He's a peach!

One of my favorite things about Michigan, besides my relatives of course, are the peaches. I don’t care who you are or where you live, but Michigan peaches are (bar none) the best on earth. I remember many a summer where we stopped on our way home from visiting family to buy several lugs of peaches. Dad and I would stand at the trunk and carefully place each individual peach in styrofoam coolers brought along for just such an occasion. Inevitably we would find one that was just too ripe (translation: too yummy looking) to put in the cooler and we would have to just eat it before we got back on the road. The juice would run down our arms and we would laugh as we tried to eat them as quickly as possible and yet savor each bite. They were so good.

As I mentioned earlier, Mom and my sister have just recently returned from a trip to Michigan. Of course she brought back lots of peaches, much to my delight. We got a few to take back home with us this weekend. I ate a couple just like I used to with Dad. But alas, they were so ripe it was no longer going to work to simply eat them. Hubby and I decided to cut them up. He wanted a pie but I just couldn’t sacrifice that many for one pie. I’ll make a pie out of the boring old California or Colorado peaches. Not out of the precious Michigan peaches! I commented that they would be exceptionally good on some plain vanilla ice cream, which we did not have. I threw a comparatively small pity party for myself. I stuck out my bottom lip and said "Oh, okay, we’ll just eat them plain". And I thought that was the end of it.

Hubby later goes to fill the cars up with gas because it sounds like gas prices are going up again. He seems to be gone an awfully long time and I wonder if he is fighting long lines at the pumps or something. You can imagine my joy, surprise and awe when he walks in the door carrying a grocery bag...with a container of plain vanilla ice cream. I swooned. I didn’t even ASK. All I had to do was stick out my bottom lip. I’ve had other cravings here and there, all of which hubby has calmly pointed out weren’t good for the baby. But it seems the ice cream cravings are acceptable. So I spent several minutes in the kitchen last night carefully pealing and slicing each precious peach, dousing them with sugar, and scooping them onto piles of luscious rolled balls of ice cold vanilla goodness. It was so good. Almost as good as standing in back of the car slurping up the ripest ones with Dad.

Hubby deserves a pie.