For all things out of a garden, either of salads or fruits, a poor man will eat better, that has one of his own, than a rich man that has none.

Today's take from the market: tiny potatoes, tiny zucchini, shell peas, snap peas, sorrel, and lovely yellow beans. Of course, loads of baked treats from Café Soleil (I got in trouble for halving everything-- so as to share with Kenneth-- and then eating both halves of the spice girl. Something about breakfasting over Nadal's semifinal match at Wimbledon inflamed my appetite). A farmer from up north provided my final basket of strawberries. Now I can make one last batch of local strawberry ice cream. Because the berries are so small and tasty and because they're only available for such a brief time, this has been for me the most meaningful ice cream I've made to date. The flavor is absolutely radiant. I'm off to transfer the dill into a pot and to re-pot my thyme, the roots of which have clogged its drain hole. Then, maybe Jane Austen or J. G. A. Pocock...