July142009
7/12/09 - My Hilarious Goods.
All glamorous on Rachel’s porch.
Early Sunday morning, Rachel picked me up at the Rockridge subway station. From there, the two of us went straight to a farmer’s market nearby. Within the first few minutes, we had already made our rounds and bought a bacon-salad pizza, a goat cheese tamale with Swiss chard, an almond croissant, and some other pastries.
That, however, was only the beginning.
We quickly lost track of time, frolicking around the market, tasting slices of plums and peaches vendors put out. We bought everything that struck our fancy. No shopping lists, no agenda.
Every once in a while, we would vaguely remember that we wanted to make dinner with the ingredients at hand. Does this combination make sense? We would wonder half-heartedly before brushing the thought aside. How can food so fresh ever fail?
***
On a whim, I started collecting all the funny-looking vegetables I could find. Mostly, the squashes drew my attention, but there was also a heirloom tomato that somehow managed to twist all around itself.
I brought my prize to the cashier, who frowned and asked me if I wanted to go back for a better one.
Actually, I told her, I am buying it because it looks weird.
She stared at me, eyebrows lifted. Confusion briefly passed over her face. But the wise woman asked no more questions. With a slight shrug, she took my money.
***
What do you think? Rachel asked me, waving a handful of rosemary.
Hmmm?
I was aware she had been talking but I heard nothing of what she said.
Should we…?
She was asking something about the herbs
… or it might have been about our salad.
I looked at her blankly. She asked again. And again I missed what she said. Finally, shaking my head I laughed, Sorry I’m really overwhelmed right now.
I know. I can see that!
The environment possessed me.
I walked, mind emptied of thoughts,
hypnotized by motions and colors vibrant.
***
Eventually (or, miraculously), Rachel and I made our exit. We had so much food, our biceps could barely handle the weight. Still, we gravitated towards the chicken potpie stand on our way out.
Rachel blamed me for the disappearance of all self-control.
Usually I come here with someone who restrains me,
and not encourages me!
Happily sore. Happily blamed.
