Smug Wino with Kids at the Farmers Market

I don't know exactly why shopping at the farmers market makes me feel superior.  But it does.  And my guess is that most people who shop at these markets and buy locally & organic feel a bit "better than."  Most of them may not share their smugness on a blog, but I can guarantee it's there.  I liken it to true wine enthusiasts compared to us plain ol' wine drinkers (or wino, as I like to call myself sometimes).  I know for a fact that those who travel out east to the Washington wine country or down to northern California, and who know the vintners by name (yes, I had to look up the word vintner to make sure I was using correctly) feel quite superior to those of us who are thrilled that the red blend we call our house wine is on sale at Fred Meyer's for $4.99 (regular $9). 

I think the point is that it feels good to know where your food (or wine) comes from.  And I will admit that the "goody two-shoes" vibe increases if you're pushing around a couple of kids.  (A couple of kids at the farmers market, that it.  Not the local vineyard.  I would imagine that having a bunch of toddlers running underfoot while you're swishing & spitting $55 wine would decrease your level of superiority.)  I frankly love having my boys covered in red juice as they shove fresh strawberries and dirt into their mouths.  And there's something sort of cool about the three-year-old using a garlic stalk as a wand / sword / brother-beater.



My Goody Two-Shoe Booty

We visited the brand-new Saturday market in my neighborhood this morning, and I went whole hog (literally!).  For the first time, I bought pork from a local farmer.  We talked about his farm (out near Yakima), how he raises the animals, and the fact that his third child is due on Tuesday.  It meant something, while I was cooking up bacon for BLTs for lunch, that I knew exactly who had raised and packaged this meat.  I made it a point to speak to all of the vendors and farmers where I purchased items.  I know that the garlic butter was made in small batches, what kind of strawberries I had, and the fact that there was slightly less sugar than usual in the hibiscus & lemon sorbet I sampled.  I look forward to returning each week to keep the conversations going.

I suppose it's the sense of being a part of something that makes me feel special, and thus a tad superior.  Like going to see a friend's band perform at a bar and screaming "I know him!" the whole time.  I'm pretty sure that tomorrow morning, when I'm cracking eggs I bought today from the cool red-headed mohawked guy, I'll be in the kitchen yelling, "I know him!  I totally know him!"  And I will start my day feeling "better than."