Peach of my Dreams

Peach of my Dreams

p5110004.JPG Maryanne just returned from a visit to her sister’s place in Western Colorado and she brought me peaches. Real peaches. Delicious, dead-ripe Western Slope peaches. Yes they’re a little lumpy — there are a few bruises and blemishes where some bug or something made a mark. But cut them open, and this is what you get — glistening ripeness all the way through, and a taste that’s almost floral.

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You may remember my dismay with the grocery store peaches I bought earlier this year. I swear, I’d rather only eat four peaches a year (which is what Maryanne brought me — I’m down to 2 now — photography really makes a girl hungry) than bushels of horrible crunchy grocery store peaches.

Many many moons ago, I dated a chef in Telluride, and he made the most fabulous dessert out of these peaches. A disk of dark chocolate, half a peach, and a little raspberry coulis. My cousin Elizabeth and I wouldn’t even bother with dinner — we’d just sit at the bar and demand “the peach thing”. Like little kids, with our forks in the air. “The peach thing,” we’d cry. “We want the peach thing!”

One thought on “Peach of my Dreams

  1. Oh me too, I only eat chickens from the stall in Callac market because the rest are tasteless…
    and I only ever eat sweetcorn that I have picked minutes before, and fresh peas from the plant and…
    I could go on and on and on….

    PS Love the jars of plums

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