A bowl of white peaches sat on the counter, their rosy, fuzzy curves as innocent and perfect as those of a child. Their sweet fragrance would waft towards me whenever I walked past and, after a few days, they hovered at that turning point of ripeness that demands attention. My freezer already held a bag of white peach purée, ready to recreate the bellini of my dreams, exemplified by that one on a freezing January day at the crowded, overheated bar at Harry's in Venice, surely among the most glamorous and decadent meals of my life. (When you go there, stick to bellinis and panini at the bar.) There were six peaches—too many to simply eat out of hand now that they were on the verge of going soft. How then to take advantage of these delicate creatures?
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