This morning I decided to stop off at Starbucks for a tall House Blend (note: I only order “tall” drinks at Starbucks out of fear that I’ll mis-pronounce the other sizes). Ahead of me in line is a very stylishly dressed guy who eventually took way too long at the coffee add-in mini-counter area thingy. Anyhoo, Mr. Stylish was outside of the Starbucks after I finished modding my House Blend (half & half and a lid, in case you’re keeping score), leaning against his Toyota Corola, smoking a cigarette, trying to look cool as hell. Now I’ll admit, he had a lot of things going for him: slick haircut, nice clothes and some fancy sunglasses. Here’s the thing: it doesn’t matter who you are, what you’re wearing or what you’re doing, there’s just no way to look cool leaning up against a car that has a back windshield full of cute stuffed toys on display.
I’m a sucker for limited time only foods. Slap a “special edition” or “only available for a short time” label on something and chances are I’ll buy it. Case in point: the McRib.
Monday brought the triumphant return of the McRib (in Ontario). The flyers and billboards started showing up last week, and not only were they trying to push fake rib goodness on me but they (McDonald’s, the advertisers, etc.) taunted me with the fact that the McRib would only be around “while supplies last.” This, of course, triggered the panic button and as a result I’ve had 4 McRibs in two days and I don’t plan on stopping. The funny thing is, I’m not even sure if I like the McRib. The one thing I do know is that I’m a sucker and I have no idea when the McRib is going to come back once it’s gone, so I’m going to get my fill while I can.
Today is National Peanut Butter day in the US. I would imagine it’s celebrated in Canada, too, but I’m not sure; I didn’t see any “To a special friend on a special day, you’re the jelly in my PB&J” cards at Hallmark, so I’m not a hundred percent. Regardless, National Peanut Butter day is a holiday I can get on board with ‘cause I love me some peanut butter. I’ve become a bit of a snob when it comes to smooth peanut butter, too.
About a year and a half ago I picked up a jar (are they still called jars when they’re made of plastic?) of Kraft Extra Creamy peanut butter and it was a watershed moment in my life. (Yes, I know it’s sad that a new type of peanut butter would have such significance on my life.) It’s a little lighter and and so much smoother than regular Kraft creamy peanut butter that I can’t even bring myself to eat ‘regular’ smooth peanut butter anymore. I’ve tried. Couldn’t do it. Ended up throwing out the jar.
I don’t know how long Kraft Extra Creamy peanut butter has been on the market, but I fear the day I go to the grocery store and find out it’s been discontinued. I’ve seen many a style of peanut butter come and go (honey roasted crunchy peanut butter, you left the world too soon!) but I don’t know if I could stomach a world without an extra creamy peanut butter.
Last night I got home and my wife stuck an apple in my face.
“What does this smell like?” she asked.
Crap. Not even home for five minutes and I’m already being tested.
“I dunno. It smells good, but it doesn’t smell like an apple,” I responded.
“It’s smells like grape Kool-Aid. Smell it again.”
So I did. And she was right (as she normally is).
This is how my fascination with the Grapple began.
I stood in my kitchen and as my wife detailed her daily adventures, I kept smelling that grapple. How had such a thing existed without me knowing? How and why did the grapple come to be? How is it pronounced? Is it pronounced like Snapple or like grape with an “le” on the end? Why am I paying so much attention to a piece of fruit when I should be listening to my wife?
My wife had been introduced to the grapple earlier this year and, apparently, she had told me about it at the time (note to self: start paying more attention to my wife in 2008) but yesterday was the first time she had seen one in a store and was compelled to pick them up to prove to me that her stories of an apple that tasted like a grape were real. Being quick on my feet, I pretended to remember our previous conversation about the grapple and apologized for not believing her. Then I grabbed my laptop to begin my search for all things grapple.
So now you’re probably wondering why I my next step was to research the grapple instead of actually eating one. There were two reasons:
- I wanted to eat the grapple with a blank palate (I had just had an espresso);
- My wife paid $4 for 4 grapples, and while in the grand scheme of things a buck isn’t a big deal, but a dollar hybrid apple should not be eaten lightly.
I jumped on to Wikipedia to immerse my self in the story of the grapple, but found nothing. Immediately I assumed that my wife had just played a clever prank on me, spraying some regular apples with grape sent, molded a plastic clamshell storage case out of broken kids toys and created some elaborate packaging labels in between potty-training a 3 year old and dealing with a teething 5 month old. I then remembered that my wife lacked the custom mold injection skills to create such a ruse, so I continued my research.
The only piece of information I was able to find was an older article on the Guardian Unlimited website, dated December 2004. Apparently the grapple was patented back in 2002 and targeted towards fat kids who really didn’t like the taste of apples. (I’m paraphrasing here, of course.) The process takes a Fuji apple and marinates it in a secret compound that give the apple the flavor of a Concord grape. Anyone want to take bets that Concord grapes are part of that compound?
This morning I passed on my usual “wake me up” cup of coffee and finally tried the grapple. Damn, was it good. Nice and crisp, with a good grape flavor and a slight hint of apple after-taste, similar to what you’d find in a fruit juice that uses apple juice as a base. By the time I had finished my grapple, I was hooked. Needless to say, as long as my local grocer has the grapple on it’s shelves, it will be a mainstay in my fridge’s fruit crisper.
