Scholars may overlook the humble apple, yet it travels widely through kitchens and city squares alike. In New York, the city nicknamed the Big Apple, the fruit gets lost among towering blocks of glass and steel. The speaker lives just a short distance away from a block that was torn down in recent urban renewal. The plan, a reflection of urban planning that often feels more improvisational than precise, yields neighborhoods that resemble pears, pineapples, and other fruits in their clustered, colorful mass. Streets twist and curve in non-linear, imperfect ways, mirroring the often messy reality of city life. And yet these are still stories of a fruit that has been consumed and celebrated for centuries, even as it carries a reputation that predates the modern era.
There is a note of expense in the air at times. The idea of apple pie, a dessert transformation of a naturally healthy fruit into something rich with sugar and fat, has led to apples sometimes being pushed out of restaurant menus. The nostalgia for simple, honest fruit persists, much like long-forgotten dishes such as gabardine shrimp—delicious in a certain style, especially paired with beer in a Spanish-inspired kitchen. Yet those shrimp, like the coats they once wore, have largely disappeared from everyday life. Grilling or piloting preparations have become common instead, as tradition makes room for convenience. If a list of forgotten dishes grows too long, the conversation drifts toward shrimp cocktail as a symbol of what once was. Now is not the moment for such digressions, because when apples take center stage, theft of their essence should be avoided. Gentle touch upon the red apple can still prompt a quiet crisis of modesty in some circles. The phrase “pippin” may be unfamiliar to some audiences, while the Golden Delicious stands as a dominant presence in many fruit bowls.
There are more than 7,500 varieties of apples cited by some sources, though others report around 2,000. A journey to taste them all could span decades, sampling one variety at a time. The old saying about apples and doctors survives, a rhyme that travels across languages and cultures, often echoing in English with a neat rhythm. In culinary use, chopped apples find their place in salads, blending with tuna and lettuce as a light, refreshing combination. When the kitchen budget stretches, a handful of onions might join the mix, adding depth to a dish that otherwise relies on the crisp sweetness of fruit. Apples cut into sticks can be dipped in yogurt, a simple, wholesome snack that remains faithful to the fruit’s character. In some regions of Spain, the fruit is affectionately called “ama,” a local nickname that speaks to its everyday familiarity. The consumer who values a kilo of apples may also consider other staples, like drumsticks, illustrating how fruit and pantry items share space in daily life. Pears, too, deserve their own spotlight in any broad discussion of fruit, including water pears that can quench thirst during hot days.
Pears and apples live in a curious rivalry, rooted in language and perception. The term for one fruit can imply a message about health that tilts sentiment toward one side. The idea that pears are healthier than apples sometimes surfaces, while other voices argue for apples as the stronger everyday choice. This dynamic suggests that even a simple fruit can become a matter of public image, with marketing and storytelling shaping opinions just as much as taste and nutrition. The debate is less about the fruit itself and more about the narratives that accompany it, a reminder that even food can be a stage for broader conversations about health, culture, and identity. In the end, the apple remains a flexible symbol—part pantry staple, part cultural icon, and part prompt for reflection on how we talk about what we eat. At its core, the apple carries a universal invitation: to savor, to compare, and to consider what our own preferences reveal about our communities and ourselves. (attribution: culinary historians; urban planners; food writers)