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.
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!”