On peaches, pancetta, and professions of love

San Francisco is a city of unapologetic food snobs. Everyone has an opinion about which sushi restaurant has the freshest fish, which taqueria has the tastiest tacos al pastor, or which boulangerie has the best sourdough. And where do all these foodies congregate on the weekends? The Ferry Plaza Farmers' Market. I'd never been before, because the UN Plaza Farmers' Market is closer and often cheaper. Plus, the UN Plaza one caters more to the Asian and Latino population, with live poultry, whole fish on ice, and exotic vegetables like bitter melons and winter gourds. But the Ferry Plaza is something you have to experience in person, and Saturday morning seems to be the ideal time to do it. The entire Ferry Building was renovated while we were gone and now houses a variety of high-end, gourmet stalls, specializing in organic gardening, Asian teas, local cheeses, and artisinal breads. But it's the stalls outside that are the main attraction, for me at least. As it's summer right now, the stalls are literally bursting with all kinds of beautiful summer fruits and vegetables: tomatoes of all shapes, sizes, and colors; a wide variety of stone fruits (peaches, nectarines, apricots); juicy berries; lumpy, bumpy squashes; succulent corn still in their robes of silk and husks; fresh Mission figs (which I can't stop eating since last night's salad of arugula, figs, and chevre); and a profusion of flowers in a riot of colors. And being San Francisco, that's not enough. There are bread makers hawking their boules and baguettes, local meat producers roasting their organic, grass-fed steaks on the premises, and fishermen presenting their daily catches, including roasted oysters (yum!).

All this brings me to a discovery that leads me to believe that if heaven exists, this is what angels eat: roasted pancetta-wrapped peaches. Let's dismantle this tasty concoction and consider each component separately. First off, peaches. Mmmm...what's more delicious or sensual than a ripe summer peach? Its soft color and fuzzy skin invite you to caress and admire it before devouring it. Then you go to take a bite, and the skin resists for just a moment before yielding the fruit's sweet fleshiness. That first splash of juice on your tongue is nearly orgasmic with its heady aroma. Then the juice goes dripping down your chin, forcing you to chase after it with your tongue, so that none of it is wasted. Clearly, there's nothing but good when it comes to peaches. Next, let's look at pancetta. Essentially, pancetta is salt-cured Italian bacon. I think I can stop there, because there's nothing bad to say about bacon. All the vegetarians I know love the smell of bacon frying and admit that it's the one meaty thing that tempts them. Now, and stay with me here, consider wrapping a ripe, juicy peach half--already delicious beyond reason in its own right--with a slice of pancetta, and then, and THEN, placing the wrapped peach on a hot wood-fire grill and roasting that morsel until the meat is crisp and the peach starts oozing its precious nectar. And here's the really crazy part: you eat it. And you weep tears of joy, for there must be some entity looking down and loving us, for what the hell have we done to deserve this kind of happiness? The salty meat perfectly complements the peach's sweetness, made all more complex and aromatic by its time on the grill. There are fruits that clearly should be eaten straight off the tree or vine, like cherries or sweet-tart apples or luscious melons. But some fruits benefit from a blast of heat, and peaches are one of them. The smoky fire works some sort of magical alchemy on the fruit's sugars, turning its sweetness into a succulence that defies description. I once believed that I'd found the ultimate grilled fruit: pineapple spears slathered in brown sugar, cooked on a hot grill, and accompanied by the best vanilla ice cream. Clearly, I was wrong. I'll never turn down grilled pineapple, but my heart and stomach now belong to another. I love you, grilled pancetta-wrapped peaches.