So many things throughout the day remind me of my age. Songs are ubiquitous reminders. Places. People.
Today, I was reminded by, of all things, an apple pie. Not just any apple pie, a McDonald’s deep fried apple pie.
The fried version debuted in 1968, a year after my birth. For 24 years, the 77 grams of goodness warmly furnished forth plenty of dinner tables.
A few hours ago I learned that Ronald is bringing back the deep fried delectable to celebrate America’s 250th birthday. The national rollout will start June 23.
In my opinion, the fried version should have never been replaced, but some progressive knucklehead at Hamburger University felt the time was ripe for a new, healthier item: baked pies.
C’mon! I don’t think anyone enters the Golden Arches for a wholesome meal. If billions want deep fried, scorching, forbidden fruit, and don’t give a darn about the roofs of their mouths, give it to them!
While I’m happy about its return, my first experience with the pie was a little tart.
One early morning, when I was about four years old, and living in a duplex with my family on Oakland Avenue in the heart of Sal Si Puedes in San Jose, I wandered into the kitchen, looking for something to eat.
I was the only one up. My dad, Mom, and brother were sound asleep.
Because I had yet to learn to read, I had no idea I was about to bite into an apple pie. To me, it looked like a fancy chicharron. Once I sunk my teeth into it, I was grossed out by the texture, and subsequently, spit it all out!
I don’t know how many fried pies I ate between 1971 and 1992, but the number of baked pies I’ve had pales in comparison.
On June 23, I’ll get to sink my teeth into a fried pie once again, and this time, I’ll know what I’m biting.
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