Joe’s down at Laïola, getting Tacolicious ready to roll for the market today. And I—as a lady of leisure whose workday starts at 7×7 starts at 9:30—am sitting down for my daily summer breakfast of a slice of toasted and buttered piece of sesame-oat Vital Vittles. This isn’t hippy gerbil food but primo toasting bread—topped with a sliced Elberta peach imported by my in-laws-to-be from old Smith Ranch (701 Claratina Ave.; 209-522-1718) in Modesto. (If you ever should drive through Modesto, I recommend you make a stop. Get there early, because the flats of peaches are cheap and go fast.)
If food imparts its spirit, which I believe it does, than the vibrant, luscious Smith Ranch peach makes me feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. But this is countered in San Francisco by our weather. From our Bernal Heights’ windows, I’m looking out at Twin Peaks. It’s so foggy right now that Coit Tower—normally standing tall on the horizon—is completely covered. A chilly breeze is tickling the plants on the deck. I’ll be putting on knee high boots to go to work in a second.
If bi-polar is a disorder in which people experience abnormally elevated and abnormally depressed states for a period of time in a way that interferes with functioning (or so says Wikipedia), than summering in San Francisco is like being seasonally bi-polar. We can have all the fresh corn, heirloom tomatoes and chilled rosé we want, but with little exception—from June to August—we eat summer while experiencing winter. It can do a number on you.
This is not to say we should all go jump off a bridge. This is to say that we need to medicate with as much summer as we can, while it lasts, to balance things out. I just called Smith Ranch and today’s their last day for peaches (so go next year). The end of peach season is near. So get down to the Ferry Plaza Farmers Market today for tacos (duh), but also to pick up some peaches and anything else that will warm you up from the inside out.