Veggie happiness

Yesterday was the day I blocked out on my calendar months ago and have agonizingly counted the weeks ever since. No, not my 28th week of pregnancy, silly, but the first day of the Chicago Farmers' Market. Finally, I can get tasty produce, for an affordable price, that's not bred to be shipped a gazillion miles across the country. Of course, this early in the season the pickings were slim, but still enough to make us a delicious dinner last night and for the next few nights. My $25 bought us:

• morels (I got the last few attractive ones. The mushroom guy said the morels are scarce this year. Very sad, since last year they were plentiful and scrumptious, for about $6/lb. -- 1/4 of what I paid yesterday.)
• shitakes
• asparagus
• spring onions
• French breakfast radishes (These are divine. Last time I was in Paris, we started off every morning with baguette smothered in fresh cheese & topped with breakfast radishes, tomatoes and a little sea salt. Tony & Eric are in France right now, and probably breakfasted on this fine concoction this very day.
• shallots
• green tomatoes
• grape tomatoes (It is not yet tomato season here, so they were hydroponic. Last year I restrained from purchasing hydroponic vegetables -- you know, that fascistic Berkeley attitude of only cooking what's in season, well, that's easy to have when you live in bloody California. I figured, any tomatoes in the grocery store were either hydroponic or shipped so far that they were bred with tough skins, I might as well buy some guy in downstate Illinois' hydroponic tomatoes. Besides, they weren't sprayed and were inexpensive. And tasty.)
• some Wisconsin goat cheese

The herb lady was not at the Farmers' Market. I hope this was a temporary oversight, since I live for the herb lady. In the summer I typically buy a bunch of basil on Tuesday and then another on Thursday, on the theory that one can eat neither too much pesto nor too many caprese salads. (BTW - I wish caprese salads had not gained popularity in this country. I swear, one day I'm going to turn around in a lunch line and sock the person behind me who orders a "ca-preeez" salad. Hearing bruschetta and radicchio mispronounced was painful enough.) Fortunately, Eli agrees with this culinary theory, since he has to eat what I cook.

If I get my d'var Torah edited in time, I am going to head out to the Evanston Farmers' Market on Saturday morning before shul to buy more, more, more vegetables. I LOVE this time of year.