One Hundred Eight. Mexican Peaches.

July 14, 2011 § Leave a comment

On Day One-Oh-Eight I headed to Charlotte to spend the weekend with my folks. Father’s Day had been the weekend prior, and with my dad’s birthday the following Monday, and my brother’s a few days later, I figured it would be a good time for a visit. On the way up I-85 I stopped at one of the many Abbott Farms stands you see advertised on billboards all up and down the highway in South Carolina. I had always thought Georgia was the peach state, but the town of Gaffney boasts a giant water tower in the shape of the fruit that looks like a big butt with a hemorrhoid for the water-spout. I mean, the placement is ridiculous. It even has the nickname “Peachoid.” So with the water tower and the giant billboards, I found myself fancying some peaches and decided to stop at one of the advertised stores.

The interior boasted an assortment of pickled vegetables (and eggs), jams, jellies, fruits, and fireworks. Plus anything you could think of made with peaches. Peach cobbler, peach jam, peach jelly, peach preserves, peach butter, peach cider, and even peach salsa. Oh, and peaches. I figured I could find something peachy I had never tasted before to bring to my parents and picked up peach butter and peach salsa. I was most intrigued about the salsa. Not being a big fan of spicy foods, I hoped the sweetness of the fruit would yield a dip I could really enjoy.

Once I arrived at my parents’ house and settled in, I pulled out the salsa and my mom and I gave it a taste as Day One Hundred Eight’s new thing. It was a strange mix of the sweet peaches and the spicy jalapeno or whatever other hot flavors Abbott Farms had added. It was not my cup of tea. I liked the flavor of the peaches, but the peppers and spice mixed with the sweet fruit felt like a horrible oxymoron in my mouth. Two bites and I was good.

My mom pretended it was gross as well, but she had more of a taste for the chunky peach salsa than I. As she finished dipping the tortilla chips into the mixture she admitted that the flavors had grown on her. It was of those acquired tastes that I will likely never acquire, so I was happy to leave the jar of dip for her to enjoy. However, the peach butter was divine.


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