…and your grandfather is a lifelong farmer,
prepare to leave with several pounds of tomatoes and peppers, his favorites. And handfuls of jalapenos. But while you’re kicking around in the dusty field picking them, don’t ask with surprise in your voice if he likes jalapenos. Or if you do, laugh and quietly mutter the obvious – I guess you wouldn’t be growin’ ’em if you didn’t like ’em.
That’s what I did, at least. I went to see my grandparents – Pop-O and Grandmama – after voting on Tuesday in the tiny town of Taylorsville, population several hundred. It’s where Pop-o was once president of the shuttered crossroads bank and where he’s still a member of the Lodge. They live not too far from downtown, if you can call it a downtown – one stop light, a modest firehouse, the post office across the way. Grandmama still keeps a tidy house, but doesn’t seem to mind anymore if I don’t follow up my yeses and nos and thank yous with m’am. Nearly-ripe tomatoes line the kitchen windowsill, awaiting some kind of preservation.
I’m soliciting ideas for Pop-o’s peppers. I’ve got a drawerful. Stuffing and baking seems to make the most sense. Packed with veggie chorizo, smothered and baked in a fresh tomato-cilantro puree and topped roasted tomatillo salsa… mmm! Others?
Produce has been on my mind lately as I’ve taken a very part-time gig – once a week, in fact – shuttling fresh organic produce from the Vegetable Husband HQ to families in north Atlanta. It’s like my meal delivery, only raw materials. Today my car was filled with eleven of these:
My favorite part of delivery is talking to the clients. Everyone’s excited about food, anxious to peek in the basket and start planning. One woman skimmed the pint of cherrygolds off the top and announced that she’d be taking them down to the pool. But another softly refused the squash, explaining that it was poor people’s food in her native country. I guess she got a lifetime’s fill early on. Thankfully, I haven’t.
As for me, I’m just glad to have something to do on Wednesdays that happens to end with a fridge full of food. Working for a trade isn’t a bad deal at all. It’s kind of like cutting the middleman out – instead of cash to go to the grocery, I get the groceries! And what beautiful gifts they are. Last week I mostly made quick meals by chopping, sauteeing, and lightly seasoning; the baba ghanoush was a special treat.
This week offers more of the same, only with a decidedly peppery slant. Thanks, Pop-o!