That headline says a lot about my Saturday alone at the farmers market. Kate left that day for her London-athon, so rather than sulk and eat my feelings, I marketed and ate cheese.
Ever since the notion of coming to Portland came about (which was, frankly, moments before we actually did) I couldn’t wait to get my hands, feet, belly into one of Portland’s famed farmers markets. It’s by far one of my favorite activities. This one was at the college campus and it was huuuugeee. They had bands playing – more specifically, a man playing the blues (I have a video. It’s too big to add… Kate? Help?).
They had dozens of vendors selling anything from homemade goat cheeses, apple ciders (soft and hard), every kind of local fruit or veggie, very expensive eggs ($7 a dozen!), freshly butchered heritage breeds, assortments of pastries and wines and a few handfuls of food trucks serving up the gamut of items.
I did what anyone would do, or at least what my mother would certainly do, which is sample my way around and around. I tried every cheese, sipped wines, sampled kimchi and jams. And then when I decided it was time to eat, I discovered a magical wonder. A food truck with an unassuming chalkboard sign and a camping grill selling DUCK SLOPPY JOES. Holy crap, what a good idea. I immediately ordered one and thanked them for being geniuses. For 7 bucks, I feasted on this delicacy matched with some sort of greens…maybe mustard… and on top of two slices of buttery corn bread. Thank you very much.
Feasting as I listened to live blues and the sounds of happy kids playing in the grass, I felt fat and happy. Then, I bought a bottle of cider and a jar of freshly made salsa, and spent the rest of the day with the boys recovering from the cheese. Not a bad day by my lonesome. Of course, it would’ve been infinitely better with my Kate.