I’ve had many a farmers market weekends.
So many I can’t count. Or remember which weekend was the epic Boudin bread eating (I ate an entire pumpkin seed loaf by myself); which weekend was the Cow Girl cheese shaving (I witnessed boiling Gouda cheese being shaved onto a plate of toasted sourdough, diced tomatoes and proscuitto); or which weekend was the free-styling violin playing by a child savant.
So many glorious tastes. And smells. And fond memories. That blend together into a confluence of inspiration.
But I do remember leaving every time, heart and hands heavy, with make-shift bags to hold all my fruit and produce and whatnot. I always forgot to bring a bag.
I eyed all those ladies with their perfectly shaped and hand-woven, wicker baskets for ages; but never got one.
Maybe I was an idiot for going each time sans-bag. Or maybe it was fate. Because unexpectedly this past Friday when friend Brittany and I were out for dinner, she handed me a hand-made farmers basket and smiled.
You eyed these every time we went to the Palo Alto Farmers Market on Sundays and said you liked them. A belated birthday gift, but here ya go!
I finally got one! And I broke it in this past weekend, filling it to the top. I have to say it was well worth the wait, and the fantastic surprise.