Peachy shortcut?

Sweetie and I bought some Carolina peaches from the farmer's market the other day -- so tangy and delicious -- and I discovered that the one I had for lunch today had a split pit.

In the peach business, that is apparently a defect.

But I am curious. It looks ready to sprout. I wonder if that means I can short cut the whole "bag it in moist dirt, refrigerate three weeks and plant it in the fall" thing.

God's fruit

"Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?"
-- The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.

T.S. Eliot was born in Missouri but spent most of his life in Europe. Obviously, he never tasted a Georgia peach or his character Alfred would never have asked such a stupid question.

The ambrosia that floods your mouth upon biting into such a fruit, fresh from a farmer's market, almost makes up for these hellish summers of ours that are required to create peach perfection.

No syrupy, soggy has-been from a can and no hard, crunchy pseudo-peach from some other state, can compare to the real thing.

You know it's real when you don't even have to chew it, you just sort of compress it with your tongue and it squirts its heaven all over your tastebuds.

Peaches came from China, via Persia. Obviously, some ancient Chinese person made God very happy somehow and was rewarded with the world's first peach tree.

I have had a very long, very exhausting day. I had every right to reward myself tonight with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and slices of the most exquisite fruit known on the planet.