Another Saturday in August means a trip to the Mount Pleasant farmers’ market. Neighbor Jennifer and I went together.
By noon, the tomatoes — black, Japanese, Beefsteak, a few brilliant yellows and other heirlooms — burbled on the stove with chopped onions that had had a headstart into translucence.
Tomato shapes flattened, liquid evaporated and flavors settled, the pot’s growing inner wall acting as a cook’s sundial.
By three o’clock, red and yellow curls of skin could be plucked, and the reward was ready for cooling and eating. A baguette, vegetables, pasta, or simply, a spoon — yum. More slow food, please.
Seed, soil, sun, and time. Ah!