Peachy Keen

Peaches aren't grown commercially in Maine, and the ones from the store are, quite frankly, just gross. (Yes, I am a peach snob, and will not eat a fruit with the texture of a styrofoam ball or the flavor of, well, a hard, unripened, not very good peach). So they are a rare fruit indeed. And to receive a real, ripe one is a gift.

I received such a gift Monday: six perfect peaches from a friend whose mother has two heavily-laden peach trees.


They were so beautiful, that we used them as a centerpiece (before they became dessert) for our dinner of summer succotash and gorgonzola cheese (for me) or local sweet Italian sausage (for everyone else). Except for the cheese, and a little bit of olive oil, it was a completely local meal (all from farmer's markets or a local farm store).

This is the first summer in years that I didn't institute the "Maine-only" food regime, mainly because I had planned (hoped) to spend most of the summer not in Maine. But, we've gotten so into the habit of buying from local farms and farmer's markets, that we have an almost all-Maine diet by default (I will admit to buying a lot more cherries, grapes, ice cream and packaged snacks this summer, though).


Food just tastes better when it comes from down the road (or your own backyard). Especially peaches.