Fresh market cat nip

I have found few things that I enjoy more than fresh markets. Whatever city we're in, there they are. Rain or shine. Locals of all ages out with their produce chatting and smiling and swindling into the winds.

People who grow fruit have a special place in my heart. I know that I'm not alone when I say that going to the grocery store is one of life's pet peeves. You've scrutinized, hand picked, sorted, sifted, and mulled over which fruit was THE BEST- the least bruised, the perfect fit for you. I take my fruit picking quite seriously. So when I make it to the counter and Betty smashes my apples onto the scale something inside me goes from 0 to 60. When she picks up my pears and half tosses, half rolls them down the belt to the rest of the food, my knuckles are now white. In a perfect world my face is right in hers. Who, may I ask, do you think wants to stuff their face with bruised fruit? NO ONE. They are delicacies. TREAT THEM THAT WAY.

But I smile, or try to. She can't really know how careless she's being. It's probably that she's never eaten an apple... yes, benefit of the doubt. Betty's never had an apple.


So when I go to the market and see all of these hard working horticulturists, my heart warms infinitely. YOU GET IT. YOU GET ME. Would you look at your apples. THEY'RE PERFECT. By George, you're a genius!! I'll take them all!!


And so it goes. Fresh markets are like cat nip to me. I am absolutely at their mercy. Of course, the Betty's of the world won't be there to smash the produce, and the market is ripe for the picking.

Pictures to come!