I must admit, certain produce is drawing to a close. This may be the last weekend to make good with peaches, so use them while you can. But remember, just because the August fruits are gone, doesn’t mean the summer’s over. I’ll rebel, as usual, by swimming until the geese have flown. I love the way my lips turn a corpse-ish lavender in a late-September lake. It’s perfectly subversive because it’s a bit masochistic. It’s not easy to jump first thing into cold water, but when I’m done, the morning is mine.

I made this crumble last weekend, and there are still peaches lingering at farm stands, so I might make it again on Sunday. It was a great dessert with vanilla ice cream, although I thought it was better the next day: warmed up and served with Greek yogurt after an early swim. It’s got all the components of a satisfying breakfast–oats, stewed fruit, brown sugar. Don’t let it get away.

Happy long weekend. I hope you eek out every last, golden moment of this fleeting season.

Peach and Cherry Crumble

Makes 8 slices

Preheat oven to 350.

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For the fruit:

Pit and peal 8 super-ripe peaches.

Cut 12-15 cherries in half, and pit.

Toss fruit with 1/4c all-purpose flour, 1/4 c brown sugar and the juice of 1/2 lemon.

Spread fruit evenly into a pie-plate.

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For the crumble:

Toss ½ c flour with ½ c oats, 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon and 1/4 teaspoon salt.

Once combined, add 1 c white sugar and 1/2 c gently packed brown sugar.

Blend in 1 stick of cold, diced butter until sugar, flour and butter combine. The butter should form pearl-sized crumbs.

Add 2/3 c chopped pecans to the mixture and spread evenly over fruit.

Bake for approximately 45 minutes, or until fruits are bubbling and oats are browned.

Can you blame me? Have you never found a peach too fleeting? I’m not talking about the little immigrant rocks flown in from some warm place and placed on a grocer’s cold heap, September through June. I’m talking about the peaches that come to you, bursting or bruised, off a nearby tree at the height of summer. Those are the kinds of peaches that terrify and fascinate me. I just cannot resist them.  I recognize that none of this really explains why I am so timid around peaches and pate sucrée. Maybe it’s as simple as this (though I’m really not a math person):

peaches = fleeting = summer

by contrast:

pie = time

By extension, I’m not sure I want to spend an entire day of my summer inside, potentially ruining 6 perfect peaches in an amateur pie job. Time flies, and for that matter, so do the good peaches. Imagine pulsing the elements of your crust, turning around, and finding no fruit left on the counter. It might be improbable with any other fruit, or in any other season. But with peaches in July, it is highly likely. Also likely: a too-hot kitchen; a fallen crust; battered fruit and a broken heart.

But I talked myself up to the task, and set aside the better part of a gorgeous afternoon to finally commit to the ultimate summer dessert. Still, I wanted nothing to do with the cloak of a double crust. Fortunately, the problem had been solved by Martha Stewart, whose recipe called for a luxurious coating of crème fraîche , streusel topping and a single crust…it reminded me of last summer’s clafoutis, where the peaches rose to the top of the custard so that their colors and curves were very much a part of the dessert.

I can happily report that this pie was worth the wait: none of the peaches were eaten en route to the oven, by me or anybody else. I also want to say that I got some help from the witty Deb, of Smitten Kitchen, whose advice on baking a pie crust is spot-on. This pie was equally edible a day (and two) later, when stored in the fridge. In the end, I felt like a magician, extending the lives of these ephemeral fruits–if only for two days.

Peach Pie with Crème Fraîche

Make the crust:  (Adapted from Smitten Kitchen)

1 ¼ cups flour
1  tablespoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 sticks (4 ounces) cold, unsalted butter, cubed

Set aside a cup of ice water.

In a food processor (or a large bowl) blend together flour, sugar and salt.
Add butter and pulse (or blend with a pastry blender) until pea-sized pieces emerge.
Don’t over-blend, even if dough seems uneven—the little bits of butter make the crust flaky.
Place the dough on a work surface (unless it is already in a bowl) and bring it together by adding ¼ c of ice water.
Gather dough with a spatula. If it seems dry, add water, 1 tablespoon at a time.
When dough is moist enough to cling together, knead it into a ball.
Wrap ball in plastic and press it into a disc. Refrigerate for 1 hour.

On a floured surface, roll out dough to about 1/8” thick.
Press into a regular-sized pie plate (9-10”).
Trim edges and create whatever decorative edge inspires you.
Poke bottom of crust with a fork and freeze for 30 minutes.
Just before removing crust from freezer, preheat the oven to 400°F.
Par-bake by pressing aluminum foil against frozen pie crust.
Bake for 10 minutes, then gently remove foil and press raised spots with the back of a spoon.
Return crust to oven until golden brown, approximately 5 minutes.
Transfer to a wire rack to cool slightly.
Reduce oven temperature to 375°F.

Make the Streusel

¼ cup confectioners’ sugar
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
¼ teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon cinnamon
Pinch of salt
¼ cup cold (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, cut into pieces

Stir sugar, flour, baking powder, cinnamon and salt together in a small bowl.
Add butter and blend into the flour mixture with the tines of a fork, until coarse crumbs form.
Set aside.

Make the Filling

1 ¾ pounds ripe (6 medium) yellow peaches, pitted and quartered
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
Pinch of salt
5 tablespoons crème fraîche

Put peaches into a medium bowl, and sprinkle with sugar and salt; gently toss to coat and let stand 15 minutes.
Spread 2 tablespoons crème fraîche onto bottom of crust and sprinkle with 1/3 of the streusel.
Layer peaches on top and dot with remaining crème fraîche .
Sprinkle with remaining streusel.

Bake until crème fraîche bubbles and streusel is golden brown, about 50 minutes.
Cover edge of crust with foil if it begins to brown prematurely.
Let cool on a wire rack 15 minutes.
Serve warm or at room temperature and store in the refrigerator.

I love their ridges, their fuzz, their changing gradations of pink and yellow. I love the leaves that spring from their tops—they look so biblical. They’re more beautiful in person than any still life, though I can see why they’ve inspired great art through the ages. We should all be so lucky to be as pretty as a peach.

And even though a peach devoured raw and dribbling is as good as summertime gets, I decided to practice some self restraint for once and see how they would look in a dessert. I deliberated for a couple of days, letting them ripen further in a brown paper bag. When I finally pulled them out, their sides were so soft I actually treated them like sparrows in my palm.

I wanted something that would showcase their shape. Buckles and pies are lovely to taste, but fruit ends up something of a juicy mass beneath their crusts and crumbs. I wanted more for my peaches. They needed great presentation: a subtle platform for their astonishing color and shape. And then I came upon it—the Clafoutis, a French dish traditionally done with cherries.

The Clafoutis is an almost flan-like dessert and it’s easy to see why pert, tart cherries would complement its silky richness. That said, the ultra ripe peach wedges were hardly cloying. I would even consider making this with a layer of caramelized pears or apples and serving it after brunch. It’s sweet, but the texture is light enough to enjoy during daylight hours.

When I first started researching the Clafoutis, I was slightly confused. Recipes call for pouring batter over fruit arranged in the bottom of a baking pan. I wondered if every Clafoutis recipe author had forgotten to mention that the dish had to be flipped before serving, like an upside-down cake.

Fortunately, a life lesson applied: when everyone else is WRONG, there’s probably something going on with me. So I took a leap of faith and trusted that my beautiful babies would be properly showcased like the cherries pictured in traditional Clafoutis preparations.

And indeed, like all shining stars, they rose to the occasion—literally. As soon as I mixed the liquid custard I understood: the batter worked its way under every slice, lifting the pattern to the top of the pan, where the fruit floated in pink and gold glory. Everything about a peach is beautiful, but when a spiral of slices hover over a custard, they can take your breath away.

These peaches came courtesy of Lightsey Farm in Mexia, TX. I used a recipe from The Joy of Cooking as my base, but changed some rather significant details. When I do a fall Clafoutis with apples, I will do it exactly the same way.

Peach Clafoutis

4-6 peaches (enough to cover the bottom of a 9” round cake pan)
4 eggs
¾ c granulated sugar
1 c half and half
¾ c all purpose flour
1 tbsp amaretto
1.5 tsp vanilla extract
Pinch of salt
Confectioner’s sugar for dusting
Vanilla ice cream for serving

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Preheat oven to 375.

Arrange peaches in the bottom of a 9” cake pan.

Beat eggs and sugar until frothy about 2 minutes.

Stir in half and half, Amaretto and vanilla.

Add flour and salt and blend until smooth.

Carefully pour batter over peaches and bake for 10 minutes.

Reduce heat to 350 and bake another 30-35 minutes until Clafoutis puffs and edges are golden brown—a toothpick inserted in the middle should come out clean.

Cool slightly before serving (with Vanilla ice cream) and dust with confectioner’s sugar.

Someday I will regret saying this I' m sure—and when that day comes, I' ll be the righteous locavore who only eats in season thanks to a huge, well-stocked and financed barnyard and garden. That will be a lovely day. But for now, I buy tomatoes at the grocery store year 9 months a year, feeding the demonic, gas guzzling chain of industrialized farming.

Thanks to Houston' s heavy heat and the hydroponic practices of some local farmers, I can extend my food halo to encompass about 5 months of saintly, regional eating this year—at least where tomatoes are concerned. The toms arrived at the farmer' s market last week, and I was able to enjoy my first real taste of 2008.

I buy tomatoes to roast into salsas or throw into Greek salads when I am sinning and eating imported toms during the off-season. I wouldn' t deign serve or be served a simple tomato-based dish from the winter vine. Which is why, when your salad has three ingredients, it' s essential that the most important component be in superb condition. Hence, my avoidance of Capreses until the warm months arrive.

This year my inaugural salad was served chopped and mixed into greens to accompany a plate of roasted peppers and a simple salmon with lemon. I didn' t want the Caprese to overshadow the rest of the food, and I wanted the basil to stand out as a unique surprise—the telltale taste of this summer dish.

There were plain peaches for desert. I thought of buying some vanilla ice cream as a bed for the sliced fruit, but decided that it would only complicate matters. With peaches like these, it’s best not to interfere.

For a long time, I refused peaches entirely. I thought the little hairs of their skin got stuck in my chin like fine needles. I was afraid that I would get a rash from the prickly stubble of their thin, tearable skin. (Downed with light brown.) I plucked nectarines from the grocery bins, and avoided their paler neighbors. Now I realize, that is not it at all. That is not what I meant at all.

It was merely the sugar juice, dried on my chin. Not needles or hairs at all. I wonder when the nectarines come back, will they have the same effect? Will they be half as good as these forbidden peaches, that fell from a tree this morning and made their way into the cup of my palm, to the pit of my pit?

I smelled the bag when I got home. I stuffed my face into the brown paper darkness and inhaled until I was dizzy. It smelled like a wide open summertime field, that little corner on my kitchen counter. And when I emerged from the sack, high as a kite on the scent of July, I really did feel glad to be a Texan. I’ll have an extra month (or two or three!) of these young, juicy things. Before autumn comes and I wonder “will it all have been worthwhile?” falling in love with the fruit of the summer–only to face the white haired waves of winter roll over the dormant fields?

Yes. I will be happy with winter squash in lieu of fiddleheads and zephyrs. I will not have an existential crisis, and picture myself an old man, drowned by human voices. These photos are from today’s farmer’s market, where I fondly remembered a high school English teacher’s love of blueberry picking. She also loves Proofrock and peaches. Here’s to you, Beas.