What I take from the photos is that this farmer's market sells the home crafted foods and knick-knacks that touristy stores in towns sell in stores with fake wood floors--except here it's for real and people actually need and use this stuff. Grumpy Greek men don't sell cartons of marinated olives at Cracker Barrel.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
A couple weeks ago my mom and little sister Emily went to Philadelphia to visit my Aunt Michelle and four cousins, Lucy, Caleb, Brigham and Charlie. It was their consolation prize for missing out on Africa. They saw the Liberty Bell, went to the Jersey shore, saw Harry Potter and visited "the best farmer's market I've ever seen" (according to my mother). The market is within walking distance of my aunt's house in Wayne, Pa., something which makes my mom incredibly jealous. But what Michelle doesn't know is that my mom's house is within smelling distance of a bread factory--take that! The best buy from their trip to the market was 1 pound of Amish bacon. My mom has been bragging about her stash since she got back. She's been hording it in the freezer until the moment when her tomatoes turn from green to juicy red so she can make big ol' BLTs.