Coming up short

An interesting thing occurred while I was making peach ice cream. The recipe called for 2.5 cups of heavy cream. So I emptied a full pint carton of cream into my liquid two-cup measuring cup.

All my life I’ve understood that two cups equals a pint, so I expected the cream to come to the top measure of the container. It did not.

Interestingly, it didn’t even come to the milliliters stated on the carton (473). I reckon it measured less than 450ml.

Wegmans—you got some ‘splaining to do.

  

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Gratitude Monday: Peachy

I probably heard about The Peach Truck on Reddit in June. I immediately went to the site and ordered a 12lb box for pickup in nearby Sterling on 3 July, their first distribution of the season. I’d already signed up for a fruit CSA, which has delivered mixed results; their peaches in particular were disappointing, so I took the leap of faith.

Naturally, 3 July here was three-digit hot, and also the Federal holiday. My air conditioning was on full blast for the entire 10 miles out and still never really made a dent. And the traffic—even making the turn into the exit lane for Lowes (which shares a parking space with a Walmart and a Sam’s Club) was unbelievable. I was heartened to see a gigantic orange semi labeled THE PEACH TRUCK, but disheartened to see a line waiting for the distribution.

I did mention the heat, right?

However, the line moved quickly and my QR code got me a smallish orange box.

(There were people there with wagons, hauling away multiple 40lb cartons. They were clearly veteran peachers.)

It took me about 15 minutes to get out of the parking lot—seems like the world and his wife were all either picking up peaches, getting some DIY stuff or stocking up on retail goods stacked high and sold cheap.

To tell you the truth, I was concerned, because when I got home, the peaches were hard and they had no scent. No different from what you get down to the Giant. But almost immediately an email arrived, with instructions. Set them out, stem-side-down on the counter for a couple of days. They will come to fruition.

Well, I did.

And so did they.

The first one I bit into was firm but so juicy I had to wash my face after eating it. I could not wait to make fresh peach pie.

It’s been at least 20 years since I’ve made fresh peach pie, because you have to have absolutely fully ripe, luscious peaches to make it. So I was a little rusty. My first effort was a little less than aesthetically pleasing:

But it tasted fine.

Let me just say this: once you’ve peeled a peach, it is unbelievably slippery. You have to keep a nimble but firm grip on it if you want to slice it.

I then made tarts, which are easier to give away.

Pro tip: although the recipe says to “mash” some fruit to go into the glaze, you really have to purée it to eliminate little bits. (Well—maybe if you strained it?) And I discovered that my old Cuisinart food processor still didn’t get the job done, but the NutriBullet I won at a company health day nine years ago was perfect. (That was on the third round.)

Also—for tarts, cutting the peaches into chunks instead of slices makes it easier for the glaze to permeate the surface.

After I gave a couple of tarts to a friend, she and I went halves on the second (and final) peach distribution, which I picked up at the end of July.

Another round of tarts and an attempt at peach ice cream. That was less successful, for one technical reason (pro tip: do a trial run setting up the ice cream maker before you really need it) and also because it just didn’t taste peachy.

I might try it again using frozen peaches. Or I might just write it off.

Anyhow—I used up the last of the peaches yesterday. The season is over.

And here’s my gratitude: wonderful, delectable, juicy, luscious peaches once again. The season is short (which helps me focus; another point of gratitude), but Lordy, is it amazing.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

Turning away our yield

A friend and I went to lunch at a diner yesterday because she had a hankering for a BLT. I didn’t want to tell her, but what with the (fatal) cyclospora outbreak, recalls of pork products and salmonella being found on tomatoes, her sandwich might just be a couple of slices of bread with a pickle on the side.

Unless there’ve been issues with pickles lately.

(In the end, she had the brownie sundae. Good choice.)

Between the tariffs and insane Iran war driving up costs, mass deportations of migrants depleting the workforce in the fields and processing plants, and tossing away regulations and oversight on safety standards, our once-vaunted food supply chain has seen some things. That’s on top of human-induced climate change playing havoc with agricultural cycles.

Yay, us.

So today’s earworm is Nanci Griffith’s “Trouble in the Fields”. She's more optimistic about the outcome, but then she wrote it in the 90s. Bon appétit.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Well, hello, August

If you want to know how the weather’s going, here are a couple of pix of the view through my back windows:

In a word: ugh.

 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Sigh...

This popped into my queue yesterday.

It’s like the phishers aren’t even trying any more.

But they’ll probably catch someone.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Boooo

Okay, for the record, as of 3 August, the Fairfax Costco already has its Halloween yard décor merch out in the aisles.

Christmas: I’ve got my eyes on you.

  

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Gratitude Monday: Flowing water

A week ago Friday, around 1645, I ran the garbage disposer; it regurgitated water back up into the sink, which drained only very slowly. Naturally this was on the cusp of the weekend, where calling out any tradesman would involve an out-of-hours surcharge.

I consulted the Duck (Duck-duck-go) and performed some of the recommendations. Following the use of a plunger, the drainage seemed to improve. But on Sunday, when I ran the dishwasher, it didn’t drain properly.

I first tried calling my appliance repair guy, primarily because I know him and I don’t know any plumbers, and also because I didn’t want it to be what it was, which was a clogged drain. On Tuesday, Alan confirmed that. He knew no plumbers to recommend, but he did have the name of a drain clearing service, so I called them.

The technician came out Wednesday morning. By that time I was bugging pretty badly. Not so much about the slow drain or the garbage disposer (which I rarely use, since vegetable scraps get composted, non-poultry bones go to the fox and everything else gets binned); it was not having the use of the dishwasher that drove me up the wall. I’d be standing in the kitchen with a dirty dish in my hand at an absolute loss as to what to do with it. (Listen—I spent three years in the UK without a dishwasher and thought myself very ill used the whole time.)

It took two snakings to clear the drain, but clear it he did. As he was checking various things (no backup in the utility room, yay!) he let the water run for a good five minutes. Drained like a pro. Absolutely worth the $$$.

(Bonus: I asked him what the weirdest clog he ever cleared was. That stopped him, but then he said, “Rats in the drain. But that’s only in Arlington.”)

So my gratitude today is for having a kitchen drain that runs free, a garbage disposer that doesn’t spit water back at me and a working, draining dishwasher. Viz:

P.S. I also have my calendar marked to flush baking soda, then white vinegar and then kettle-hot water down the drain the first Sunday of every quarter. Just in case.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Is your money that good?

Dunno why, but I’ve been thinking a lot recently of Dylan’s “Masters of War”.

He wrote it over 1962-63 and has gone on the record as saying that the vehemence of the song surprised him. But it’s every bit as relevant in 2026 as it was 64 years ago. Particularly the final verse.

You’d think we might have learnt something in the intervening time. But no.

Here’s Eddie Vedder and Mike McCready of Pearl Jam singing it at the Bob Dylan 30^th anniversary concert in 1992.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

One for the books

I had occasion to desire a geographical dictionary for reasons. And I wanted an older one, pre-90s, because I like chancing on the names that existed during the 70 years of the USSR, but changed back to the tsarist times.

So I went to ABE books, which I’ve patronized for 25 years at least. Found one at a place called Gulf Coast books, in Texas, and ordered it.

But I was really annoyed to find that someone put one on of those inventory stickers that doesn’t peel off easily or cleanly. On a book. And that there was a price tag of $3.00 for it.

Gulf Coast listed the book on ABE at $5.22.

You’d think they’d at least have removed that sucker before shipping the book.

 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Suck it up

As you can see, there’s been a changing of the guard for vacuum cleaning chez moi. 

My Kenmore cannister vac, which I bought about 25 years ago when the previous, 30-year-old Kenmore vac died, finally gave up the ghost.

I took it to the local vacuum repair and sales shop, where the proprietor told me that while it was manufactured in the US, its heirs are made in China, as are all parts. He said that replacing the motor wouldn’t be a good investment. I went home to do some research.

Turns out a whole lot of vacuum cleaners are manufactured in China, with somewhat middling reviews. The best ones come from Germany, but they are also pricey.

Well, after mulling it over, I bit the bullet and bought the SEBO from the local guy. With an extra box of bags, it was over $1000.

It’s smaller than the old one, and lighter. But it better outlast me.

 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu