One of my old bosses used to purchase bushels of an heirloom dessert apple from a New England orchardist who brought his crop to the Atlanta farmers' market. It had a paper-white skin with a pink blush when ripe, an amazing fragrance which made it a pleasure to keep, sweet flavor, but stored badly. He called it a strawberry apple and said that it wouldn't grow in the South.
Tossing this one out so you Yankees can search this one out and grow it. It may have another name, but by any name, it's worth growing and eating. Haven't had one in fifteen years, and my mouth still waters.