Farmers’ Markets Aren’t For Old Fogies

In this edition of “you learn something new every day,” a piece of advice: next time you visit the farmers’ market, take a little kid with you. You’ll feel a lot better about yourself.

See, I was starting to get the feeling that I was over the hill. There had to be some mathematical rule whereby they measure your age by the exact proportion of excitement that builds as you contemplate buying “real” tomatoes and broccoli that has no knowledge of the term “freezer-burn.”

Don’t get me wrong. At no point in my life have I really thought grocery-store bought tomatoes were worth much more than the water they were cultivated in. But this summer I’ve been bitten by a special brand of produce bug. Each time I even think of taking the easy route out (aka, just grabbing the frozen stuff mid-week when I’m in a jam), the stinger reactivates.

I blame my lack of drive this year to even grow my yearly crop of basil. With no “real” food in my backyard, the feeling of failure has pushed me to make up for it in extravagant fashion.

Hence tears of joy over the taste of a real tomato. Salt may be the perfect compliment to the sweet fruit, but if a tomato sandwich is the best Friday night I can think of, it’s time to get ahold of myself.

Fast forward to a Sunday morning at the market with the tot in tow.

“Mom, Mom, Oh Mom, they have corn! Can we get corn? I love corn. Look, corn, over there!”

It was the same for tomatoes (we had to get THE biggest, and not the one that more than vaguely resembled a derriere, because that’s just too weird to eat, Mom), and the mushrooms, and the broccoli too. The bigger the veggie, the bigger her eyes, and the younger I felt.

If your best idea for a Friday night is a fresh tomato with salt on a loaf of freshly baked bread it doesn’t mean you’re over the hill. It means you remember what it’s like to be a kid.


Image via NatalieMaynor/Flickr

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