Local oranges–are you freaking kidding me? The only time I’ve been in a place where oranges were local was in Morocco and the juice was a-mazing. I was full of orange rapture. I’ve been jonesing for it ever since. That photo of yours is killing me…so I thought I’d get you back with a selection of my market experiences. Steel yourself.
It’s fascinating to me how much variety there is in vegetables and fruit that we just never encounter in the supermarket. When we came across spiky cauliflower in Saltzburg, Austria, we just had to document it.
And then, there is the imperfect perfection of Italian tomatoes.
I think the best farmer’s market I’ve been to was in France. DH and I were in Lyon and everything about the city had pleasantly surprised us. We were leaving that afternoon to get back to Paris and we came upon the afternoon market (Not the Tuesday or Weekend market, the afternoon one. Because it’s France.) with fresh cheeses and herbs and golden crusty bread and coils of sausage…yes, even the vegetarian found the sausage charmant. I’m not one to keep quiet when I like something, so there were lots of exclamations of delight and clapping of hands. The zucchini blossoms. The farm fresh yogurt. Mon dieu!
Oh, to see such sights again! As we head into autumn here, which used to make me depressed, I’m enjoying the harvest from our garden, the local fruit trees and the glorious late summer skies. It makes me even happier to think of your spring starting Down Under. I’ll be living vicariously through you when our November storms hit!