A frenzy of peach production has yielded nine quarts of canned peaches, two pints of peach chutney and many, many bags of sliced, frozen peaches that are awaiting a rainy winter day when they'll reemerge in peach crisps and crostatas. My day at the farm was spectacular, and David Mas Masumoto is one of the most generous and kind souls I've ever met. He's also an excellent writer, and the magazine section of the Sunday Times features an article he wrote about life on the family farm (and some recipes, too.) Check it out here: http://www.nytimes.com/pages/dining/index.html
Since the farm visit I've been on the move, and I just returned from a whirlwind weekend in Vermont, a trip to attend the wedding of an old friend. It was a lovely day, and I was struck by how lush New England looks in August. After only two summers here in the Bay Area, I've become accustomed to the scrubby brown and gold grasses, the spiky yucca and agave. It was a treat to spend a weekend in a place where summer means brilliant green, overgrown, aggressive agriculture. Food-wise, the highlight was an ideal BLT made by my friend Matt (ok, it was just a BT. Who needs the lettuce, anyway?) and a vegetarian feast prepared for my arrival by my mother, the world's greatest home cook, celebrating the bounty of August in Vermont.
I know I promised some pictures here, but there's been a technical difficulty. So close your eyes, and imagine sitting beneath the pleasant canopy of a fine old peach tree, juicy fruit in hand.