On Peaches

And how little they really need from you.

Happy Friday! It was 115 earlier this week, but thank goodness, we’re currently clocking in at 75 beautiful degrees. Texas friends, I don’t know how you do it. This is the weekly recipe post for paid subscribers. On Tuesday, all readers will receive the next installment of book reviews and then next Friday, paid subscribers will receive a recipe for the salad that fuels my summer fantasies all winter long. There is a hard stop ahead, which sucks, but, unfortunately, groceries don’t buy themselves.

Summer is a sumptuous time, dripping with sweat and fruit juices and condensation on glasses of wine with ice cubes. There is nothing that makes me feel like I am in it and embracing this messy, hedonistic season like standing over a sink and eating a peach (or nectarine or plum) in three big, sloppy bites. As a vegetarian, this is the closest I get to biting into a hamburger or a hot piece of fried chicken. In my life, juices don’t often run down my wrist. Peaches (and heirloom tomatoes, eaten like apples) are the exception.

Like most produce that’s harvested locally and in season, peaches don’t need much from us—just loving, intense attention for the fleeting moment they’re around. On the rare occasion that peaches last longer than the walk back from the farmers’ market, I’ll bake them into a pie, keeping it simple and not over-seasoning or complicating what nature has already perfected.

But, because I cannot resist, I love a little je ne sais quoi in my peach pie. To give them a little more oomph, I stir the peaches in with a few tablespoons of peach preserves or give them the Campari treatment that I’ve written below. The mixture adds some depth and tempers the sugar-sweetness of the peach flesh which I think makes a world of difference. It’s also decadent over cold vanilla ice cream.

Just look at that imperfect crust! (Full disclosure: store-bought and un-egg washed because I just could not be bothered!)

Peach Hand Pies