Full disclosure: Honeycrisp makes my teeth hurt.
Lots of people like the sweet juicy guys, though, and you might too.
It's a handsome fruit, running medium-to-large, with a streaky red blush over yellow (to yellow-green). There's a little ribbing and some russet in the stem well, and spots that look light tan against the blush and a darker green where there is none. The surface is a little uneven, with minor pocks and swells, but the effect is not unattractive.
The flesh is firm, a crisp coarse yellow that holds a lot of juice. The flavor is super sweet with very little balancing tartness and negligible acidity; there are accents of pear and melon. Honeycrisp's flavor is simple, direct, and consistent from the beginning of the first bite to the end of the last.
These apples are popular. Minnesota has already made Honeycrisp the official state fruit. Like Macoun, it commands a premium at the market.
I doubt that there are many devotees of both, though. If you think apples should taste like candy, you won't care much for those that suggest wine--and vice versa.
The sign at Farmers market for these summarized their appeal as "Explosively Sweet." If apples mean candy to you, here is your fruit. Some people like explosively sweet tea, too.
Even though I find Honeycrisp cloying. I admit: I ate the whole thing down to the core.
The University of Minnesota, which holds the patent on Honeycrisps and introduced them in 1991, has a detailed enumeration of their virtues. Wikipedia's Honeycrisp entry challenges the theory that Honeycrisp is a scion of Macoun and shines some inadvertent light on where new apple varieties come from.
Update: If you like Honeycrisp, you may also like these.