I picked up my last farm share portion on Wednesday. It was a pretty good haul and inspired me into all kinds of culinary enterprises. That night we had Swiss chard sautéed with mushrooms and roasted red onions with rutabaga. Both were glorious. Thursday night I made Italian wedding soup with the big head of escarole I’d brought home – also a success.
Still, we did need a few more vegetables so today I went to one of my favorite places, a local farm stand on steroids. I imagine it once just sold apples or pumpkins, but these days it offers a selection of wines, a whole aisle of gluten-free products, an excellent deli, and oh yes, vegetables.
I carted my loot to the check-out counter where I drew a cashier I’ve seen before. She’s a woman of a certain age (or past) with Morticia-length brown hair, stark white bangs, and capital P personality. She greeted me with enthusiasm and joked about my butternut squash’s refusal to stand upright but the mood went downhill from there.
She had difficulty with the register, since it was driven by fingerprint and she was wearing a latex glove. My sunny mood on this beautiful autumn day began to dip as she launched into the explanation for the glove.
There’s apparently “all kinds of things” going on in the fruit-producing countries, so it was anyone’s guess what was coming in. My mind immediately turned to the grapes I’d snitched 5 minutes before right out of their bag.
Next, she informed me that there are drugs on dollar bills, and not only that, “some virus is out there killing little kids. Six-year-olds are dying!”
By now, thank heaven, my purchases were bagged and paid for and I eased out of there as she continued her diatribe with the unsuspecting woman in line behind me.