Farmers Market Fail, A Boyfriend Post

*Note* Another post by David, who is keeping this little blog going while I'm busy with other things. I'll post again soon, truly. Not sure yet whether it'll be a narrative, or a recipe, but I'm getting back on the blogging wagon, I promise.

By now everyone who reads this blog knows how obsessed we've become with the farmers market this summer and with food in general since the move to Minnesota. It should come as no surprise to anyone that we made an early morning trek to the St. Paul Farmers Market a couple of weekends ago. The only problem--this trip didn't go so well.

First, we broke our only rule. We went after 8am. That is a no no. I'm no good with crowds, especially meandering, slow crowds. If we get to the market early enough, there aren't too many people. We can simply make our way around the market (which is a great market by the way) and then loop through again to hit all of the stands we want for the things we've decided to purchase. If we get there too late, we run into the f***ing crowds. They are slow. They get in my way. They are slow, and they get in my way. It's no good going to a farmers market after 8am. And this week, we went after eight.

Second, in my mind, it wasn't me for once. Obviously it is mostly me that hates crowds. Riley can calmly manage them and still enjoy a leisurely walk around the market and shop. This guy can't do that. But I put my game face on this week and, while a little cranky at the horrible driving surrounding the market, I believed myself calm, cool and collected throughout. In anticipation of my usual crowd anger, however, it was Riley that was a little off kilter. [David is being very generous here. I was a total shrew.] As we made our way around looking for various goodies I could tell something wasn't quite right. She was stressed out because of the anticipation of my anger. So, we rushed through and got what we needed.

Third, I've been on a potato craze. It's spring/early summer and that means new potatoes! And, apparently, that means I get to try as many new potato salad recipes as possible. Again, obviously, Riley has been getting a little tired of all the potato salads. I make massive amounts of each recipe whether or not they are good. Then I expect that we eat it all for lunch over the ensuing week. Big mistake; she usually has a couple of helpings while I polish off the other two pounds. [I mean, it's good and all, but how much potato salad can one person possibly eat?!] Inevitably I bought about four pounds this past weekend.

Fourth, the potatoes were rotten. It turns out Riley was finally in the mood for potatoes--she was going to try a new recipe for crispy baked potatoes. She woke up Sunday excited to make a brunch of eggs, bacon and crispy potatoes! As I read the paper she went to prep everything, but then soon enough came back into the room...

"We've got a problem. The potatoes are wet."

"What?"

"The potatoes are wet and they smell funny. And some of them are squishy."

"Well, pick the bad ones out!"

We walked over together, to take a look. I started picking potatoes out. Some were still solid, but did smell funny. Others literally exploded when you squeezed. After some typically stubborn picking through on my part, in an effort to salvage the lot, I started to gag. They smelled that bad. [They really, really did.] Riley intelligently and calmly called the whole thing off. No potatoes for brunch. No potato salad for the week.

Farmers Market Fail.

[Thankfully, such a wretched experience is a rare occurance. Most of our Farmers Market trips are wonderful and end in some seriously delicious dishes!]