Nectarines are my favorite fruit. Now that the cherries are pretty much gone.
Last year, we bought some exquisite nectarines from this guy at a booth at the farmer's market. They happened to be white nectarines and they were pretty much perfect--ripe, of course, which also means fragrant and let us not forget beautiful. So the next week, we stopped by his booth and asked after the white nectarines. Sadly, there were no more.
The Historian (with gentle humor): . . . so, these are your ordinary nectarines, then.Fruit Guy (a little hot under the collar): There's nothing ordinary about these nectarines!
Calm down, Fruit Guy, we totally agree. Kidding!
Even though our Fruit Guy is a little touchy, he really does have pretty extraordinary fruit, and apparently also has every fruit tree known to man. Last week he had Transparent apples, which might be one of the prettiest apples in the whole wide world. Extra extra tart, just so you know. They are an early apple, one of the earliest. They would make beautiful pies.
But I am not ready for apples yet, so we bought extraordinary nectarines, three of which I brought with me here to Idaho. I just ate one standing over the sink because of the juicy. The flesh was almost velvety. The nectarine as a fruit is just one big WOW. But only if you get them--this goes without saying--when they are absolutely perfectly ripe.
Historical footnote about the nectarine. And me.: When I was a young wife and mother, nectarines were the very first fruit I learned to bottle. My friend and I bought a bunch. She showed me how to put them into boiling water briefly so as to slip their skins off. Evidently, we did this for the exact right amount of time, because even when we slipped the skins off, the flesh retained a blush. Those were some gorgeous nectarines in a bottle.
Today is my last full day in Idaho. Also, and perhaps not coincidentally, my last nectarine.