Saturday, January 15, 2011

Growers' Market

LH and I cycled to one of the local growers' markets this morning. There's a complicated cycle of Saturdays, Sundays, parks and carparks that means I can never remember where the market is or when but I heard about this one on the radio.

We rode there along the creek cycleway, looking at all the signs of recent flooding: coffee brown murky water, plastic bags and other debris in trees, and all the grass halfway up the banks plastered down in one direction.

We did a lap of the stalls, picking up glasses of fresh squeezed juice and little samples of Victorian versus Tasmanian cherries, menindee sultanas, organic pistachios, sourdour chunks with olive oil and salad dressings, dried and fresh apricots and a gorgeous cup of pure frozen fruit mush.


The second lap we picked up these little bits of tastiness, somewhat limited by what we could carry and what wouldn't perish on the ride home. The cherries were especially tempting after missing out on them over Christmas. Without any markets on, the only cherries on offer were of the poor flavourless supermarket variety. These taste like blood-red sunshine.

The bag of cherry tomatoes, the garlic and the gorgeously vibrant spanish onions may end up roasted and served with whatever we're having for tonight's dinner. The beetroot, I'll roast as well, then skin and have with natural yoghurt or sour cream. The bread, ham and cucumbers have already been ravaged for lunch. The cherries and strawberries will be heaped into bowls and pinched from the fridge by the handful until they're gone.

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