Some years ago, Virginia nurseryman Tom Burford described Ashmead’s Kernel
as “an apple not for sissies.” That’s because, compared to a lot of modern
apples—bred for sweetness and crunch, but also for wide market
acceptability—biting into a tree-ripe Ashmead will practically assault your taste
buds with its intensity. There’s lots of sweetness, to be sure, but it’s matched by the
apple’s racy acidity. The combination of the two creates the “high flavor” that
marks the very best dessert apples.
The fruit doesn’t look like much at first. An attractive golden-brown russet
over the surface and a skin that’s somewhat rough, not smooth to the touch. Yet in
climates where the apple grows well, and gets some sun exposure, there’s often a
splash of brilliant orange-red on its cheek, which reminds me of the evening sun
surrounded by mustard yellow clouds at sunset. Somehow, the duller background
makes the scarlet red appear even more vibrant.
This is an old English apple that dates back to the early 1700s. It was grown
as a seedling tree (the word “kernel” means seed) by William Ashmead, a clerk in
Gloucester City. Ashmead is an example of an English apple that really thrives in
the American climate, and it became popular in the US not long after it was
introduced in the late 18 th century.
Like other high-flavored apples (think Esopus Spitzenburg), Ashmead keeps
well after harvest and the acidity mellows in storage, making it a spectacular dessert
fruit, especially with cheese, at Thanksgiving or Christmas time.
In addition to its value for fresh eating, Ashmead has found favor among
some cidermakers in recent years, as a great contributor of flavor and acidity. My
friend Steve Wood of Farnum Hill Ciders once produced a small batch of single-
variety Ashmead’s cider. The general consensus was that after Year One it was still
an “acid bomb,” with one wag suggesting that it would take the enamel off your
teeth! However, the same cider, four years later, had mellowed considerably and
was truly delightful.