Once upon a thyme, four rosy-cheeked, precocious little peaches were irksome and displeasing. They looked sad from their repressed sobbing and abandonment and like so many of us with wrinkly skin, beneath their sad facade they were still sweet, young and tender of heart. Seemingly past their best, they booked into a health spa.
Their lack lustre and crinkly skins removed after a brief but lovely hot water bath. Once peeled they shone a glorious golden-yellow. They were offered a variety of options but chose the invigorating floral, boozy, sweet honey bath from the menu.
Duly the kindly staff took half a cup of sugar and the same of water and popped it into a heat proof vessel to simmer, whereupon a quarter of a cup of fragrant local honey was added together with a sprig of lemon thyme, rose petals and a lavender sprig (fresh from the garden and that hadn’t been visited by poorly brought up tourist animals) then joined by strips of peel from a fresh lime and all its jolly juice, a decent dash of rose-water and little orange blossom water. The infusion became quietly hypnotic.
The peaches chose to be in halves so as to soak and luxe in their bath once it was simmering, they all jumped in together after a few minutes the same kindly staff lifted the cosy little lid from their bubbly steam bath and added some heady peach liqueur, it was their chosen optional extra. The little peaches were now so, so happy and utterly fulfilled, particularly once transferred to a dish to cool and generally lush out naturally in their perfectly peachy pose and kaleidoscope of flavours.
Others were went for ‘the ice spa treatment’ and were, by their own choosing, slathered in shiggly chilly fresh custard and then whizzed to the, finely chopped rather than a puree stage. Add a minuscule flay of salt and some of the exceptionally gorgeous syrup which, as we know, had so many wonderous layers of flavour.