Saturday, April 28, 2012

market, motivation, mystery

Farmer’s market chef series returns. Love! Starring the amazing chefs at Willow, as well as their super cute sous chef.


Costarring lots and lots of butter.


Ricotta pancakes with oven-dried strawberries cooked in balsamic and asparagus on top. All from the farmer’s market.


I could’ve eaten just the strawberries. Sheesh. Amazing.


Also enjoyed awkwardly interacting with the woman who originated the farmer’s market chef program.  I met her at a foodie thing last year. Said hi. Was awkward. As usual.

Not awkward: for some reason I am a subject of fascination for the vendors we in our family call “the sarcastic farmers”. One more than others (who gives me the silent treatment when I bring Steve to the farmer’s market. Hah! Well, I think it’s funny.)

Anyway, I was making fun of him for a sign that they had in a previous week saying, I quote:

“No” bugs were harmed in the raising of this product.

I didn’t add those quotation marks. They did. And I went, uh, hello, do we know what it means when you use quotation marks in that context? I worry for the bugs.

So I returned the following week to this:



I’m pleased I started this post on an amusing and cheerful note. I’ve been sick all week (blah blah blah, nothing you haven’t heard). I’m down on myself (blah blah blah, nothing you haven’t heard). I’m eating poorly (blah blah blah definitely nothing you haven’t heard, plus nothing I haven’t heard for, oh, my entire adult life).

I should’ve studied for my midterms all day to have any, ANY hope of even PASSING Chemistry (though honestly if I don’t get an A forget it. What grad program accepts someone who can’t handle a community college class? I wouldn’t blame them in the slightest).

Oh but wait. I didn’t. Does folding laundry and watching Julia Child on PBS count for studying?

If I was in my perky mode of posts past I could go on and on about how it’s okay to relax “for once”- and I’ve taken that attitude about as often as this hilariously spot-on Onion article.

But, no.

“For once” has translated to a gazillion pounds around my midsection and a gazillion hours I should’ve studied that I didn’t.

And I am now venturing into the territory of somewhat self-indulgent self-pitying, so I’ll stop.

Things I wish grew on trees: healthy coping mechanisms, work ethics.

Thing that does grow on a tree:

NAME THIS FRUIT! Any tropical fruit savvy readers? Steve picked this up, just for funsies.


Inside: positively sweet as candy! Huge inedible black seeds.