Written Jun 21, 2025
Hello Dear Readers,
This morning took a delicious little detour—we headed to the Brentwood farmers market on a noble mission: peaches. Not just any peaches, mind you—these are the golden globes of summer that end up as jam, chutney, or occasionally, eaten straight over the sink like a juicy criminal.
You see, I’m a peach addict. Last year’s supply of peach jam mysteriously vanished (into my mouth), so naturally, I needed a refill. Sadly, we missed strawberry season this year due to the Great Renovation Saga of 2025, but peaches? Peaches, we were not going to miss.
Nashville has its fair share of farmers markets, including one practically in our backyard. But we went with the Brentwood market—not quite the Broadway of produce, but charming, local, and most importantly, peach-rich.
Once our peach haul was secure, I made a strategic pit stop at a nearby bakery. I may have walked in for a quick peek… and walked out with a donut named “King Kong.” Why King Kong? Because it had bacon. On a donut. I also snagged a lemon custard one for good measure—because balance, right?
My wife, however, watched this sugary acquisition with the same expression people reserve for horror movie trailers. She’s not a fan of pastries. Or bacon. Apparently, once she hit her twenties, her stomach filed a restraining order against greasy foods. More donuts for me, then!
My plan? Save these beauties as a post-run prize. I’ve been struggling to keep my weight up lately, and let’s be honest—bacon donuts are basically a fitness supplement… if you squint and ignore all common sense.
Speaking of peach jam, last year’s batch was a science experiment. Unlike strawberries, peaches don’t come naturally pectin-packed. So, my wife got crafty—lemon juice, lemon peel, apple slices, cinnamon, and brown sugar (less than the usual saccharine suspects call for). She’s the MacGyver of canning. Canning safety, she says, is not a game. (Her exact words: “This is not a Pinterest project, it’s microbiology.”)
This year, though, life got busy. So instead of an instant jam session, she boiled and peeled the peaches, then froze them for a future day of sticky, sweet alchemy.
The only downside to this fruity side quest? It delayed my run by two hours. And in Nashville, a two-hour delay in summer basically means running on the sun. I started with my usual 5k, then decided to keep going until I either hit my target pace time or keeled over. Luckily, the pace gods smiled on me, and I nailed my goal at 7k. Victory—and donuts—awaited.
Moral of the story: Never underestimate the motivational power of fruit, sugar, and just a dash of bacon.