Hey Peach, Where're You Going With that Gun In Your Hand?

Goddamn but the peaches are good these days. My house is overrun with them. Peaches grand, peaches furry, peaches ripe, peaches waiting, peaches small, peaches wild, peaches famous, peaches mutt-nameless, peaches peaches peaches.

I can hardly bear to bake them, jam them, do anything but eat them out-of-hand. Sure if I were full time in a restaurant kitchen I would slice, dice, puree, poach, juice, freeze and wrap them in all sorts of exquisite sauces, sugars, pastries and herbs.

But I'm only consulting here and there.

So you'll have to chase me to catch me and my peach idea. Perhaps tomorrow will produce cloud-soft peach bavarians, little peach pies, or decorate butter touched angel food cakes.

At Poulet you might find these ideas transposed...

Or you might have to pick up a shovel and do some escavating.

Peaches peaches peaches. Peaches everywhere.

Peaches in the corners, peaches on the couch, peaches drunk, peaches sober, peaches naughty, peaches naive, peaches poly, peaches single, peaches yellow, peaches pink-white, peaches spicy, peaches mild-mannered, peaches on the lam, peaches in neat rows, peaches clingy, peaches freestone,  peaches closing down the party.

The party of Summer.

Stock up now, the party's almost over.

Comments

[Luisa]

That first photo? Best peach slice photo ever. Wish I could come and help you finish them off.

[Garrett]

My god, those are beautiful pictures!

[Kimberly]

Wonderful photos, Shuna! And what timing... I clicked over here with half of a perfect juicy peach on the plate next to my keyboard. I savored this post and the peach at the same time. The pit sits on my plate. My lips are sticky with peach juice. Yum.