Too Healthy

Last week I went to five different farmers markets. Lugged canvas bags of produce northbound on the #24 express from SF to San Anselmo. Repeatedly left the one and a half block perimeter of my office neighborhood to cruise tables of tomatoes, eggplants, chards and cherries. The fact I leave the office at all has co-workers prairie dogging thing from their cubicles as I near the door.

And last week I cooked. Even invited friends over for a meal. The cute guy asked me this morning, "What's for dinner?" as casually as he used to say, "Want to go out to eat tonight." That was it. One more mesclun mixed green salad, yellow beet or sweet nectarine dripping down my chin and I was going to scream.

As soon as I got to the city I went straight for coffee, no thought of fair trade, poured in half and half, and then bought a muffin, organic flour but nothing local about it. At lunch I went to a chain restaurant, nearly fast food, and got a burrito to go. A bean and cheese burrito that tasted like hot salt that still makes my mouth water. I did not ask where the beans came from, if the cheese was made from raw milk, if the slice of avocado in it had been from a pesticide free tree. I did not inquire about the health plan of the employees or if the tomatoes used in their salsa bar were raised organically and if the chicken in their fajita salads were range free. I paid my five dollars, declined the chips, took my plastic bag and nearly ran back to the office.

And now I feel better. After work I shared my bus seat with another bag of produce, smelling like onions and guarding the peaches like a mother hen. And for dinner I made omelets with our farm bag green eggs, kale and a little blackberry cobbler for dessert. The cute guy loved it.