Peachy Keen

The tempting tree

I’m up to my armpits in peaches. We have been swilling, spitting and rinsing our way through British Columbia wine country and because of this year’s fickle Spring we’ve landed, unexpectedly, in the middle of a late summer peach harvest. Talk all you want about figs and pomegranates but the peach, to me, has always been the sexiest fruit. I don’t want to get all Freudian here but there’s no getting around the fuzzy soft surface and the gushing juice. If you want the full glory of fresh, ripe nectar tracking in bacchanalian rivulets down your chin…it’s gotta be from a peach. A big hunk of homemade peach pie with a dollop of really good vanilla ice cream would have to be on my list for a last meal if I was sitting on death row in a prison somewhere. You could hang me high after that and I’d have the most satisfied smirk on my face!

The strawberry? I’m tired of strawberries. I’ve probably had far too many flavourless, woody strawberries gratuitously dipped in cheap waxy chocolate. What about watermelon? Watermelon is kids’ stuff…although I once interviewed a particularly attractive Watermelon Queen from one of those southern states (South Carolina, I think) whose biggest boast was that she could rear back and pitooey a solitary slippery seed further than any of the other pageant competitors. You gotta love a woman with true talent! Watermelon might be a bigger hit if I’d ever tried that old trick of punching a hole in the top and inverting a bottle of vodka in it. This stunt has livened up more than a few company picnics. Apples I like…but despite the ever-burgeoning variety, I find the experience to be a tad pedestrian. You have to bake an apple and slather it in caramel and bourbon before I pay much attention. But a big (big as a softball) fully ripened, fragrantly yielding peach…boy, it’s awfully hard to beat that!

They have peach wine, peach preserves, peach pie, peach ice cream..and every other variation of the golden globes that you can find in the fruit stands I’v visited. It’s both versatile and voluptuous. Yesterday, while sipping a lovely local Syrah, I had a duck confit salad with roasted peach segments. Friends know that I will crawl over broken glass naked on my belly to get to duck confit so a gastronomic combo shot like this can launch me squarely into seventh heaven.

And to think I was harbouring a grudge against Mother Nature all these weeks for delivering such a disappointing Spring. How could I know that she would plunk me into peaches come the swan song of August?


One Response to “Peachy Keen”

  1. gonna send this to my mom

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