Jody, my sweet summer peach, hosted a barbeque to officially kick off the Summer of Fun. Jody first endeared herself to me when I spotted Pork and Sons in her kitchen library. Tonight, I had to work, so rushed through service and ran to the liquor store for a bottle of wine and a six-pack of one of my favorite summer beers.
Greeted by a roar of applause, I felt like a celebrity leaving from the backstage entrance, accosted for autographs by her fans. Quickly I realized the girls were only after my booze. It turned out I’d showed up just as the boys left on a booze/propane run.
The wine was quickly emptied into the remnants of a summery sangria. An accessible, tropical New Zealand sauv blanc, the honeysuckle and melon complimented the strawberry citrus concoction. Although, had I known Michael’s infamous lavender, rose infused sangria was also making an appearance, I would have picked up a BC rosé with hints of elderflower.
I cracked a beer and was passed a glass of sangria while Jody hauled me to the stovetop
“Can you guess what that is?”
I peered at the pot. Bright eyed with a big smile, I replied, “poached peaches!” Too this day, I dream about the orchard of white peaches outside my bedroom window in the Ardeche and the cratefuls we’d eat on the patio after lazy, lengthy dinners. “I made it just for you. Guess, just guess, what that is?” Jody urged, as she held a spoon to my lips. I purred pleasure. Cinnamon, anise, and some... mellow richness. “Woodford Reserve.” Jody works for the LDB and has a thoroughly stocked liquor cabinet.
That beautiful woman, knowing my fondness for bourbon, had made this desert especially for me. After poaching pears and peaches she aimed to lightly grill them and serve them with vanilla ice cream.
By now the boys had returned and were throwing the marinated flank steak and sausages on the grill. Sarah was in charge of the Yucatan corn (insert link), and I was in charge of eating. Jody, a most hospitable hostess, served me plate after plate of delights I’d so far missed out on: a perfect garden fresh caprice salad, vegetarian pate, miniature humus tartines with feta and red onion...
We huddled around the grill and planned more summer adventures. Oyster Fest is on Friday (and work is highly over rated). Kayaking has become a probability, while tanning has become a priority. If thrice a week we make it to the beach with a book, a cooler and some sandwiches, I’ll consider out summer of fun a success. Then again, a picnic on the beaches of Witty's Lagoon after a healthy paddle shouldn’t be difficult to accomplish.
Dinner was inside, as the sun had long ago set. Everyone dug in, fingers over forks. We prodded Michael (poor Michael) about his vegetarian wieners and cajoled Carrie over her attempts to chew through hiccups.
Silence fell over the table when desert was brought out. Michael, a brilliant baker who has a knack for unknowingly mimicking American Girl Scout cookies, tonight made fresh berry crumble. I blessed Vancouver Island for it’s bountiful fruits as Sarah handed me my peaches and Jody a sipper of bourbon with a splash of water. After many slow, savouring bites, I eventually was able to choke out, “My heart is breaking.”
“Has it stopped yet?” Sarah barked, “Then keep eating!”