. . . has given birth to copious peach-related ingenuity in the past five days. I'd say the threat of rotting peaches is a clear case of necessity.
First I flash-froze thin unpeeled slices for quart bags.
Then I did the same with halves, but wrapped them individually in plastic and stuck them in gallon bags. These will be perfect for smoothies. Just pull out a peach half and unwrap! I wish I had thought of this earlier.
Then, tired of neat slices and the painstaking use of parchment, I just diced 'em up and packed them into quart bags. They're ready for a January cobbler.
Then I roasted quarters with a sprinkling of raw sugar, 45-60 minutes at 400 degrees-- they're delicious and I am eating way too many of them. I will try freezing some because I think they would make a great ice cream topping, thawed and reheated (also because if I don't they will all disappear into my mouth).
Tomorrow Mom and I are making jam, trying out this tempting recipe.
I also did this. After all, I already had the vodka . . .
Of course that's not to mention the many smoothies, the Dutch babies, the whipped cream bourbon concoction, and the crisp that all showed up over the weekend. Oy. In the end we kept 150 pounds of peaches from our haul on Thursday, and good golly Miss Molly, there is no way that's happening again.
(Until we have eight children and three freezers, that is.)
Peaches peaches peaches. Why is it that for most of the year, you can't find a good peach for love or money, and then once they come in, you drown in them?! Whatever health benefits reside in peaches, I've had my allowance for the year.