Andy Mariani’s marketing strategy is simple
– let people taste firsthand why his heirloom peaches, plums and
cherries are the best in the land.
Andy Mariani’s marketing strategy is simple – let people taste firsthand why his heirloom peaches, plums and cherries are the best in the land.
Unlike store bought varieties picked weeks – sometimes months – before they’re enjoyed, Mariani’s tree-ripened stone fruits boast an intensity of flavor like no other. Biting into a just-picked nectarine or peach from Andy’s Orchard in Morgan Hill isn’t accompanied by the characteristic “crunch” of highly processed grocery store brands that have been defuzzed, waxed and doused in anti-fungal solutions. Instead, the firm skin of Mariani’s fruit gives way to an inner sphere of sweetness, bursting with juice.
More than 100 people from across the Bay Area flock to the family-owned orchard on summer Sundays to sample Mariani’s vast array of stone fruits and hear the story behind the varieties that made him famous. Climbing an old wooden ladder to harvest the perfect peach, filling a bucket with hand-picked fruit, breathing in the thick, sweet smell of the orchard and letting a stream of juicy nectar flow down their chins takes his patrons full circle in a series of tactile, olfactory and gustatory sensations lost on the average supermarket shopper, Mariani said.
When Mariani’s family emigrated to California from Europe in the 1930s, the country was at the peak of Prohibition – “the one single factor that determined the history of fruit growing in the Santa Clara Valley,” Mariani said. Instead of cultivating grapes for wine, the family started off with 45 acres of apricots – “no fluff,” Mariani said – but these days, “cherries are our bread and butter.”
During a Harvest Walk held during prime peach and nectarine season, Mariani led a couple dozen families through his orchard, explaining the drying process – all natural in the sun – and pointing out unusual varietals. Though his practice of tree-ripening the crop isn’t as efficient as harvesting mass quantities of green fruit, the payoff is the look in his customers’ eyes when they taste his product, he said.
Workers pick the crop when it’s nearly falling off the branch, gingerly placing the fruit into crates slung over their shoulders and fitted with foam. White gloves are used when harvesting the orchard’s delicate white peaches, Mariani said. The fruit is then dried, candied or hand-packed fresh and shipped around the globe. Fruit flies buzzed around a wooden slab of halved, pitted peaches ready for their turn in the sun.
“The best way to enjoy fruit is whole like this,” Mariani said, scooping up a baseball-sized peach in his large, brown hands and handing it to a member of the group for a taste.
Nearby, rows of drying plums, peaches and apricots created a warm rainbow of color, their shriveled edges curling inward under the sun.
Walking through the orchard, Mariani educated his audience on the difference between a good piece of fruit and a specimen only bred to look good. Consumers have come to identify the color red with ripe fruit, he explained. Growers now breed peaches and nectarines with an attractive rosy skin to disguise the fact that they’re being picked green, he said.
“They’re putting lipstick on a peach,” he joked.
Coming across a row of his signature “Baby Crawford” peach – a variety he revived after some growers threw it on the rubbish pile – Mariani passed out samples for the group.
“They said it was too small and didn’t haven enough red,” he said. “They didn’t care about the fantastic flavor. I love that golden color.”
Tufts of curly white hair poking out beneath his baseball cap, Mariani lowered a branch to help one of the children in the group stretch for a pick.
“This one has a brown spot so I guess I’ll have to eat it,” Mariani said with a grin, sinking his teeth into a near-perfect peach.
Jann Harbor, a parks and recreation commissioner with the City of Campbell, and her husband visit Andy’s every week to stock up on some of Mariani’s dozens of offerings. Recently, they brought a group of friends from their neighborhood association to join them.
“This is our heritage,” said Harbor, who used to “cut ‘cots” at Zoria Farms when she was a kid.
With hot days and cool nights, the valley provides the perfect climate for Mariani’s orchards.
“The trees are just like we are,” Mariani said as members of his tour group inched out of the blazing, noontime sunshine. “They want to be in the shade, relax, have a glass of lemonade and watch TV.”
The property evokes memories of a simpler time. A 100-year old zinfandel vine threatened to swallow the orchard’s aging, wooden office. Mariani’s gray and black striped cat Zack can usually be found winding among guests’ feet or purring contentedly in someone’s lap. Decorated with vintage fruit labels and sepia-toned photographs, the orchard’s cozy country store filled with a bevy of newly educated fruit enthusiasts after the tour, clamoring to get their hands on the orchard’s dried, chocolate-covered and canned varieties.
It’s not just the taste or variety of Mariani’s fruits, but the homey atmosphere and hospitality, that keep patrons coming back for more.
