Every summer, I turn fruity.
As in batty for plums, pluots, peaches, nectarines cherries, strawberries, blueberries, figs and the like.
So much so that I practically have to restrain myself from buying a few of everything that I see at the farmers market, lest I end up with a load of fruit at the end of the week, when I am ready to set out to the market again on my regular weekend jaunt.
Just last Saturday, my favorite strawberry vendor asked me pointedly, “Do you really go through this many strawberries every week?” as I bought my usual three baskets from him.
Why, yes, I do. I really, really do.
Hey, it could be worse. At least he didn’t ask, “Do you really go through five buckets of chicken every week?”
Instead, I’m proud to be fruity to the core. Most of my haul is enjoyed as is — out of hand or topped with Greek yogurt or tossed into salads. Some get baked into sweet treats such as galettes, muffins or financiers. And every now and then, some actually end up in something savory.
Like “Peachy Pork or Veal with Pomegranate Molasses and Charred Onion.”