Here in San Francisco it sometimes seems like summer is a cruel joke played upon us by California's propaganda campaign. This is California, land of endless summer, where all the cows are happy and every blockbuster gets its funding. Right?
Well, the past week of rainy, cold, gray days says no. I don't know about you, but if I were a cow I don't think I would call this fun. I might even consider moving to Wisconsin, where I could get some respect and have seasons that behaved themselves. Fortunately, there are still some glimmers of summer here and there. Most obviously in the produce at the farmer's market.
I've always loved peaches. Apples are my winter fruit, peaches are my summer. Soft, sweet, juicy, delicate, perfumed. There's nothing like the smell of a ripe peach. And it seems that peaches are having their heyday; every stall has cardboard boxes full to the brim, swarmed by customers looking for the perfect peach.
Well sorry guys, I think I nabbed it.
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