Peachy Keen
I haven’t asked them directly, but I think there’s a chance that my parents–and I say this with deep respect–don’t like peaches. Perhaps my memories are tainted by that fateful rhubarb incident, but I don’t know. Inundated as I’ve been lately with the juicy orbs, not one childhood image of a peach comes to mind. Sticky pools gather at the elbows of my own ecstatic peach-eating children. We have been contentedly working our way through recipes thick with the tantalizing fruit, yet not one rings a personal bell.
Without peaches to pave the way down memory lane, I’ve got a bit of lost time to recover. And so I baked this incredible cake.
It’s so wholesome looking I had no problem calling it lunch and serving it to my friend Leslie. I spruced up a recipe from Gourmet magazine called Stone Fruit Tea Cake, which sounds rather British and unappealing, don’t you agree old chap? I call mine Shortbread Cake with Peaches and Berries, which is much better and as long as the children aren’t around, it does make the perfect lunch.
Leslie, on loan to me from pioneer days, stopped by to teach me how to can peaches yesterday, a full day before Gourmet magazine’s Can Do approach to canning landed in my inbox. I am cutting edge, in a pioneering sort of way of course.
My initial thought was that a pot that big should hold nothing but succulent lobsters, but then I remembered that we were fresh off the covered wagon and putting up our reserves for the harsh winter ahead, so I pushed away thoughts of tasty crustaceans and pulled out the peaches. I gave them a quick boiling bath followed by a dunk in icy water. They practically slipped right out of their skins.
We then sliced them, and soaked them in a citric acid bath (more soothing than it sounds) to prevent browning.
Next we added the slices and syrup to the jars, and while they steamed away stovetop,
we strolled through the gardens (still feeling a little British from our lunch I suppose) where I selected a much healthier snack for my unsuspecting children–fresh chard, tomatoes and sage. I swear they’ll be thrilled (as long as I don’t let on about my own choice for lunch.)
We also dropped in on the squash vines.
So lush, so healthy looking, and yet still sporting only one tiny female. As I watch squash in other gardens already ripening to the size of mini coopers, I worry that mine is not destined to become much of a meal. Sad, but true, I have gourd envy.
The sound of the timer called us back to the homestead, where we pulled the 12 jars from their bath, stacked them up nice and pretty, and gloated.
We’ve got another CSA delivery today; is it selfish to hope for more peaches? After all, we are down to a sole uncanned peach, and I am already craving more of Dave’s Outrageously Good Salsa, with ripe peaches and tomatoes straight from the vine. Not to mention that lunch time today holds no promise of cake. How am I going to lure friends over for lunch without a cake?
In conclusion, let me paraphrase my winsome teenage self–this fruit is totally awesome. It’s psychedelic. It’s peachy keen, man. There are many, many ways to enjoy a peach, so what do you say Mom? Dad?
You lived the 60s. Give Peach a chance.
