By April 2024. Spring in Memphis, and I am 65, watching the azaleas and dogwoods bloom along my neighborhood walk, the annual resurrection that makes the winter worth surviving. The smoker wakes up in spring the way the whole city wakes up — slowly, with a stretch, then fully, with purpose.
Rosetta beside me through the week, steady as ever, the woman who runs this household with the precision of a hospital ward and the heart of a mother who has loved fiercely for 40 years of marriage.
Comfort food this week: a big pot of collard greens with smoked turkey neck, simmered for three hours until the greens were dark and silky and the pot liquor was a treasure. The kitchen smelled like Mama's kitchen in the shotgun house, and I stood at the stove and stirred and thought about hands — her hands, small and strong, teaching mine everything they know about turning humble ingredients into something that feeds not just the body but the soul.
I sat in the lawn chair next to Uncle Clyde's smoker as the dark came on, and I thought about what I always think about: the chain. From Clyde to me. From me to Trey, maybe, or Jerome, or whoever comes next with the patience and the hands and the willingness to stand next to a fire at three in the morning and wait for something good to happen. The chain doesn't break. The fire doesn't stop. And I am here, 65 years old, in a lawn chair in Orange Mound, Memphis, Tennessee, watching the smoke rise, and the rising is the living, and the living is the gift.
Rosetta has a way of ending hard, tender weeks with something sweet on the table, and this spring she pulled out the peaches right after I came in from the smoker. There’s a patience to meringue that feels right after a week spent thinking about hands and chains and who teaches whom — you beat those egg whites and you wait, and the heat does what heat always does when you give it the time it needs. Mama would have approved. It’s the kind of dessert that doesn’t ask for much, just that you pay attention.
Peaches and Meringue
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 40 min | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 4 large ripe peaches, peeled, halved, and pitted
- 3 tablespoons granulated sugar, divided
- 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
- 1 tablespoon unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
- 3 large egg whites, at room temperature
- 1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar
- Pinch of fine salt
- 1/2 cup granulated sugar (for meringue)
- 1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
Instructions
- Preheat the oven. Heat your oven to 350°F. Lightly butter a medium baking dish large enough to hold the peach halves in a single layer.
- Prepare the peaches. Toss the peach halves gently with 3 tablespoons of sugar and the lemon juice until coated. Arrange them cut-side up in the baking dish and dot with the butter pieces.
- Roast the peaches. Bake uncovered for 15 to 18 minutes, until the peaches are just tender and the juices are bubbling around the edges. Remove from the oven but leave the oven on.
- Make the meringue. In a clean, dry bowl, beat the egg whites with the cream of tartar and salt on medium speed until foamy. Increase speed to medium-high and gradually add the 1/2 cup of sugar one tablespoon at a time, beating until the whites hold stiff, glossy peaks. Beat in the vanilla extract.
- Top the peaches. Spoon or pipe the meringue generously over each peach half, swirling the tops into soft peaks. Make sure the meringue extends to the edges of the fruit to anchor it during baking.
- Bake until golden. Return the dish to the oven and bake for 10 to 12 minutes, until the meringue peaks are lightly golden and set. Watch closely in the final few minutes — it catches fast.
- Rest and serve. Let the peaches rest for 5 minutes before serving. Spoon a little of the warm pan juice over each portion. Serve warm or at room temperature.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 115 | Protein: 2g | Fat: 2g | Carbs: 24g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 40mg