Paper Palate

I was that New Yorker. You know the one: always in a rush, no time to stop and be friendly, let alone civil. And although I worked right around the corner from the greenmarket in Union Square, it might as well have been in Croatia for all the times I actually stopped there. What can I say? I was young and uneducated in the joys of fresh locally grown produce.

Times have changed for me. What I wouldn’t give to be able to pop in there and pick up some farm fresh basil and perhaps some lovely heirloom tomatoes.

Apparantly New York Times writer Celia Barbour was a little more with it than me, but she also didn’t appreciate the market until she lived right there. Now she slips out in the early morning hours, returning with fresh produce, or drops by on her way home. Barbour has something to be envied in this ability.

For a year, I have been planning on frequenting our own local farmers markets - there is one on Sundays and one on Tuesdays. And for a year I have put it off, thinking I’d go the next week or the week after that. All through it, time has been slipping away from me while I continued to use supermarket produce flown in from half a world away.

This past Sunday for the first time, I did attempt to venture to the local farmers market only to find it empty. That was supposed to be opening day, and I have yet to discover why there was no one there. It figures that after a year, my first attempt is thwarted like that.

But I am not going to be detered by this setback and I do intend on trying to go again Tuesday. Hopefully this time the farmers will have the same idea. Whatever the case, I will keep going and keep trying until it works out.

I want to be like Barbour and experiment with lemon balm leaves and sample locally made cheeses that will complement our meals the way the bries and romanos do now. It just seems to be such a romantically exciting way to eat.