Mark and I went to the farmer’s market today. We’re trying to do that regularly, so we always have fresh vegetables in the house (you know the type, sits on a fridge shelf, throwing glowering looks at you as it molders away, turns into rotten pulp just when you’ve remembered to use it). We’re not trying to save money, as the Berkeley Farmers Market is anything but cheap, but we are trying to not eat supermarket veg.
I have my shopping list out (thank the Palm gods for the handyshopper program, ticking items off the list. Leeks, check. Peppers, check. Pancetta, check. Corn (so not on the list, but mmmm, corn), check.
The last on the list is garlic. Luckily, the chicken people, in addition to eggs and broiler chickens which, while not on the list, went into the bag, had a box of garlic – $4/lb. It was the sorriest looking garlic ever. It looked moldy. I shuddered, but then kept in mind that the ugliest vegetables often taste the best. Into the bag they went. Home, freed from their skins, they were perfectly fine. Roasted in oil they were sublime.