Did you know that people can be allergic to peaches? Neither did I. Now, I’ve come to a certain realization that I’m one of these pitiable people. This is a very recent development — and perhaps related to only the specific peach species (organic, no less) that they happen to carry at my local market. I’ve never before encountered anything like this peach-allergy (well, discounting pine pollen and my eyes). And if I had a prior peach encounter, it was so mild an allergic reaction that it went unnoticed as such. Or the chemicals used to grow the peach to incredible size destroyed the allergens. Is organic produce a(n expensive) curse?
This time around, I noticed. Nothing threatening, thankfully. But a definite full-on allergic reaction. My tongue and throat were burning and scratchy and a bit swollen/tight, my eyes itched as badly as sleeping beneath a stand of Douglas Firs dropping pounds of pollen directly on my face, my skin yearned for a good metal rake. It was the most discomfort I’ve been in in a long, long, long time. The itching mellowed out after about half an hour. But my mouth still felt the lingering effects hours later.
How could I blame one of my favorite fruits? How do I blame the sweet, innocent peach? Ha, the infernal peach! The false, wicked peach! This wretched peach!
Last weekend, I went shopping and bought my “Minnesota Twins @ Chicago Cubs on TV” lunch. A big bottle of beer, a sandwich, a jar of spicy pickles, some mustard pretzels, and a couple peaches. After lunch — I thought I had touched my eyes with the spicy pickle brine still fresh on my fingers. And having burned my tongue on something the night before (Thai food, if I recall correctly), I sort of discounted that symptom. Also, the hoppy, drowsy-inducing IPA made everything OK. For the record, Stone IPA makes everything feel OK. The pickles also made me feel better — I ate the entire jar during the course of a few innings. So, somewhere in the combination of barbituates and brine I significantly reduced the ill-effects of the foul fruit of Prunus persica.
All that said, after lunch I was itchy-eyed, tongue-clicking and not up to snuff. To compound matters, the Twins lost that game.
This morning I sliced up the second peach in my granola and yogurt.
I got to the second slice before I was dumping the whole mess in the trash.
A doom was pressed upon me. Thou shalt not eat a third peach.
This whole event hurts me because a ripe peach is among the most delicious of all edible things. Well above a pudding made of Cheetos and Robitussin. I am devastated that I now need to think about what I eat. Does this fruit cocktail contain peaches? What about cobblers? What about a juice blend? A girl drink? Will this affliction worsen with time? Have I released a decidedly un-peachy-keen floodgate?
I pray that this is just one species of peach. And what about nectarines? Other peach hybrids? Will I ever be able to visit Georgia again in good faith?
I love peaches and must now be wary of them. Allergic reactions are awful. Imagining being allergic to bee stings, or peanuts, or something actually dangerous. It is terrifying. But I feel such remorse at this newfound affliction. And I wonder how it took me 28 years of fine peach-eating to encounter it. Shock. And awe. Peaches.
Guess that answers the whole “do I dare to eat a peach?” question. (However, the “do I dare to eat cling peaches, or a nectarine?” question remains.)
Maybe Prufrock just had food allergies.
Organic foods, schmorganic foods. Everyone knows that poisonous chemicals strengthen your immune system and give your skin a healthy glow.