plates of green and orange
Leaving Atlanta incredibly early on Saturday a few weeks ago, Karen, Kevin, and I pulled into the incredibly local farmers’ market of Carrboro, North Carolina around noon to meet my sister Kassandra and her boyfriend Sean (here, at left).
We found crowder peas and field peas,
beautiful tomatoes, peppers, and cucumbers proudly displayed in individual containers from one of the many farmers in the allowed fifty-mile radius of this town within Chapel Hill that set up at the market.
Walking over to the Weaver Street Market food co-op, Kassandra and Sean looked for groceries (they both live in a neighboring area),
and Karen found the Carrboro raw truck to begin neutralizing the roadfood of the past week.
Carrboro is generally good at nurturing health, and Kass and Karen were serious about filling their plates with good food as we sat near happy dogs hoping for dropped food and children learning how to walk,
(this is Karen’s plate) before hugging Kassandra and Sean goodbye and continuing on to an underground Indian dinner in Washington, D.C.
That night, we arrived at an Indian dinner orchestrated by a Jain,
that one of my favorite people, Nina, told us about (I surprised her here with the camera flash),
—and learned that Nina has different spices in her spice box than our host. I actually learned a great deal about making a spice box of one’s own as a way to indicate heritage.
The courses continued, interspersed with commentary on the background on this cooking style, but I was too happy to listen, surrounded by very good friends,
and knowing their friendship, like the bread passed throughout, are what anchors me, wherever I am.
Pausing to remark that sometimes this city surprises us, Karen, Kevin, and I headed back to the quirky Tabard Inn, where we prepared for the final leg of the drive back to Brooklyn…