My supplies this morning, on the first day of my local food week, were meagre. They consisted of one 10kg pile of apples, and I had no-one to blame but myself.
Any locavore (eater of local food, not eater of locomotives) will tell you that the best place to get locally-grown produce is at a farmers' market. In Auckland, these are held on weekend mornings, which coincide directly with the times that I am most fond of sleeping in.
Saturday morning saw me haul myself out of bed and, fortified with enough coffee to kill a horse, left the apartment. There is a farmers' market in the Britomart complex, which, I was to discover, features precisely one produce stall surrounded by twenty stalls selling things that were useless to me. The earliness of the hour--it was barely eleven--coloured my view of the market a little, and I was dismayed and annoyed and, while not actually disgrunted, I was very far from being gruntled.
This muckle of feelings lead to my acting rashly and purchasing the biggest bag of apples I have ever seen. It would be called more properly a sack of apples, were it not for the fact that it was plastic and transparent and fell to pieces a bit while I was lugging it along High Street. This would no doubt have caused fashionistas to snicker behind their fascinators, were they not at the time sleeping off their Bellini hangovers like sensible people not in the apple-hauling business.
Sunday mornings are reserved, in some corners of Parnell, for farmers' markets with all manner of foods, treats, wines and sweets. I however, reserved those hours for rolling over several times in bed. This seemed the height of wisdom at the time, but looking at my singular breakfast, lunch, and dinner option today it may have been a little shortsighted.
The apples in question were Granny Smiths from Whenuapai in the large orcharding region to the north-west of Auckland. Later in the day I was able to add a dozen other grocery items to my monogustatory supply, some of which I will write about tomorrow.
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