It promised to be a pretty warm spring day…much warmer than this confirmed Northwesterner is used to!
Late morning, Maggie, Doug and I headed out to the Saturday Farmer’s Market at the City Market in search of rhubarb pie ingredients.
At home in Port Angeles and when I am in Seattle, shopping the local farmer’s markets are the highlights of my week.
We meet new and old friends, see families doing their weekly shopping, develop relationships with growers and observe first hand how a farmer’s market can revitalize an area.
Wandering through the stalls looking for rhubarb, there were only one or two vendors that had some fruit coming close to the rhubarb I enjoy in the upper left-hand corner.
I settled on some that had a hand written “home-grown” sign and bought enough to make a pie plus a little extra.
I decided to make an all butter crust. A local butter claimed to be “heavenly” and with a word like that, it seemed a must-try, too.
After an afternoon siesta, I went in the kitchen to make the dough and put the pie together.
Doug’s bowl, which has been in his family since he was old enough to remember, was placed on the counter for me to use and he shared with me the story of how he and his seven brothers and sisters would take rhubarb from their neighbor’s garden, run off and stand in a circle daring each other to take bites until the stocks were eaten all up.
Year’s later he learned that his neighbor knew all along and was actually quite happy that the kids were thinning out his plant!
I love using things with special meaning and hearing the stories associated with them.
In some inexplicable and magical way, I think that those stories somehow find their way into whatever I’m cooking or baking.
The pie turned out great and I like to think I’m part of the bowl’s history now, too.