My dear friend, Larry, just wrote a post this morning on the History of PEACHES in the Americas. That reminded me that I haven't told you about my quest for the peach that I grew up eating. I think there's likely a metaphor in there somewhere about how you can take something for granted when it's easy and readily available, or something from your youth. It's only when you gain a few miles under your belt that you come to appreciate what is now lost. So it is with my childhood peach. I have no idea what variety it is, nor what others may call it. We always called it THE ROMAN VALLEY PEACH. It has the most intense peachy-raspberry flavor, and it bleeds RED! And I miss it.