one bad apple

An apple a day keeps the doctor away.  That old idiom comes to mind as I spit out the rotten core of the card-board tasting Fuji apple I just tried to eat.  After suffering through its tasteless flesh, I bit into a piece of  brown and slimy putridity.   It was waiting for me.  It’s like receiving punishment for persevering till the end.  The booby prize.  Yuck!

I just bought these apples a few days ago at No Frills.  I bought a whole bag of them, each hand-picked by me from the mound of other Fujis.  The last Fujis we bought were in Nova Scotia two weeks ago and they were juicy and very, very flavourful.  I was hopeful.

I’m a Red Gala girl at heart, but will try others when my Canadian Galas are not available.  Not only did No Frills not have any Galas, every breed of apple they had for sale (and they were numerous), were from Chile or New Zealand.  I refuse to buy apples from the southern hemisphere.  Apples for Canadians should be grown in Canada, or no farther than the States, but I guess no Canadian apples were available from the Ontario Food Terminal to be purchased by No Frills.  Which would mean that there are no Canadian apples at any market anywhere in this city, because one would assume that No Frills would buy locally before buying South American.






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