Peaches, peaches, peaches. How I love thee.
Looking for some way to maximize peaches in our lives, I hit upon the following. It is quick, makes very little in the way of mess or dishes, doesn’t heat up your apartment with the oven, and is a delicious change of pace.
Peppered Peach and Manchego Sandwiches
- 1 large peach
- Manchego cheese
- slices of thick sandwich bread
- fresh ground black pepper
Cut the peach from its pit in thick slices. 1/2 slices are best. Over low heat in a lightly-greased pan, saute them with slivers of butter and lots of black pepper on top of each. Meanwhile, toast the sandwich bread and layer one side of each sandwich with thin slices of the Manchego. When the peaches are starting to look a bit gooey or caramelized, layer them on top of the Manchego. The heat will soften the cheese. Cover the peaches with arugula, pour whatever peachy butter runoff remains in the pan on the top halves of the sandwich bread, then slice in half and serve.
Last week, the Union Square Farmer’s Market, one of the biggest and best in the city, put on its first nightmarket, billed in a lavender promotional jpeg as “A Midsummer Night’s Green Market.” The farmers stayed twice as long as they usually do, there was beer and music, and a handful of area restaurants turned out to dish out.
So we turned out, too. We were psyched.
It ended up a bit of a very crowded catwalk of very good looking food.
We tried Telepan’s blueberry crescent and fried eggplant with ratatouille, both of which were pretty, decent, unspectacular. Each of these guys were four bucks.
Next up was the peach turnover from Union Square Café, which was not only infinitely superior to its blueberry cousin but pretty damn delicious. Once you accept the fact that any turnover stuffed with corn syrup gloop masquerading as fruit is an offense to all that is good and noble in the world, you are left with a turnover’s pastry as its defining feature. The Café’s was fantastic: delicately crispy on the top, firm and flaky elsewhere. Cost: six bucks. Continue reading
Dead rock stars occupy a strange place in the pantheon of Humanity’s heroes. You’ve got brave, doomed soldiers and noble, self-sacrificing leaders and visionary, steadfast iconoclasts and idealistic, graceful martyrs. And then 1938 rolls around, Robert Johnson is poisoned, and shortly thereafter you’ve got dudes who choke on their own vomit in the backseats of cars floating up to Heaven to chill with Hercules and Abe Lincoln and St. Thomas Aquinas. Rock star deaths tend to be violent or self-indulgent, which upon reflection seems to make them the perfect heroes of the Western World’s 20th Century.
Plane crashes, car wrecks, and suicide aren’t the prerogatives of PitchKnives. And though we do cover booze, instances of rock stars drinking themselves to death are pretty pedestrian. There are, however, instances of food becoming entangled with the myths of pop’s premature deaths, one of which I’ll note now, the first in a short series.
Duane Allman was, I was shocked to discover when researching this piece, only 24 when he died. Jesus Christ! The mutton chops on the man made him look 40. And mutton is certainly a food. Continue reading
One storm was brewing in the west, and another was brewing between the three contenders in the Brooklyn Brunch Showdown. “Please,” one contender whispered to me off the record, “bring on these brunch amateurs.” But despite some brash displays of confidence, it was shaping up as a Grub Match far too close for anyone to call. In this Olympic season of eating, would Peaches, Beast or Café Luluc take home the gold? We were about to find out. Continue reading
New Yorkers are not only notoriously opinionated, but also stalwart in their efforts to raise weekend brunch to a higher art form. This month’s grub match has three Brooklyners squaring off over their favorite neighborhood brunch spots. In the Borough of Fortitude and Fisticuffs, the match promises to be a fiery one.
Our first contender is Texan belle and pickle expert Melinda Evans, and her brunch pick is Peaches, a haven of Southern flavor in Bed-Stuy. Here’s more from Melinda:
You’re headed to a deserted island to live on grass and coconut milk–what’s your last meal before you go? A seriously Southern spread that includes real BBQ: brisket, chopped beef, stuffed baked potatoes (fully loaded), potato salad, white bread soaked in BBQ sauce, pickles – lots of pickles. For dessert – an ice cold key lime pie. With a spiked Tiger Woods (my husband’s name for an Arnold Palmer) to wash it all down.
Do you have any food pet peeves? I have a drink pet peeve. I find it incredibly difficult to find a properly iced drink in NYC. When I order a soda (and yes, I order sodas Bloomberg), I want it to be heavy with ice. I want the glass to be sweating with the effort of keeping my drink cold. I want the absolute bottom to be as cold as the top. I want to stick my straw anywhere and be properly refreshed. A few cubes floating on top does not an iced drink make. Continue reading