Peach-o-Rama!
The Metropolitan Market (which used to be Queen Anne Thriftway, but that's a story for another entry) is celebrating Peach-o-rama right now and you can't work your way to the meat aisle without being assaulted by peaches. There are at least two displays overflowing with the fruit and the chef at the deli is invariably cooking something that requires more than a handful of peaches. There are large placards detailing the Brix level of the current crop of peaches (nothing less than a 13 for the Met, thank you very much!). Frankly, it seemed like a lot of hype to move a goodly number of peaches before the season finished.
Well, I had one tonight. I've got a weird thing about fruit. I don't really know what it is but for reason, I am reticent about fruit. I like it when I have it, but getting it out of the skin or rind or what have you always seems like an insurmountable obstacle. I think it is a texture thing, a guilt by association with my dislike for tomatoes. Regardless, I have to work up to having a piece of fruit. It is silly really. I almost missed having a Pence Orchard peach, and that would have been a tragedy.
Baloo, of course, wanted a slice but got roundly checked at the edge of my lap. That's right, buddy, I ain't sharing. He slouched off, muttering about the motor car he was going to acquire somehow so he could come and go as he pleased.
I didn't hear him. I was too busy with my delicious peach.