Thursday, July 18, 2013

Summertime Peach Porn

Posted By on Thu, Jul 18, 2013 at 8:21 AM

Oh yeah, its on, baby!
  • Oh yeah, it's on, baby!

Singer-songwriter Jeff Finlin was a fixture on the local music scene a decade ago, before he decided to pack his bags and move to Colorado. But the South just kept calling his name, in no small part, because of our more — excuse the pun — fruitful peach season. So in April, he moved back to Nashville. Read Jeff's lusty ode to the ultimate summertime fruit below, and check out more about his new album My Moby Dick and book of poetry Time Less Travel here. And here's a Critics' Pick about Finlin's album release show in May.

Note to reader: Even though fruit is the name given to those plants which have an ovary used for food, and throughout history the peach has been a frequent metaphor for the female genitalia, in no way during the course of this writing can the peach be misconstrued as such. In other words, if that’s what you are thinking, you are the one with the dirty mind.

The first bite of the season is always the most sensuous. The anticipation is heart-stopping. As the first bit of furry delight tickles your upper lip you can almost taste the orgy of nature’s promise before it hits your taste buds and washes down the back of your throat. You’ve been waiting all year for this bounty of your longing. You pierce the skin and the juices explode. As they drip down your chin the pleasure is almost unimaginable. The mind is overpowered by the connection to the flesh of nature itself. You can taste the sweetness; the satisfaction. The sunshine bursts through your head. Intertwined, you can taste the energy squirting back on itself. You moan with delight. It’s a miracle. The edge of the cosmos is at hand, and you feel you can just go ahead and die now. It’s like prom night minus the back seat of that '72 Maverick.

It’s love … yes??

No.

It’s the first summer peach.

It’s been a long wait through the dark days of winter and supermarket fruit — that picked-green California and South American bullshit that tempts you on the surface but is like a wet sock in the primordial produce sack. Ten years of living in Colorado was like living with a tease. Having to endure a short three-week growing season for peaches on the western slope was like enduring peach prison. Every year was like waiting for a conjugal summertime visit in a peach lockdown.

Don’t get me wrong — those Palisade peaches were good. But they only lasted a scant three weeks. There was not time to get bored and have the pleasure of having to spice things up a bit to keep the relationship going. The honeymoon never ended before the peaches disappeared and the longing once again returned.

Here in the South, it’s different. At first we are infused with the Georgia peaches. Then those little beauties from Spartanburg County in South Carolina come in teasing you with their curves and color. Then, all those Alabama sweeties come busting out of everywhere, along with a few Tennessee girls to break the monotony. And just when you think it’s going to be over, we get a reprieve from Michigan. Those northern gals with attitudes find their way south, and it's heaven all over again.

It’s a long and glorious marriage here in Middle Tennessee. And as with any long-term relationship, after a while, you have to get inventive to keep the fire burning. The first thing we do is reach for the whipped cream can, of course, and slather them babes up for extended delights. Then maybe we drip some chocolate on them. And if you long for a Mexican fling try some cajeta. Cajeta is Mexican caramel, made with slowly cooked sweetened goat’s milk and infused with cinnamon, vanilla or other spices and flavorings. You’ll hear a mariachi band playing in your loins! In the end, when push come to shove, there is always the vast array of warm and gooey baking options as well: cobblers, pies, grilled peaches.

Has anyone ever done a peach tarte Tatin???

Oh do tell.

I want to know ... I want to know!

I was over at the magnificent Edleys Bar-B-Que on the East Side the other day, and they had a pulled pork barbecue sandwich topped with fresh Georgia peaches and apple butter.

SQUIRT!!

So enjoy the bounty, Nashville. It’s an orgy of delight. The pleasure is so good, it should be X-rated. (Or maybe I’m just old.) It’s at the farmers markets and the produce place on the side of the road or in the back of a truck. Go get ’em, and be in love for the first time all over again. ’Cause it’s your life.

It’s summertime. And it’s a peach.

Tags: , , , ,

Comments (4)

Showing 1-4 of 4

Add a comment

 
Subscribe to this thread:
Showing 1-4 of 4

Add a comment

All contents © 1995-2014 City Press LLC, 210 12th Ave. S., Ste. 100, Nashville, TN 37203. (615) 244-7989.
All rights reserved. No part of this service may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of City Press LLC,
except that an individual may download and/or forward articles via email to a reasonable number of recipients for personal, non-commercial purposes.
Powered by Foundation