html xmlns="" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> From the archives: I don't eat no ham and eggs...

Monday, January 30, 2006

I don't eat no ham and eggs...

I’ve been vegetarian since 9th grade, when I realized that meat was murder!!!!!!, and I was eating the rotting flesh of dead animals!!!!!!!! I don’t still think like that. In fact, I don’t think about it at all. After all this time, eating meat just doesn’t apply to me. Still, about ten years ago, I started to worry that a vegetarian diet wasn’t esoteric enough. I was afraid that I still had friends who could invite me over to dinner, feeling confident that they could serve me a meal I would enjoy. God forbid I become vegan. No, I needed something more intricate, something where the rules would constantly change, so that no one could be sure what I would eat without a long, patronizing explanation from me. I decided that in addition to being vegetarian, I would only eat seasonal, local produce. It works like a charm*.

I’ve only bought produce from farmers’ markets for about a decade now, and I’ve come to have strong opinions about them. I pretty much hate any farmers’ market with a band, although a solo guitar player can be OK. More than two flower vendors means the vegetables are overpriced. Same if there is a hummus or sprouts vendor. Market is inevitably frustrating in summer. Summer brings out the vegetable cruisers, who want to exclaim over the exquisite beauty of an heirloom tomato. Pay and clear the fuck out, people. Go “taste the sunshine” over by the band. Where were you last December, when I stood in the rain to get root vegetables for the fourth week in a row? Eating grapes from Chile, that’s where. Summer market shoppers don’t believe.

I love the Sacramento Sunday market. Sunday market is all about the vegetables. It’s under a freeway, so no one can pretend it is a beautiful stroll. There are farmers with greens I still can’t identify, and they don’t use market betties to sell their goods. At Sunday market, the vendors call me amiga and tiny Chinese women elbow me out of their way. There is nothing pretentious about Sunday market, which is great. I can only stand small doses of pretentiousness, so I need to save it all up for explaining to people that I don’t eat tomatoes between October and June.

*Eggplant parmesan? I love that… in August. No, really, I’m fine. I’ll just have salad. Lettuce is in season now. Fried bananas? Yummy. I eat those all the time… when I’m in the tropics.



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