Snowy Fruits and Snowy Veggies

Sikh and you shall find, especially at the Snowy Valley Farmer's Market. Plotnik has always been slightly put off by this gathering of smug European Dads who have custody of their kids for the weekend and the gaggles of skinny women with triple-wide strollers and Aryan children, but he has to admit it is starting to look a little like a neat outdoor market in, well, Europe. Paris, for example. Look at that chard.




I guess it's that Plotnik likes his Farmer's Market with a little grit. Where are the vegetable crates? Where are the homeless guys hired to pick up trash? Well, there isn't any trash. It's all neat and tidy and expensive and everyone is kind and understanding. You could probably steal a crate of strawberries and the guard would smile and help you put it in your trunk.



Not like the market on the Rue Moueffetard in Paris, where the picturesque older gent in a brown beret smiled and motioned at Plotnik to see his barrels of olives. He kept smiling and motioning, so Plotnik sampled one olive. "AH HA! STUPEED AMERICAN DOG GET FEELTHY CAPITALIST PIG HANDS OUT OF PURE FRENCH OLIVE BARREL KEES MY FRENCH KEESTER AHHHHHHHHHH PEEG PEEG PEEG" is what it sounded like he said, but he may have just been commenting about the weather.



This would not happen at the Snowy Valley Farmer's Market. "Would you care to sample one of our organic, free range, free trade olives Sir? They are harvested from old growth Mission olive trees that were planted by happy Indians while being serenaded by kindly Spanish missionaries. Ten dollars per olive, $300 for the half pint.

"No dogs were injured in their preparation. Free Tibet."