Nor does it sound like summer food, or something kind to offer during a California summer, either
I've been wading my way, slowly, through Patrick Leigh Fermor's Between the Woods and the Water
, and just a chapter or so ago he was waxing lyrical about the Hungarian summer produce - peaches, apricots, endless fruit, but above all 'paprika' both mild and hot, in vast quantities; and energetic dancing with chants of hai! hai! hai! hai!
spurred by 'the new apricot brandy'.
(He's not a gourmand, Paddy, so no detailed menu reports - landscape and townscape you can have by the shovelful. And I just found another use for Google books, for still-copyright works - you find an edition with limited searchability, look for 'apricot' and there's your page number, or close to it).
Oh, and here we are - "The summer solstice was past... Roast corn-cobs came and trout from the mountains; cherries, then strawberries, apricots and peaches, and, finally, wonderful melons and raspberries. The scarlet blaze of paprika - there were two kinds on the table, one of them fierce as gunpowder - was cooled by cucumber cut thin as muslin and by soda splashed into glasses of wine already afloat with ice; this had been fetched from an igloo-like undercroft among the trees where prudent hands had stacked it six months before, when - it was impossible to imagine it! - snow covered all".
At this point he moves into a description of the abundance of apricots, dotting the road dust, trampled underfoot and squashed by cartwheel, the heady scent of their fermentation in tall wooden vats filling the yards, and the new spirit bowling over the peasants "like a sniper, flinging the harvesters prostrate and prone in every fragment of shadow. Thay snored among sheaves and haycocks and a mantle of flies covered them while the flocks crammed together under every spread of branches, and not a leaf moved".Undercroft
. That's it, my fridge has been re-christened.