I haven’t been cooking much. It’s been too hot to turn on the oven, despite the recent purchase of a saucepan that goes from stovetop to oven (how exciting). So lately dinner has consisted of a pile of salad greens on a plate with some simply cooked protein thrown on top with lemon wedges. It’s been remarkably satisfying but nothing to blog about.
What is worth blogging about is the lovely delicious and perfect blueberries we’ve been eating by the handful after (ok, and before) dinner.
Blueberries can be prohibitively expensive. Last year I didn’t eat a single one, even though they are my favorite berry, because I couldn’t bring myself to pay x amount of dollars for blueberries in a plastic container shipped from California. They didn’t inspire any confidence what so ever that they would taste like summer like the ones I used to pick at Toby Elliot’s place.
This year though I found them at the farmer’s market at the St Lawrence market. Great piles of berries freshly picked from a place I could drive to, if I had a car. And cheap enough that I didn’t feel the least bit indulgent buying them and taking them home to pop into my mouth and savor.
Why are they called bilberries in some places? Are they different? Why are they called blueberries when you bite into them they are white and rather alien eyeball looking?
Last Saturday they weren’t any blueberries. Maybe we were too late to the market that day and they’d all been gobbled up. Or maybe the season is over. Which is sad, but oddly satisfying, to know that my favorite food of the season can’t quite be reproduced by hydroponics gardens in California. I find that comforting.
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