Fruit Slinger

That's smoked wild salmon on a baguette with thinly sliced Valstar apple. I drizzled it with olive oil.

* * * 

"There's this one woman who comes all the time and tells me about her whole family."

This was my co-worker talking to Peter.

Peter's response?

"Send 'em to Dan."

"Because she comes all the time and she just won't stop."

"Yeah, send 'em to Dan."

"That's what I've started doing at the Lincoln Square market. Sometimes I'll just send them to Dan."

"Yeah. People with long stories? Weird medical problems? Send 'em to Dan. Those sound like 'Dan Specials' to me."

Thanks, Peter. 

This has come up before.

I think he was joking.

But it would certainly explain a lot.

* * * 

"HOW MUCH APPLES?"

"Those are five dollars."

"WHY FIVE DOLLARS?"

"Why five dollars?" I shrugged. "Because that's what the apples cost."

He didn't stick his tongue out at me. (That happened the next day. Hey, thanks for keeping it classy, lady!)

But back to the man.

A customer was watching this with a slight smirk and a look of disbelief.

"Do you get that all day?"

"I do."

"I go to a lot of farmers markets," he said. "And it's way worse at this one. Everybody wants to haggle over everything! I see it all the time."

"I know . . . it's true. It's not just you; it is way worse at this one."

He gave me some sympathy and bought some Mutsu apples. 

I gave him his change — and a bonus Valstar apple.

The Valstar is my favorite apple at the moment — crunchy, juicy and sweet, but with a brightness to it that rescues it from being cloying.

* * * 

"Are you cold?" The chef had a jacket on. I was in a sweatshirt.

"Eh, I'm all right," I told her. "It was worse yesterday."

"Wow. Nothing bothers you does it?"

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing bothers you. You're always so nonchalant."

"Um ..."

My name is Dan.

Have we met?

"When I was a little girl, I picked these for like three hours when we were on vacation at the lake."

"I took them to my mom, who was smoking with the other moms — because that's what they did in those days."

"And she and the other moms just sat there smoking and eating them."

"Like it was nothing?"

"Like it was nothing."

There was a matter-of-fact melancholy about the way she told the story.

But she seemed pleased to find the fraises des bois.

* * *

"So, you know those two melons you've got in your hands? We don't know what they are. They're mystery melons."

"Yes, well. I know what they are."

"You do? Really?"

"Yes."

"Well, great. Then you're a few steps ahead of us."

* * * 

It would be good if people let go of the notion that there is only one apple that will satisfy them — one ideal apple for their sauce, one ideal apple for their pie, one ideal apple for their snack. 

I see people starting to crack under the pressure — wracked with indecision when faced with so many apples — and I desperately want them to be OK.

Well. I want me to be OK, too. And it's closely related.

At any rate, I swear to you: It's going to be OK.

Apple season is a solid two months, at least. There is time to try a lot of apples.

It's never enough time, I'll grant you.

But there is time.

* * * 

That's a Melrouge in the photograph at the top of this post. It's a cross between [shudder!] a Red Delicious and [squeal!] a Jonathan.

I scored it off another orchard.