One of my diabetic patients explained that his recent increased blood sugars were due to Michigan peaches. I had to have a Michigan peach.
Ripe peaches don't travel well. When I lived in California, we used to get great peaches, trucked in ripe and gone from the shelf in a couple of hours. Here in the land of supermarkets, peaches are photogenic but that's about it. They are hard without being crisp, and tart without having flavor.
For the last couple of summers, my hospital has hosted a weekly farmers market. I don't usually make it out of the office in time, but today, thinking of peaches, I made it.
This is what a peach should be. The first bite pierces the crisp skin, and the flesh beneath is impossibly sweet and flavorful, the juice inevitably dripping down the wrist. I bought four.
As I was trying the peaches, my nose was drawn to the left where a pile of cantaloupes were perched on the top of a cart. There was no need to check them for ripeness---I could smell them from across the driveway. I brought one of them back with the peaches. I have no idea what I'll do with a whole melon tonight at work. Both of my residents are fasting for Ramadan, and I don't think I can eat a whole melon for dinner. But if it's as good as the peaches, I don't care.