I am astounded by the bounty here in Hungary. It is as though the earth, the farmers and orchard keepers have a little secret. None of it is GMO. They kicked out Monsanto. Well, that is what they say; I have not researched it thoroughly. There is even a Hungarian Melon Cartel, I shit you not (more on that later).
The local supermarket chain COOP in town is selling perfect peaches at 45 cents a pound. FORTY-FIVE CENTS A POUND; I KNOW RIGHT? I tried one and it was pretty perfect. I have an advantage in that I do not have to shop for peaches or apricots at the market. I have four peach trees to choose from, and the boughs are laden. I am just outside of the city in a village called Érd. It is famous for its peaches–world famous. The Érd Barack (barack is pronounced baratsk; the sound is similar to the “o” in often.) I could write endless blogs on Hungarian language, but I am afraid I would get lost, as many a sane soul has.
We have made compotes, ice cream, twenty-seven jars of jam, grilled them with savory spices. Jarring is next, and when I need a break from all that, I just walk into the garden shirtless, pick a peach and have it explode juice everywhere. My grandfather used to say the only way to really eat a mango was in the bath tub. Ditto on these peaches. I will spare you images of me eating peaches in the bath tub. You are welcome.
I am in peach heaven.
Happy Summer Days to All