In a, what I consider somewhat valiant, attempt to promote the local economy, buy local to help the environment, and to get fresher vegetables, I have begun to buy the fruits and vegetables category of my life at a local market. The one on the corner. I wish I had a photo but I don’t. Just imagine a store with produce. As I pranced around the store getting peppers, carrots, green beans, and eyeing some nasty looking apples, out of the corner of my eye I saw a woman squeeze a cucumber, shake her head, and examine the mushrooms approvingly. Curious, I drew closer. Another woman glanced at the cucumbers, said something in Spanish to another woman who then molested the cucumber with her hand, and drew back in disgust. All three women had now moved onto different vegetables. I quickly reached out a grabbed a cucumber, wondering what was wrong. I pressed it, nothing happened. It felt solid and delicious. Now, I am of some good British stock, land of the cucumber sandwich for goodness sake. I know cucumbers. My ancestors had cucumber juice running in their veins. I knew these cucumbers were top quality. But I was spooked. And so I walked out of the store, cucumberless and alone.
And my salad that night was less delicious than usual.