The Radish Problem

July second. I have a bunch of radishes on my counter and no plan. That is the entire summary of my Saturday morning, and also the logical conclusion of visiting a farmers market for the first time without any kind of list or agenda or prior knowledge of what I actually cook.

I went because someone at work mentioned it the week before, casually, the way people mention things they assume everyone already does, and I filed it away and then woke up Saturday at six-fifteen and thought, why not. The market opens at seven. I was there at seven-oh-three, which is the earliest I have voluntarily been anywhere since the letterpress workshop in May, and the feeling was almost identical: that specific quiet of a place that has just opened, tents still being adjusted, the first few people moving slowly with coffee cups, the pavement still cool in the shade. I stood at the entrance for probably thirty seconds before I walked in and felt, for reasons I cannot fully explain, like I had been slightly missing this without knowing it existed.

The honey table was where I lost whatever budget discipline I had arrived with. There were maybe twenty jars, different flowers, different farms, and I read every single label with the intensity of someone studying for something, which I was not. I bought the second-cheapest one because it had a label that said wildflower and I liked the color. Then I kept walking and a woman with very muddy gloves handed me a bunch of radishes and said they were good roasted, and I said great, thank you, as if I roast radishes regularly, which I do not. I have never roasted a radish. I looked it up when I got home and apparently you just cut them in half and put them in the oven, which does not seem like enough steps for the commitment I made this morning.

studying the honey labels like there would be a quiz

I am going to figure out the radishes. I'm also probably going back next Saturday. The tote bag I grabbed on the way out the door, the canvas one I got free from a library book sale two years ago, turned out to be exactly the right object for this, which felt like the universe endorsing the decision. Gerald watched me unpack everything onto the counter when I got home and he had no notes.

brought these home with full confidence and zero plan