A rumour has been flying around that we’re out of potatoes and apples and may therefore have to make a run up to Peterborough where the best of such things can be found all winter at the farmers’ market. (The potato guy alone is worth the drive.) Plus we stock up on mushrooms, perogies, goat cheese, carrots, greenhouse greens; it’s madly wonderful and one of my favourite things to do on a Saturday.
It takes an hour, door to door. If we leave after breakfast we’re home well before lunch unless we pop in at the gallery, or visit Peter’s uncle, or stop in at the Fifth Wheel (had been hankering to do that for years).
Anyhoooo. No need to go quite yet because… on checking the cold room I discovered we not only have a few potatoes and apples, but carrots too. And oodles of garlic. Plus a parsnip or two in the fridge.
I’m about to celebrate by making carrot juice with my last beet and a bit of ginger root.
On tap for the weekend: some roast veggie salads with Egyptian potatoes on the side.
Once again, no shopping necessary.
And once again, miraculously, we won’t starve.
p.s. The bottle of vinegar on the left (not that you’re asking) was also uncovered in the cold room, and timely, given that a stray cat has been mooning at Jake The Cat through the living room window recently, causing him to go severely bonkers, threatening the safety of both his head and the glass. Vinegar, it’s said, is unpopular with cats. I’m hoping it’s unpopular enough that if I splash tons of it on the porch, the stray won’t hang about.
(Note: the stray’s name is S/he—although it is in fact a he—and is being fed by a neighbour-lady whose husband has made it a very beautiful winter residence on their deck, complete with insulation. It’s wild and won’t allow itself to be touched, but S/he comes every day like clockwork for some quality grub, which, I know because I am conscripted to feed it when neighbour-lady and husband are away.)
today's forage 