Summer’s End


Every year, there’s come some sad, sad time when I buy peaches, after having ridden on a tide of peachy deliciousness for weeks, thinking “I know it’s late in the season, but surely there’s time for one more peach.”  This is the kind of delusional thinking that can only lead to heartache.  This year, we actually made it all the way to day before yesterday, thank you global warming, before we hit the wall of peach apocalypse. Apeachcalypse.

Secret Agent Fred and I were wandering aimlessly through the farmers’ market in the Castro (and let me just mention a farmers’ market is not a destination which anyone who knows either of us in the slightest would expect of us) when I was suckered into a booth filled with peaches and nectarines, two fruits which I think are proof of the existence of god.

The sort-of-cute hippie boy working the stand swore allowing them to sit a few hours in the sun would ripen them.  Lying bitch.  The whole batch has been lounging in the sun like some out of work pop star in rehab for two gloriously sunny days with absolutely no discernible results.  They look like peaches, but that’s where the similarity ends.  No scent, no taste, no god of stone fruits.

We were also flimflammed into a couple of batches of basil with dreams of pesto dancing in our pointy little heads.  The less said about that particular debacle the better.  I made the pesto and it turned out that’s what the garbage disposal is for.

The maddening part of this is that these few weeks at the end of August and early September are the few real summery times we get here in San Francisco.  Even then, after a few balmy days, the fog blasts in and we’re back to our parkas, laughing at the tourists in their shorts and sandals and hypothermia.

OK, OK. Autumn.   Time to move on to pears, the magic of root vegetable, and avoiding pumpkin lattes.  I have recently discovered a new brand of tea called Numi that features a line of white tea flavored with rosebuds.  Very ladylike (just like me!) and flavorful so I’m sort of set for the fall.


Adieu, oh boy of summer.



Bring on the Bitches of Autumn

About mrpeenee

A former bon vivant and terror of a number of New Orleans bars in the mad, gay 1980s, I'm now quietly retired and widowed in San Francisco. I have a crooked nose due to an unfortunate Frisbee accident.

15 responses »

  1. Every year I get suckered in thinking the peaches and nectarines might be good. They look good, smell reasonable and are a good size. Leave them on the kitchen table overnight to ripen a bit more then bite into a mealy piece of fruit. I read it’s how they are stored. Kept cold is what does them in. Haven’t had a good peach or nectarine in years.


    • Oh, how it breaks my heart to read. Seriously, you have nothing but sympathy from mrpeenee. The idea of an existence without nectarines makes me want to weep.

      As I mentioned sort of in passing, all of August and right up until now has been a fairly great season for them here, especially nectarines. Sweet and tart and blessedly free of that nasty mealiness you speak of. Your comment just makes me grateful.

      tomatoes, on the other hand, have never given up sucking. So discouraging.


  2. I anxiously wait until the signs in the market announce the arrival of peaches from Fredericksburg, Texas (mid-July-ish). Then it’s several rounds of peach ice cream and cobbler … until next year.


    • the only exception I will consider is the pumpkin bread at a cafe here called Peet’s. But pumpkin flavored coffee? I always want to explain to the people at the counter that coffee already has a flavor. it’s called “coffee.” The whole thing sounds like a bad Saturday Night Live skit.


  3. Tootes, I always fight the end of summer means no more half naked boys, crashing of waves and getting sand out of unwanted places. After all fall here is downright gorgeous in New Hope. I’ll succumb eventually. Always do. Then I can cocoon and be a recluse. Then when spring arrives I have to be drug, kicking and screaming into the season and social whirlwind again. Its such a vicious cycle.


    • I can only imagine how long it takes to get all the sand out of your various nooks and crannies. The power wash guys probably have special rate just for you.

      The lure of cocooning is all that gets me through this transition. That slutty blonde (and he IS particularly slutific, don’t you think?) is hard to say goodbye to.


  4. Oh, good God – the vile atrocity that is the modern, and apparently endless, pumpkin-spice fad. The whole world smells like a cheap candle shop from just about now until well after Thanksgiving.

    And what’s with the sudden prudery? You’ve gone all PG on us after such a long run, recently, of blatant indecency in your choice of illustrations…


  5. I don’t know why, but the peaches here in NEPA have been fab-u-lous this season. Juicy and sweet and delicious and some nearly the size of softballs. I even found Peach Dumplings at the orchard stand, but he was busy with other customers. I shall miss them terribly when they’re gone.
    I’ll leave it to you to weave a remark from juicy and sweet and the size of softballs.


  6. You talk in riddles. No peaches here, only from the can – and they are aweful. I can not stand this taste of cheap metal.
    The good thing about autumn here is the wine, the grapes, full with sweet deliciousness, ready to be turned into wonderful tasty fluids & tastes, ach … Then comes the month of fog …


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