I made peach sauce twice last night.  I bought eight peaches yesterday afternoon, with the intention to cook four and have four for eating later.  I cut up half, put them in a pot with a little water, cinnamon, nutmeg and lemon juice/zest and let them do their thing.  Only their thing included burning, leaving a blackened mess on the bottom of the pot.  I tasted it, hoping that the flavor was isolated to the bottom layer, but the whole thing was acrid and harsh.  I was puzzled and a little frustrated.  I know my stove is kind of crappy, but I felt that over the years we’ve come to an understanding.  It betrayed my trust last night, and our relationship still hasn’t totally recovered.

Thing was, I needed that peach sauce.  I had made cornbread as my offering for a Saturday morning breakfast with friends, and it required something to elevate it a notch above it’s humble Trader Joe’s beginnings.  So, when the first batch burnt, I did what any other crazy girl does at 10:30 pm on a Friday night.  I started over.

I sliced up the peaches, put them back in the same pot, and added the same spices and acids (adding a little powered ginger this time around).  I was starting succumb to the call of sleep, so I didn’t cook them as long, added a little evaporated cane juice to sweeten them up and gave them a quick buzz with a stick blender.  I gave it one last taste, and went to bed kind of sad, because it just didn’t live up to my expectations of what fresh peach sauce should be.

As I walked over to Jame-n’-Scott’s this morning, my mind whirred with excuses and apologies, feeling embarrassed that I was about to bring lackluster food to sit on their table.   I walked up the stairs to their kitchen, warning them that my peach sauce was mediocre even as I leaned in for a hugs and kisses.

It was funny though, when we sat down and started to eat, the spoonful of sauce I spread over my square of cornbread wasn’t bad at all.  In the warmth of the company, I was able to stop judging the product of my time and energy so harshly and realize that it was pretty darn good.  I looked around an noticed that other people were enjoying it as well.  I relaxed into my chair, eating my scrambled eggs (deliciously spiked with parmesan cheese by Jamie) and started mentally applying this lesson to other areas of my life.