some roasted pecans to your honey-crisp salad for an added touch of fall flavor.  And as a salute to Johnny Appleseed, we also recommend a nice stiff pour of your liquor of choice.