Drumroll please…….
{oh, just pretend that there’s a drumroll and make a woman happy, would ya?)
………….
Esteban and I………….
WENT TO THE FARMER’S MARKET!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
You know how I’ve been starting out all of my weekend entries with how my plans to get to the farmer’s market got flumoxed by this thing or that? Well, I finally got there. And with my beloved hubby, too. And there were chickens there. And Esteban dashed my dreams once again of owning chickens. I want to someday live in a 200-year-old farmhouse overlooking either the Bay or Lake Michigan and have my own chickens who lay brown eggs and offer “cock a doodle doo”s to provide for pastoral moments. I also want to raise several adorable sheep and maybe use their wool to make lovely natural sweaters. Oh, and I only want to clean up after these animals once a week. Feeding them is not a problem, because I have have Martha Stewart moments while I do that. But anyway, I have right at this very moment, a carton of brown eggs laid by those very chickens at the farmer’s market. I also have three cucumbers, two tomatoes, and a pound of 4-year-old cheddar. Wooooo! Love the farmer’s market. Love it.
I’m very sniffly today and my face is itching like crazy. I took one of Esteban’s magic allergy pills and it is starting to go away, but I’m still a bit cranky over the whole ordeal. I feel like exfoliating my face with sandpaper.
Yesterday, Esteban required me to actually think about my Fantasy Football strategy. Let me tell you: it sucks. I don’t like games that are rigged to make it fair to the losers who don’t know how to play. This whole drafting nonsense. It sucks. I just want to go through the book and say “Here’s who I want on my team” and not have to fight through the other team owners to get them. I mean, if I’m going to do something with the word “Fantasy” in it, I should be able to draft whomever I want, not whomever is left over when it’s my turn? What the hell kind of fantasy is that? That’s like having some kind of sexual fantasy where your lover is the next door neighbor of Mel Gibson and you get to sleep on the wet spot.
Oh, and I named my fantasy team The Congested HedgeHogs.
Esteban wouldn’t let me go with my first two choices.
The Saucy Wenches was my first name, but Esteban had a problem with that, since not a single player I would be drafting would be female. I pointed out that not a single player of the Seattle SeaHawks is a bird, nor is there a single horse among the Denver Broncos.
Didn’t matter, he said. Pick something else.
I sighed, “Ok. The Flaming Drag Queens.” sidestepping the whole gender issue completely. Plus, flames equals scary, right? Esteban’s team is the Preble Predators (Preble being the suburb of Green Bay in which we live).
He countered with the fact that we’d be playing on a league with several older men. They wouldn’t understand and might take offense to my calling the players I would be drafting “Drag Queens”.
Thus, the Congested HedgeHogs.
He tried to talk me out of the “Congested” part, but I’m not budging. Have you ever seen a congested hedgehog? They are not to be trifled with. “How about just The Hedgehogs,” he asked.
Nope. That’s not even a little scary. Hedgehogs are pretty docile creatures. If you don’t bug them, they don’t bug you.
But if you’ve got a congested one…. well, let me tell you, you had better watch yourself, if you know what I mean. Thus, me and The Congested Hedgehogs will hopefully trounce the rest of the teams with their conventional names and score another point for athletic equal rights!
Well, off to make a lovely summer salad with my farmer’s market scores. Oh, it’s easy enough to make one, here’s how:
Slice several wonderfully ripe tomatoes and take out the strange larval-type seed things, because that’s just gross.
Wash any waxy stuff or whathaveyou off the cucumbers. You can peel it if you like, but I am usually lazy and leave the peelings on.
Grind about three turns of black pepper over the veggies in a bowl. Also dump in a little minced garlic (about a half a clove) and some basil.
Splash a little balsamic vinegar (about a tablespoon? I don’t know…. I just splash) and Extra Virgin Olive Oil (maybe 1 1/2 tablespoons? Again, I just splash… use more oil than vinegar) And don’t skimp on the price of these… if you’re going to buy cheap stuff, then just go get a damn Whopper and forget about it, ok? The vinegar should be at least a $10 bottle, but then, maybe I’m just a snob and you can ignore this all together.
Finally, crumble 4-6 oz of feta cheese and mix well. You can also add sliced black olives, but I usually feel exhausted at that point and ready to eat. Also, sometimes you can add a little salt, too, depending on your tomatoes acidity.
Enjoy! Let me know if you try it!
