When I bought those peaches in the grocery store the other day? Well, I know what I was thinking — I was thinking that I needed some fruit for breakfast, and since oranges are really going out of season (I know, they’re not local, but it’s not perfection we’re after here at LivingSmall), I thought I’d give the apricots, peaches, and plums that had just come in a shot. I lived in the Central Valley long enough to learn that at least they’re coming into season there, and stone fruit from California seemed less egregious than grapes from Chile, so I bought a mixed sack.
People, peaches are not supposed to be crunchy!
It’s not even that they taste bad — they just taste wrong. The apricots are pretty good — not great, but at least they don’t have a texture that is entirely false to their essential nature, and the plums are okay too, but not great. At least when I buy oranges I can find nice heavy ones, and they fundamentally taste like oranges. These are like Stepford-fruit.
And so, like Michael Ruhlman and his bad chocolate chip cookies, I’m stuck working my way through a bowl of stone fruit that just makes me sad. Looks like I’ll just have to skip fruit with breakfast until the raspberries and cherries start coming down from the Flathead, or at least until the guys with the trucks of fruit start showing up from Washington. That fruit at least tastes like fruit. And maybe, if we’re really lucky, Maryanne will go to Colorado to visit her elderly mother in July and will bring back some of the legendary white peaches of the Grand Junction/Delta valley. Now those are peaches. Peaches of one’s dreams.