Peach Melba — Something Sweet to Close Out a Day of Feeding People

The Lowcountry boil is in two weeks and I have already started my list. Not a grocery list — that comes later — but the other list, the one I keep in my head, the one that is really a map of who is coming and what they need. Deacon Willis cannot eat shellfish — he swells up like a balloon and his wife pretends it's not serious but I have seen that man's face after a shrimp and I do not play with allergies. Sister Mabel needs a chair with arms because she can't push herself up from the flat ones anymore. The Johnson grandchildren will need plates first because children who wait too long get cranky and cranky children ruin everything.

I sat on the porch Monday evening with a pad of paper and wrote it all down. The corn has to come from the stand on Whitemarsh Island — not the grocery store, never the grocery store, grocery store corn is an insult to the stalk it grew on. The sausage is andouille from the butcher on Waters Avenue who has been cutting my meat for fifteen years and knows not to give me anything that doesn't snap when you bite it. The shrimp — wild-caught, head-on, no farmed nonsense — Devon will get those from his man at the dock, same one who brought the shrimp last month. The seasoning is mine. Old Bay is a suggestion. My seasoning is a commandment.

Kayla brought Michael over Saturday morning and that boy is walking now with the determination of someone who has somewhere important to be and no intention of telling you where. He grabbed the leg of the kitchen table and pulled himself along it like a man navigating a ship in a storm. He fell twice. He got up twice. He did not cry either time. I said, "That's a Henderson." Kayla said, "That's a Brooks." Devon said nothing because Devon is wise.

I made crab stew. Blue crabs from the marsh — Denise's boy Andre brought them Sunday, a whole bushel, still clicking and furious the way crabs are when they know what's coming. I cleaned them myself because nobody cleans a crab the way I clean a crab, and I made the stew with tomato and onion and celery and a little bit of cream at the end, just enough to make it rich without making it heavy. We ate it with rice and the last of the cornbread from Thursday and the kitchen smelled like the marsh and the stove and the life I have been living for seventy-one years, which is the only life I know how to live.

Now go on and feed somebody.

Earl passed in 2019 on Valentine’s Day. The small widow-life is in its small seventh year now. The small house in the small Thunderbolt-neighborhood of Savannah near the marsh continues to be the small Dorothy-residence. The small house is the small place Earl maintained and where Earl built the small raised-bed-garden. The small kitchen is the small heart of the small house.

The small thirty-five years at the small Hodge Elementary School cafeteria are the small career-spine of Dorothy’s life. The small lunch-lady role had been the small everyday-presence for the small generation of Savannah kids. The small retirement in 2020 had been the small adjustment-period after the small thirty-five-year-tenure. The small Sunday-spread-at-the-Thunderbolt-house for the small grandkids is the small post-retirement-rhythm.

The small First African Baptist Church congregation continues to be the small social-and-spiritual home. The small Wednesday-night-prayer-meeting. The small Sunday-morning-service. The small choir Dorothy has sung in for thirty-two years. The small church-cookouts where Dorothy’s small contributions are the small expected-presence.

The crab stew was the main event, and the cornbread closed it out, but after Kayla took Michael home and Devon went quiet the way Devon does, I wanted something that didn’t ask anything of me — something where the peaches did the heavy lifting and I just helped them along. Peach Melba is that kind of recipe: a little poaching, a little raspberry, a scoop of good vanilla ice cream, and suddenly the whole evening lands soft. I have been making it at the end of hard-good days for years, and this, right here, was a hard-good day.

Peach Melba

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 10 min | Total Time: 25 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 4 ripe peaches, halved and pitted
• 1 cup water
• 1 cup granulated sugar
• 1 tsp vanilla extract
• 1 pint vanilla ice cream
• 1 cup fresh raspberries
• 2 tbsp powdered sugar
• 1 tsp fresh lemon juice
• Pinch of salt

Instructions

1. Make the poaching syrup. Combine the water, granulated sugar, and vanilla extract in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Stir until the sugar dissolves, then bring to a gentle simmer.
2. Poach the peaches. Add the peach halves cut-side down to the simmering syrup. Poach for 4 to 5 minutes, turning once, until just tender but still holding their shape. Remove with a slotted spoon and let cool. If the skins slip off easily, remove them; if not, leave them on.
3. Make the Melba sauce. Combine the raspberries, powdered sugar, lemon juice, and a pinch of salt in a blender or food processor. Blend until smooth, then press through a fine mesh strainer to remove the seeds. Taste and adjust sweetness as needed.
4. Assemble. Place two peach halves in each serving bowl. Add a generous scoop of vanilla ice cream between or alongside the peaches. Spoon the raspberry Melba sauce over the top and serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 310 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 7g | Carbs: 60g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 60mg