Summer

When I was little, I had a Little Golden Book about Farmer Brown's Farm. 

I was thrilled for Mama to take us to Farmer Brown’s Market in Montezuma, Georgia as children ...... and to tell you the truth, I still have the same thrill today!

Mimi and I went the other day for Elberta Peaches. Farmer Brown’s grows and sells the iconic peach in late July and into August in the same county from which they came. Though not the same Farmer Brown as in my Little Golden Book, the story is very much the same – a farm full of beautiful fruits and veggies and flowers set in a lovely land. This land called Macon County, Georgia, has stories upon stories of its own, but one in particular relates to peaches and thus our pilgrimage Farmer Brown’s.

Mimi and I went the other day for Elberta Peaches. Farmer Brown’s grows and sells the iconic peach in late July and into August in the same county from which they came. Though not the same Farmer Brown as in my Little Golden Book, the story is very much the same – a farm full of beautiful fruits and veggies and flowers set in a lovely land. This land called Macon County, Georgia, has stories upon stories of its own, but one in particular relates to peaches and thus our pilgrimage Farmer Brown’s.

I couldn't be more excited for the month of August. August and fresh peaches are synonymous. Yes, peaches are available during other months of the year but there is something special about the August peach; it’s just sweeter. I don’t think I’m imagining it. Maybe I’m fueled by the anticipation of peach cobblers, peach margaritas and the iconic peaches and cream; all indulgences I love to save until this time of year. But in short, peaches are simply sweet, comforting and distinctly summer’s gold.

Each year I try to come up with a new way to celebrate this timely summer crop. I have taken the peach in many directions, both savory and sweet. It never disappoints. This year instead of traditional peach pie I’ve settled on Grilled Poundcake with Warm Peach Coulis and Chantilly Cream. Don’t get scared off by the serious foodie language, coulis is just a fancy French term for a simple but stylish fruit sauce while Chantilly cream refers to a sweetened whipped cream.

This dessert is easy to prepare and truly makes the peach the star of the show. Grilling the poundcake also adds a toasty touch of goodness, while the slivered almonds provide the perfect contrasting crunch. I promise this will be a family favorite for years to come.

For an excellent summer refresher, perfect for a picnic or party this upcoming Labor Day, how about trying this recipe for sangria? Using in-season stone fruit, this recipe is the perfect way to celebrate (or mourn) the end of summer. Feel free to use whichever fruit you choose, but it is especially nice with fresh, ripe stone fruit such as peaches, nectarines, and/or plums. Mangoes, pluots, or cherries would also make a nice addition. I happened to use a white peach, a white nectarine, and a white pluot.

For the spirit, a peach or plum brandy works especially well (try a plum Palinka from Hungary), but any other brandy works fine too. Many white wine sangria recipes call for the addition of sugar and soda, but there is no need if you use a sweet sparkling wine. Sweet sparkling wines such as Asti, semi-seco Cava, demi-sec Champagne, or Prosecco work the best.

The addition of peach nectar to the sangria is reminiscent of a Bellini, a cocktail of Prosecco and peach purée that was invented in the late 1930s at Harry's Bar in Venice, Italy. So, if like me you were unable to take a trip this summer, grab a glass of sangria and let your mind wander.

I don't know where I went wrong. Three years of high school French and one graduate school semester of reading French, and I can still barely string together an intelligible sentence. C'est terrible! I have accepted the fact that a French pre-schooler could speak circles around me, but as long as I can say some words, like aubergine, I'm content.

Aubergine doesn't look or sound anything like its English counterpart "eggplant." But, oh, how I wish it did. Let's be honest, could there be a less appealing name than "eggplant"? I mean, it's not an egg or a plant. Plus, phonetically, it's just not pleasing; it's harsh and flat.  Aubergine, however, flows elegantly out of one's mouth. I daresay it's almost too attractive a word for the vegetable is signifies. (In botanical terms, an eggplant is actually a fruit, but it's cooked and eaten like a vegetable).

Fortunately I'm mature enough to look beyond such petty issues and appreciate eggplant's attributes. A heavy, firm, eggplant with a glossy purple-black skin borders on the regal. And its flesh, though just an unassuming off-white color, becomes enticingly rich and creamy when cooked. Like a chameleon, eggplant has the ability to transform itself: when grilled, it is appetizingly smoky flavored and tender; when fried, it is irresistibly crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside.