“Talking of Pleasure, this moment I was writing with one hand, and with the other holding to my Mouth a Nectarine – good God, how fine. It went down soft, pulpy, slushy, oozy – all its delicious embonpoint melted down my throat like a large beatified Strawberry.”
I’m going to go ahead and assume that nectarines and peaches are similar enough and use this quote. This reason alone is why John Keats is far and away the best Romantic poet.
As I’ve gotten older I’ve become more and more entranced with the idea with eating foods in their season. This is a lovely idea, but not much grows in CO. Our farmers’ markets are sad little affairs until the very end of summer. Even then, it’s nothing compared to the little market in the parking lot of the Hillsdale Courthouse on Saturday mornings. I would roll out of bed, into clothes, and down the stairs to pick up bunches of asparagus, blueberries, cherries for what seems like a ridiculously little amount now.
But I could forget that CO is not the mid-west if only because our peaches are so glorious. At the grocery store this morning, I had every intention of abstemiously refraining from buying more peaches. I bought farro, french lentils, cabbage, eggplant, zucchini, and coffee. But the peaches were calling my name. I drifted back to the Palisade peaches and carefully chose four peaches that seemed to be in the perfect stage of ripeness. “Ripeness is all,” to quote Shakespeare.
Enjoy the last summer fruits, everyone. Family, let it ripen before you eat it! It’s so much better that way!(Kjergaards are notoriously bad at letting fruit ripen, preferring to eat it rock hard.)