The Invention of the Farmer's Market

What's great about California is simply EVERYTHING.  I love this state.  I shamelessly refer to myself as a native though I grew up in the midwest and was well into my 20s before I moved to Los Angeles. The veritable wonderland of produce and culinary variety this state offers (or has easy access to) is why I've titled this entry, "The Invention of the Farmer's Market."  When the temperature routinely hovers around 45 degrees (80 degree Februarys induced by global warming notwithstanding) in your hometown of Grand Rapids, MI, it's easy to be fooled into thinking that the only place to find a ripe strawberry in winter is to dig it out of a jar of Smucker's purchased at the local supermarket.  A dozen varieties of apples year round? Sure!  A kiwi or a mango? Forget about it! (fugidabadit). You'll have better luck drinking from a waterfall in the middle of the Sahara.

Which brings me to an even better invention--a farmer's market within walking distance of my house! My excitement can be explained in a few short words:  I live in South LA.

Our Farmer's Market is a charming set-up in the Baldwin Hills parking lot (next to Sears) which opened for business about two years ago. I've tried about everything a vendor shows up with here.  There's the guy determined to sell you six varieties of hummus (unfortunately they're all delicious and at $3 a pop, I'm already nearly $20 in before I hit the strawberries or the farm-fresh eggs).  There is always the tamales vendor who doesn't speak English but offers me a great opportunity to toss my spanglish around like I'm fully bilingual.  Lately, the Toma cheese guy has been showing up.  I bought 1/2 pound of his full-bodied, semi-hard (LOL--yes I AM talking cheese) concoction last week and my family and I loved it.  Apparently, it is only produced in California (Italy notwithstanding) and goes for $16 a pound.  I've spent $36 already and none of these fools accepts credit cards.  It's cool though. I am already relishing the delectable meal born out of my Saturday meanderings through the dozen or so stalls of goodies here.  The only thing really missing from this farmer's market is a good wine vendor.  I'd love to crack open a bottle of Sonoma's finest and announce that I purchased it straight from the vineyard (okay, the vendor who bought it from the broker who bought it from the vineyard) via my local sustainable agriculturalist. Ah yes, another reason I'm sweet on California--homemade potent potables.

My real achilles heel, however, is a vendor called "Mommie Helen's."  She makes this damn roseberry pie which sells for about $5 each.  It's designed to serve two, but if I had to share it with another soul, I might as well slice my hand off, barbeque it and eat it for dinner. Sharing this delicacy is that impossible. She puts 5 different types of berry in the pie, only three of which I can identify: blueberry, raspberry and cherry.  She tops it with a light, flaky crust with just a hint of butter sprinkled with a light dusting of white sugar.  This, of course, is not a dish for the faint of heart--literally.  If you have a heart problem, DON'T MESS WITH THIS PASTRY.  You are a triple bypass operation waiting to happen.  Come to think of it, if I don't stop eating these $#@! pies every Saturday, I'll be wheeled into the emergency room sooner rather than later myself!