Peachy Keen

It’s 5:00pm on a lazy Tuesday afternoon in July.  My belly is full of fresh blueberry pie from a small-town bakeshop and the couch is waiting for me to lie down and take a nap.  I consider this a perfect moment.  I’m rarely off on a Tuesday, but it’s one of the perks that comes along from time to time when you are in business for yourself…a random day off, almost like a snow day except for the fact that’s it’s balmy and warm outside.

Balmy is probably an understatement when it comes to high summer, especially when it’s a day full of thunderstorms mixed with a languid heat.  Stepping outside the front door is tantamount to swimming in the liquid air.  For some reason I don’t mind, though.  I grew up in the mid-west where it’s fairly hot and humid all summer long and I don’t find New York to be that much different, and in fact it strangely reminds me of home from time to time.  The woods, mountains and streams that cover a large part of Westchester are reminiscent of the Ozark Mountains where I’m from and I find it comforting.

As I was looking through my “peachy” photos (this morning) for this week’s posting, having some coffee and listening to the birds chirping outside, I decided to go on an excursion.  I often fantasize about having days off and what I would do if I actually got one.  It’s rare I have an unplanned day in my busy, run-around life, but I’ve started making a list of things to do just in case I find myself with some spare time and don’t want to do any work around the house.  One of these trips would be to the beach, but as I said it’s exceptionally stormy out today and I just don’t feel like taking a chance.  Instead I decided to drive up to Cold Spring.

Cold Spring is a town about 30 minutes north of where we live, further up into the aforementioned woods and mountains.  It is a charming old town founded in the 1600’s and I’ve been there on several occasions in the past.  What I love about it (aside from it’s old buildings and charm) are the numerous antiques shops lining Main Street. 

I love a good antiques store.  Antiquing is a game of sorts; hunting for the best deal on whatever treasure you might come across.  I know some people who love the haggling and get almost more excited by their bargaining practices than acquiring the object of desire.  I however am not one of those people.  I guess I wasn’t born with the haggling gene.  What I am concerned with is the hunt. 

Going into one of those shops gives me anxiety at the outset, more from the impending over-stimulation.  The anticipation that the “thing” I have always wanted might be lurking in some hidden corner, overlooked by every other shopper and missed by unfocussed eyes is slightly overwhelming, but then suddenly I’m lost in all the objects.  Every now and again I realize I have been focused on anything from a set of children’s books to furniture to old quilts and have lost track of time in the wanderlust.  Rarely do I find something I absolutely have to have, but sometimes, once in awhile I discover greatness.

Acquiring used property is a funny thing to me.  An antique is something old that was once owned and cared for by somebody else.  I think about all the cake-stands I’ve hunted for and own and realize someday, someone may be hunting for them in a store just like the one’s I was visiting today.  I’m not trying to be morbid, but it’s the fascination of owning history in some way, which really makes the experience of finding antiques so special.  I think of it like having a stopwatch, but in artful object form; history and time crafted into a shape that you could care for and enjoy during your stint as caretaker.  It’s somehow romantic.

Looking through my food photos every week is not dissimilar from antiquing.  It’s a process of careful consideration that brings me pleasure and leads me through a series of moments I enjoyed making (and eating).  This week’s object of desire is a classic find in its own right:  the peach. 

A peach is an essential, All-American summer ingredient.  It’s a fruit associated with memory-laced fragrance, wafting with the perfume of childhood.  When I went to the market Saturday morning there was a sign announcing that “early summer peaches” had arrived.  I quickly moved over to the fruit stand to check out the red-golden orbs of deliciousness. Peaches are velvety and luscious; the sun scatters across the surface and is not unlike our own skin in the way it handles the light.   A beautiful peach is a worthy purchase.  There were several varieties to try, so I bought some of each and took them home to test out.

I decided to try them out in different ways, the first being eaten straight out of my hand.  That first bite is ridiculously amazing.  The peach was saturated with juice and I immediately ran to the sink with dripping hands to keep from getting it all over the floor…and then I just stood there over the sink, consuming the peach in a callous and un-lady like manner, juice running down my forearms as bite after delicious bite disappeared down my throat.  That, my friend, is the only way to properly eat a peach, and it’s not pretty. 

Second, I decided to fire up the grill.  In an effort to keep the house cool, it made sense to do my weekend cooking outdoors.  I had already planned to grill some fresh market corn and other vegetables, so why not some peaches?  A friend of mine at work had confessed his love for grilled peaches earlier in the week, and gave me the quick low-down on a marinade he made to go with them.  I didn’t really have all the stuff for the marinade, but I did have the ingredients to make a sauce of sorts incorporating some of the key items:  Cream, brown sugar, cinnamon and honey.  I just made the recipe up on the fly, but I think it was about a cup of cream, 1/4 cup of brown sugar, 2 tablespoons of honey and 1/4 teaspoon of cinnamon all thrown together in a small saucepan.  Bring everything to a boil and whisk for 3-4 minutes.  Let the sauce cool and it’s almost like having cinnamon and brown sugar butterscotch.  It pairs perfectly with the grilled peaches.

What also pairs well with peaches?  Pizza.  As my outdoor cooking plan evolved and I had a little extra time on my hands, I decided to make some dough and grill pizzas for dinner.  To make the dough takes a little under two hours including the time it takes for the dough to rise twice, so it’s not a major plan ahead kind of affair.  Once the dough is ready, you just divide it into four rounds, roll them out and brush lovingly with a garlic and rosemary flavored oil.  The crusts cook in a matter of minutes on a hot grill, and then you top them with whatever your heart desires.  Ours were mushroom, sausage, rosemary and mozzarella cheese.  The crust is crisp and blackened just like it came out of an old wood-fired oven, very fragrant with rosemary and garlic and simple enough for a backyard bbq with friends.  People would enjoy helping you make these for sure.

Now, back to the peaches…the third way of preparing them was, what else…baked.  I found a cookie recipe calling for fresh peaches and preserves, both of which they had at the farmer’s market.  Fresh-Peach Drop Cookies are exactly what the name implies:  fresh peaches mixed into cookie dough and dropped from a spoon or ice cream scoop onto a baking pan.  These are super easy.  I was in and out of the kitchen in under an hour including baking time.  They are very moist and sponge-y…not unlike cake, but with a crisp crunch around the outside.  I think these cookies would have been moist to begin with, but having such high humidity in the air eliminates any worry of them ever drying out before you get to your friend’s backyard bbq with a batch.

Eating a peach or drifting through antiques stores can conjure up as strong a link to the past as I can think of.  Both house experiences worth preserving, re-examining and reliving from time to time.  A hunt for the perfect fruit and the perfect treasure are healthy ways of preserving a tie to something passionately true and right in your life (or the life you fondly remember).  We may not always find it, or be able to afford it, but the possibility of having a dream come true is what makes life worth living.  Go to the market, look for a peach, stand over the sink with your head held high and devour it.  I promise, no one is looking and if they are tell them to get their own peach.  I know I would.  It’s just who I am.