To complete the comparative analysis of top-shelf soaps from a couple posts back, Kiss My Face Moisture Shave has a more dynamic profile, which can put skin at a bit of "physical" risk if you're not hydrating it just right; but it pushes "chemistry" into the realm of positive nourishment. As such, it probably offers THE best possible shave, in a rare instance of truth in marketing. (Today I gave my skin a break, with the Rimei and a light, 2 1/2 pass shave.) But because it has a sort of congestive skin feel, I think, I turn to it mainly in autumn.
Already my favorite time of year. Today I became a tourist of my childhood hometown, paying way too much for apples we picked ourselves... but it was cool, because I found a new favorite variety, which is Snowsweet. Its utterly blemish-free skin reminded me of shaving. "You got this from a supermarket," I teased the cashier. "Why is it so perfect? It must be covered in pesticides or something." I had buffed it to a high shine while waiting in line.
"No, that's just how they grow," she said, and let me sample that one on the house. Indeed, it was a standout among the other varieties in the crates, which is what drew my attention in the first place. Expert that I am, I sniffed deeply before biting, and smelled nothing. But upon biting, I could detect fleeting aromatics from the blossom preserved in that flawless peel.
And in the orchard, they were ALL LIKE THAT. Having perfect skin seemed to contribute to the development of the fruit's flesh, too. Many, many apples were set horizontally against each other, or on the trunks of the young trees, little more than saplings. They were way too big for my kids to handle, much less bite into. Someone seems to have mixed my two previous favorites, Granny Smith and Macoun, to produce the most healthy looking, freshest-tasting apple possible.
On the way out of town, we stopped at the world-famous cheese factory, across the street from which my childhood home was recently torn down. Thing was over 200 years old, so, not a bad run. (I was surprised to see the other neighborhood houses were also torn down, though.) From the parking lot where it used to be, I could reach the old apple tree (from descriptions online, "white transparent," but my great aunt thought there was Jonathan in it) that used to be in my back yard, for one, overripe fruit. The familiar taste was comforting, but I threw it into the brush, thinking, I'll come sooner next year.
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