It may be hotter than the underside of Satan's nutsack outside, and the humidity may be making it so my hair takes 3.5 days to air dry:
But I'll be damned if I'll let a bad hair day stop me from hitting up the farmer's market.
Today's bountiful booty:
A ton o' pickling cucumbers (coming tomorrow: Pickles, pickles, pickles!!), homegrown broccoli, local tomatoes, a quart of amazing homegrown strawberries, fresh dill, pretty purple onions, kettle corn (!), just-picked beets and purple potatoes. All for around $22.
Where to begin?
The strawberries were so good I gust rinsed them off and stood over the counter hulling them and popping them into my mouth like, well...kettle corn. Exactly what strawberries should be: ripe, sweet and smelling so good that just having them in the car on the drive home makes you crazy to eat them. Getting these beauties in the summer is why I hate grocery-store strawberries so very, very much. Why eat styrofoam when you can have magic little nuggets of love?
I decided to roast the beets and figure out what to do with them later. I love me some beets. I think I'll save some for salads and make chilled beet-orange soup with the rest. I'll post a pic when it's done.
I roasted off the golden beets that I got at the co-op earlier this week as well.
And, since the beets were so fresh, the greens were nice and pristine, not like when you get them in the store sometimes and the greens have disintegrated into some sort of biohazard/composty kind of grossness.
I'm going to braise these for dinner tonight with some bacon and lemon.
Next up: purple taters!
I'm kind of copying a salad I learned to make from a caterer I worked with, with a few tweaks. It is basically sliced, cooked purple taters, crisp-tender green beans, edamame and finely chopped red onion tossed in a dill/basil/mint vinaigrette with lemon and mustard.
It is so very pretty and so very delicious.
Yummy, yummy, yummy I'll soon have love in my tummy.
Happy Friday, my fresh-picked homegrown little nuggets of farmy goodness. Happy Friday.
Oh! Gosh! I almost forgot! I totally had a dream last night that I was pregnant and that I had to have it (for whatever reason. Maybe we needed to repopulate St. Paul or something and they'd take whatever they could get, even my potentially "wrong" baby) but I knew that it would come out all messed up on account of me liking box wine and prescription medication more than I like breathing, so I kept punching myself in the stomach while I was getting ready to go to the Emmy's. I picked out a nice gown, sucker punched myself and was on my way.
I woke up sweating and hungry for pickles.
But I'm not pregnant, in case you're wondering. Or thinking about calling the authorities. It was a dream, people. A dream.