Son: "Yes. Have a peach. As long as it isn't behind a void."
What he was referring to is, of course, this:
Life, the Universe, and Peaches Behind a Void. Ah, the power of poetry.
Showing posts with label peaches. Show all posts
Showing posts with label peaches. Show all posts
19 September 2012
Peaches Behind a Void
Me, contemplating some luscious fruit on the kitchen counter: "Peaches. Peaches! Should I have a peach?"
Son: "Yes. Have a peach. As long as it isn't behind a void."
What he was referring to is, of course, this:
Life, the Universe, and Peaches Behind a Void. Ah, the power of poetry.
Son: "Yes. Have a peach. As long as it isn't behind a void."
What he was referring to is, of course, this:
Life, the Universe, and Peaches Behind a Void. Ah, the power of poetry.
16 September 2011
Haste
Apples and peaches and pears, oh my! Yes, all at the same time. It's been a really weird growing season this year hereabouts; everything seems to be about two or three weeks behind schedule. I've just made a batch of apple jelly, have half a dozen pints of apple sauce simmering in the canner, and a dehydrator full of pear slices humming away on the counter. Yet just last week, I was canning peaches! There's even still some available at my favourite local produce store, and it's the middle of September.
In fact, I think I might go back tomorrow and get some more to attempt yet again to make a batch of peach wine. I tried it last year. But in my infinite wisdom, I decided that to exactly follow the recipe was too tedious. It calls for crushing the peaches, then adding sugar, yeast, and warm water, until it's at the right temperature for fermentation. I figured that I could hasten that process by just chucking everything together in my big stockpot, and cooking it until the peaches were soft and everything was nice and warm (I can hear the wine makers among you snorting in disbelief as I write this...). Well, it didn't work. Oh, the stuff's alcoholic alright- in fact, if running a still wasn't illegal in this country, I could probably turn it into a pretty decent paint stripper. Also, it never clarified, but stayed cloudy even after months in the bottle. I'm afraid there's no better name for my brew than hooch. Peach hooch. I dumped most of it down the drain; it really wasn't worth keeping. I suppose that's what you get from undue haste.
So I just cracked open the last bottle I'd kept, and tasted some of it. For some reason, the flavour brings up a memory of my favourite aunt, which is decidedly odd as she was a confirmed teetotaller. After a few sips, I figured it out: there's something about the aroma that reminds me of her favourite scent, the original Eau de Cologne. Not unpleasantly so, I might add; it's possible that 4711's secret recipe includes something like peach distillate. It definitely has alcohol in it, that much I know.
Well, we'll see if this year's batch (when or even if I make one) has that same elusive perfume. If the wine turns out undrinkable, it might still be useful as a scent. It certainly is attractive to bugs- there were plenty of fruit flies buzzing around the glass, and a wasp actually went and committed suicide in it. I believe it was the same one that checked out a ripe, fresh peach not five minutes earlier. I suppose he didn't want to wait for the peach to ferment into something tastier, and just flung himself into the glass- "Goodbye, cruel world!" Had he consulted me, I could have warned him that haste makes hideous hooch.
Life, the universe and peach hooch. If you come by next year this time, I might be able to offer you a glass.
In fact, I think I might go back tomorrow and get some more to attempt yet again to make a batch of peach wine. I tried it last year. But in my infinite wisdom, I decided that to exactly follow the recipe was too tedious. It calls for crushing the peaches, then adding sugar, yeast, and warm water, until it's at the right temperature for fermentation. I figured that I could hasten that process by just chucking everything together in my big stockpot, and cooking it until the peaches were soft and everything was nice and warm (I can hear the wine makers among you snorting in disbelief as I write this...). Well, it didn't work. Oh, the stuff's alcoholic alright- in fact, if running a still wasn't illegal in this country, I could probably turn it into a pretty decent paint stripper. Also, it never clarified, but stayed cloudy even after months in the bottle. I'm afraid there's no better name for my brew than hooch. Peach hooch. I dumped most of it down the drain; it really wasn't worth keeping. I suppose that's what you get from undue haste.
So I just cracked open the last bottle I'd kept, and tasted some of it. For some reason, the flavour brings up a memory of my favourite aunt, which is decidedly odd as she was a confirmed teetotaller. After a few sips, I figured it out: there's something about the aroma that reminds me of her favourite scent, the original Eau de Cologne. Not unpleasantly so, I might add; it's possible that 4711's secret recipe includes something like peach distillate. It definitely has alcohol in it, that much I know.
Well, we'll see if this year's batch (when or even if I make one) has that same elusive perfume. If the wine turns out undrinkable, it might still be useful as a scent. It certainly is attractive to bugs- there were plenty of fruit flies buzzing around the glass, and a wasp actually went and committed suicide in it. I believe it was the same one that checked out a ripe, fresh peach not five minutes earlier. I suppose he didn't want to wait for the peach to ferment into something tastier, and just flung himself into the glass- "Goodbye, cruel world!" Had he consulted me, I could have warned him that haste makes hideous hooch.
Life, the universe and peach hooch. If you come by next year this time, I might be able to offer you a glass.
22 August 2010
Peaches
On the third day, God created plants. And I'm quite sure that at the very end, when he'd made all the other stuff, he said "Now, for the crowning achievement: The Peach!" And he created it round and fuzzy, juicy, yellow-and-pink and delectably sweet. And God saw that it was good. And the evening and morning were the third day.
I didn't make any canned peaches last year, so we were reduced to buying the ones from the grocery store. The kids weren't impressed; it's just not the same, they said. And they are right, of course. Now, the thing is that when I was a kid myself, back in Germany, tinned peaches were one of my favourite things, a high treat that we didn't get very often (there's a fun recipe called "Falsche Spiegeleier", Fake Fried Eggs, with is half a canned peach in a flat dish with vanilla custard poured around it. It does look like a fried egg, and is quite a yummy dessert.). I thought they were wonderful. But then that was before I came to Canada, and experienced the marvel of real, fully-ripe, still-warm-from-the-sun peaches picked right off the tree. In fact, perhaps it was the peaches that lured me over the Atlantic to permanently settle here? (No, don't tell my husband. It had nothing to do with marrying him at all. I only married him for his guitar, anyway.)
One of the things I like best about summer is bringing home a box of peaches from the farmer's market or the orchard down the street, and having them sit on the kitchen counter for a few days, getting ever more ripe and tender; and then, while leaning over to get something from one of the upper cupboards, getting a big nose-full of that incomparable scent of soft sweetness. It's beyond me why the makers of fake foods think they can reproduce that aroma with "peach flavouring". Hah! I scorn their attempts, I laugh in their faces- hahahah!
Now to put all that goodness into jars for winter, when the snow flies and the scent the house is filled with is cinnamon simmering in the potpourri burner on the windowsill.
Life, the universe, and peach season. I love it.
I didn't make any canned peaches last year, so we were reduced to buying the ones from the grocery store. The kids weren't impressed; it's just not the same, they said. And they are right, of course. Now, the thing is that when I was a kid myself, back in Germany, tinned peaches were one of my favourite things, a high treat that we didn't get very often (there's a fun recipe called "Falsche Spiegeleier", Fake Fried Eggs, with is half a canned peach in a flat dish with vanilla custard poured around it. It does look like a fried egg, and is quite a yummy dessert.). I thought they were wonderful. But then that was before I came to Canada, and experienced the marvel of real, fully-ripe, still-warm-from-the-sun peaches picked right off the tree. In fact, perhaps it was the peaches that lured me over the Atlantic to permanently settle here? (No, don't tell my husband. It had nothing to do with marrying him at all. I only married him for his guitar, anyway.)
One of the things I like best about summer is bringing home a box of peaches from the farmer's market or the orchard down the street, and having them sit on the kitchen counter for a few days, getting ever more ripe and tender; and then, while leaning over to get something from one of the upper cupboards, getting a big nose-full of that incomparable scent of soft sweetness. It's beyond me why the makers of fake foods think they can reproduce that aroma with "peach flavouring". Hah! I scorn their attempts, I laugh in their faces- hahahah!
Now to put all that goodness into jars for winter, when the snow flies and the scent the house is filled with is cinnamon simmering in the potpourri burner on the windowsill.
Life, the universe, and peach season. I love it.
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