Flat Indian beans. As I noted in a recent missive to Margit Carstensen, I purchased them from a Mennonite farmer who wore "only the lightest blush of adulthood." Here they are, their sugary sweetness featured in a nearly perfect salad:
Not pictured: corn, honeycrisp apples, turnips, heirloom tomatoes, fingerling potatoes, cranberry beans-- we left town for Chicago immediately after the market, so I didn't have proper time to record the produce. Next week, I'm shopping for kohlrabi and beets so I can make these latkes.
1 comment:
the nude, uncooked beans look like soft sculpture, or homemade pasta, kind of the vegetable equivalent of the Mennonite farmer.
Margit and I once discussed that blush re: a girl running barefoot across a Pasadena street; I almost had to pull the car over after witnessing the crossing.
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