I’m a summer baby. Born and bred (clap clap clap clap) deep in the heart of Texas, I grew up where the main seasons are summer and slightly less summer, so the antagonizingly pleasant weather here in Denver has always thrown me off-kilter a bit.
Only on rare occasions does it get oppressively hot, and it’s such a change from the banality of consistently perfect weather, that it’s a welcome change.
I like to go outside and soak in that heat like a snake on a rock on those days. Heat like that makes me want to eat like I should eat all year round – light and healthy, fresh, whole ingredients with minimal fussing.
It’s practically the only time I’ll eat a salad.
Do Your Dance at the Peach Jam
“Everybody get up it’s time to slam now
We got a real jam goin’ down
Welcome to the [Peach] Jam
Here’s your chance do your dance at the [Peach] Jam”
I was literally singing this out loud. All day, be-aproned and hovering over the stove with jam splatters on my face. That was a Space Jam reference, in case y’all missed it.
Millions of Peaches
It’s peach season here in Colorado, y’all. Know how I know? Because they are EVERYWHERE. Grocery stands with piles upon piles tumbling over themselves, lip-smacking honeyed aroma spilling into the aisles. At the farmer’s market, with twee little baskets lining the tables. Even roadside, enterprising peddlers have pop-up fruit stands trying to get rid of the season’s bounty.
And then Abby took a drive up to peach country. Who can refuse when a friend offers to pick you up a pallet of Colorado delights, straight from the land of milk and honey? Arrangements were made, money changed hands, and then – there they were.
Y’all, there are so. Many. Peaches.