Went to my local Farmer's Market this morning. Bought far too much and staggered back to the car no less than three times with bags of goodies. Amongst the haul was a pot of smoked trout pate with lemon and black pepper, a tub of roasted red pepper humus, huge tub of mixed olived marinated with garlic and herbs, the first Cheddar strawberries, farmhouse feta cheese, 2 large bunches of asparagus (and no, I couldn't afford English but it looked lovely), unwaxed lemons, bags of baby salad leaves and a big stick of celery.
On the baking front I had several purchases from the Common Loaf Bakery a co-operative which is actually only a couple of miles from my house, their sun dried tomatao foccacia is to die for. This morning though I homed in on the fruit bread first.
The market makes people watching great fun. There are always lots of the hip, organic types from renovated cottages and rambling farmhouses. The county ladies too, were in great abundance, uniformly dressed in navy and bottle green and sporting pie crust collars and large wicker shopping baskets. Elderly gentlemen bought cakes and pies and rummaged though ancient pockets for small change, holding up the impatient queues behind them. Toddlers straggled, dragging empty shopping bags and wholesomely snacking on organic biscuits and fresh fruit. Suddenly a loud noise from one corner and two ancient hippies with hair down to their waists and long droopy moustaches started playing guitars and singing elderly rock songs. What they lacked in finesse they made up for with enthusiasm.
It was a great atmosphere, the whole square bustled and rang with happy voices and the sound of the oohs and ahs of enthusiastic tasters. A lovely summer morning, with the loveliest of fresh food. What more could I want?
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