T welve pounds of peaches, to someone whose family regularly went through 20 pounds of potatoes per week, didn’t sound like much at first. Unable to resist the incessant ads blanketing my social media for the third summer in a row, I finally caved and ordered a box from the Peach Truck. Was it over a dollar more expensive per pound than just buying them from the grocery store? Yes. One bite into my fresh peach hand pie, however, I knew it was money well spent.
This isn’t an ad for the Peach Truck, though they certainly deliver excellent fruit and have fabulous customer service (I would know, since I had to email them after double-booking myself the night I was supposed to retrieve my box), and I wouldn’t mind giving them more business. Take this however you please, but peaches are one of the best harbingers of long summer days, dusky evenings, and lazy lakeside afternoons. It’s that last location that interests me, as my box went toward treats for a lovely long weekend with friends at my uncle’s lake house.
My job at these gatherings is mainly food-related. Having one person plan the menu and be responsible for its preparation is much simpler than everyone trying to coordinate what and how much to bring with them. Often, there are upwards of 20 people in town for the weekend, and it takes a bit of forethought to feed so many. Cue large pots of buffalo chicken dip, endless bags of tortilla chips, and quite a few hamburgers. This year, however, we were a small group — twelve all told, three of whom were under five — so I was excited to try my hand at some sized-down peach recipes for everyone to enjoy.
The key to enjoying these weekends is prepping as much food as possible beforehand, so much of my Wednesday was spent making pie dough, ice-cream mix-ins, and peach filling. A week earlier, my dad had gifted me with a bag of cherries from his tree, which I promptly turned into hand pies. The America’s Test Kitchen recipe I used was exceptional, and those hand pies proved to be the culmination of my years-long pastry-crust journey. Flaky, not chewy, golden brown all over, and not a soggy spot in sight. While I would concede that puff pastry is best bought at your leisure rather than attempted at home, pie pastry is eminently doable for the home cook. My success with the cherry hand pies spurred my ambition for peach ones, and the initial prep work went smoothly.
Dough and filling made, I traipsed off — along with about eight more bags of food — to the lake, intending the finished product for dessert on Friday. Unfortunately, I’d forgotten a few essential hand-pie-making tools at home, but more on that in a bit.
Meanwhile, after unloading and storing all the food at the lake house, I set to work on the peach ice cream. While I do have an ice-cream maker (courtesy of an estate sale), this recipe was a no-churn version. I was skeptical, but I had a lot of peaches to dispose of, so off I went. The peach portion was a mixture of sliced peaches, butter, brown sugar, and cinnamon, which I’d cooked down and cooled earlier in the week. After beating together sweetened condensed milk and heavy cream, I swirled in the peaches, scooped the mixture into containers, and popped everything in the freezer for an overnight stay.
Peach salsa was next, and my only regret was not getting another lime so I could’ve made a double batch of this highly popular dish. Simple ingredients, a snap to put together (well, if you’re fast at chopping onions and jalapenos), and pretty to look at, this is a treat I will be making again and again this summer.
Friday came, and after the dinner rush dwindled, I started to prepare my hand-pie workstation. But as I pulled everything out, it suddenly dawned on me that, not only had I forgotten flour, I’d also left my rolling pin at home. Dad came to my rescue, suggesting that I use a wine bottle in place of the missing pin. It took a bit more effort than a regular rolling pin, but thanks to that bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and some powdered sugar (to replace my missing flour), I soon had a respectably thin, workable sheet of dough.
My eagerness to get the pies in the oven made me miss one last crucial step: chilling for 15 minutes so the butter doesn’t melt everywhere. Alas. But they still tasted fabulous, and I didn’t forget that step on the second batch.
By this point, the peach ice cream was also ready, and I’d not prepared myself for the joy people would take in eating the hand pies and ice cream together. It was a smashing success.
After the weekend wrapped up, I still had three pounds of peaches in my fridge at home, awaiting their fate. The recipe this time? Canning.
While I have done some canning before, I was honestly expecting a much more dramatic process this time around. I wanted to regale you, dear reader, with tales of scalding syrup, over-cooked peaches, and exploding glass jars. In the end, though, the most remarkable part of the enterprise was how few preserved peaches I actually made. See, the recipe called for three pounds of peaches, which I’d dutifully weighed out, but I think it meant three pounds of peaches after you’d peeled and pitted them. The result was lovely preserved peaches, but only two jars’ worth. I did buy a whole set of mason jars, however, and will not be deterred until all of them are full — preferably with peaches, and I wouldn’t turn my nose up at the grocery-store variety.
You might’ve noticed that there’s only one picture with this essay, even though I made multiple desserts. My only excuse is that all the food was eaten so quickly that I didn’t have time to pull out my camera. Except for the peach ice cream.
To my friends’ chagrin, I forgot the leftover ice cream in the lake-house freezer. I promise I didn’t forget on purpose, but next time I’m there, if you can’t find me, just know I’m probably hiding by the dock, eating the rest of that wonderful dessert.