We walked up to the Roslindale Farmer’s Market this morning.
Then we walked back home. You can do that when you live in the city.
Below are all of the things we bought.
I can’t say any more because I am eating, right now, all of the things we bought.
After the images are links to all the people from whom we bought all of the things we are eating right now.
Brookwood Community Farm is a hidden-but-awesome place nestled between Great Blue of the Blue Hills and Route 128 (just off exit 2B). The area had been farmed for generations, but the advent of the highway system an a general urbanization of the, uh, world, caused the farm to fall into disuse for a number of years. It recommenced farming in 2006.
This farm is half woods, and makes a wonderful walk. Well, it doesn’t make the walk, you have to do the walking, it’s not like the farm’s a barista for walks or anything.
Samira’s is from Belmont, and yes, there really is a Samira behind it. It/she makes authentic Egyptian and Lebanese spreads, and they are fabulous. Their hummus can take on any of the big boys. And the price is about the same. And their muhummara, o-meye-GAWD it’s fantastic. You can really taste the pomegranate molasses.
We bought our egg-carton-of-
eggs-garlic from a stall that had close to a thousand cloves of garlic (my guess, although it could have been closer to 950). We bought them from a garlicky guy, who knew more about garlic than I ever knew someone could know. He was almost geeky about garlic. There was a wooden box of “Smuggled Czech” garlic, and while I don’t know how contraband such a thing might actually be, I was intrigued by the inherent history of such a name. Hence our purchase, and I have made an unknown/unsaid pact with my guy that whenever I make something with these garlics, we must both ingest.
Nutting Farm is Vermont. My uncle had a place in Vermont, and so therefor Nutting Farm is a local maple products operation. And, uh, dang if their maple cream isn’t the best maple product I have ever tasted. I was very polite, though, and did not wrest the container from the fellow and triple-dipple-quintuple dip my dainty taster’s spoon into it. But I wanted to.