Than the farmer markets of Chicago are good? Not bread uniform
Since the childhood liked to go to markets, flea markets, the small mobile markets. After the strict markets of Moscow to get on the Odessa Supply as early as those years when water was wet, and a grass green! And when in Odessa there lived inhabitants of Odessa! Also went as speak in Odessa, “to do a market“... Now they amicably do markets in Brooklyn, and give them god everything health. (Earlier on the Hare island lived, generally the population of a contrast color. Hey?! If only a casual tornado brings and that will quickly take off from our Big Odessa on the historical homeland of bruklinets in the hero town Small Odessa. And sho I takokho told, sho?!) .
In the USA there is no this European fashion to have the covered city markets. For “to do a market“ there are shops. Huch to you with penicillinic chicken meat - beef, huch the healthiest abundance of products, organic and super - organic from Amishes. And is also the mixed type - on three, but with an antibiotic and yesterday`s. But on five, but healthy and today`s. Also there are farmer markets - about them my song!
From May 1 to October 30 we have in the city a summer. On all city platforms for the farmer markets open. That to the farmer to obtain the license for the right of trade in the city markets, its farm and production are federalno inspected. Here fruit - vegetable of a chemical origin will not break. The milk, oil, cheeses, cottage cheese, cream, yogurt will be only from cows from pastures. Chickens precisely peck grain, lay eggs in the old way by means of a cockerel. Bees with sugar are not fed, and they fly in free flight. Ducks float where it is necessary. And farmers - the people not idle time. Except cultivation to us tasty and healthy food, they are engaged scientifically - research work, act with lectures, carry out show.
There is an example: my friends Fraydeyz is farmers. He is a scientist - persikoved, the selector, three times the champion of the Guinness Book of Records, the musician, the philanthropist, the politician in the State of Michigan. It - with love fry Russia - Lyubochka. Lyubasha! Feed from 150 acres of gardens of chikagets with amazing peaches of grades of Paul in the summer, and are engaged in scientific work in the field of a persikovedeniye in the winter, drive about with lectures and exhibitions worldwide. Here who would think that bores such: yes from them you will laugh until sick! Absolutely rowdy-dowdy couple. Also you know, many farmers such people - the earth popasht, popisht verses.
To whom to spit on healthy products, go to rynochka to listen to music. The same farmer suddenly throws a counter in the tent and uncovers a saxophone. Under this delay on the markets it is beaten many people, not alien muses, - musicians, artists, dancers...
Right there farmers and restaurateurs who buy from them products arrange demonstration shows: how to bake marrow pancakes how to bring down fresh to a maslitsa from goat milk as to make home-made noodles how to play with fried eggs from duck eggs.
I bought farmer flowers today. It would seem: what difference, from where flowers. And there is a difference: flowers of farmers stand several times longer! So not only that the farmer sold me flowers, he prompted in what vase it is better to put them, than to feed up how to look after. And here I, the silly woman, mentioned it in general about gladioluses... I was described by someone`s dog, bit mosquitoes - to depart from the person in love with flowers, I just could not. My God, you know how many legends exist about gladioluses from where they came what they mean in language of flowers?
You think, we go there to buy expensive real tomatoes, cucumbers, cheeses, oil, meat, an oleninka, duck`s flesh - goose meat? No, we go as to a party there. And the main zatusovshchik at us - children! There is a law - the child tries everything free of charge. And if wanted to eat seriously - will feed too free of charge. (Today saw a puzan - a perekormysh with a loaf of newly-baked bread from seven cereals - where mother looks?!) . For it the baby will be unostentatiously told on pictures or alive from where his food undertook as it was grown up. Some farmers bring for the fan who a nanny-goat who a duck who a chicken.
You know, I, so far as concerns children, become very curious and trembling. I see: no biology, zoology school will cultivate to the child such interest as real-life communication with farmers and fruits of their work. Here to you sketch: there is a farmer who is growing up herbs for juice. Here it has a bottle of vodka and here it has a bag of the grain which left on production of this vodka. And here nearby other farmer raising bread and baking it from own flour on the bakery. And here the bread made of a bag of grain, ubukhanny in vodka. And here the child is given svezhevypechenny bread, and the farmer standing nearby still will brush it honey or dense cream, and another will pour a glass of milk, and the first will squeeze out to the child of wheat sprouts fresh juice, and another hokhmach will approach and will ask the child that he understood from this ikebana...
And dog lovers just like that also dart about between tents: for them there is a water and “stones“ lie. Not just like that dart about: children can stroke a doggie, play with it on a grass, be driven, feed from hands. Yes, hands... Wash basins, toilets, sanitayzer continually. (Though I adore dirty, izmurzanny strawberry - bilberry - blackberry of children!) . There is a free coffee, installations with cold water. Ever and nobody will allow the child to try dirty fruit! But if the lad wants, he can get up near the farmer and potorgovat... Poorly?!
And what zazyvalka can be heard on rynochka! It is especially good in this genre wash the friend Pol Fraydey. It is already separate song... Special article about chastushkas is necessary. And at the exit from the market there is a box: if you want, then throw dollar - couple, you do not want - go by. We throw: we know that there is to the city placement of such number of the farmer markets. For pleasure you are not asked to pay, but just instead of thanks...
You will tell, found what to write article about: you will think - the market! It in Russia all of us somewhere left the village. Show a family without rural roots. And thank God - roots - that good, earth. And here in the USA the farming as a class had no value. And now krestyanstvut at us only 3,5% of the population, to a hiccups overfeeding the population. But the world of the peasantry is somehow closed for business city America. Went - bought. Ate. Merged. Burned in the gym.
Poetry of a pigsty with very young pigs - suckers, a calf house with a special children`s lovely smell, prose “the back up“ on redisny beds (is - there are never mechanized branches of agriculture: same berry-pickers, flower growers, beekeepers...) - lies behind seven seals. Sweet of pain from an ache in a back, ease in muscles from successful capture by a pitchfork of tasty senets, honey spirit from opened a proof - things which never cost oblivion! Soothing hrumkot the cow chewing the chewing gum at night, a sweet dream on a mow, apple spirit for sidrovy weeks... No, not bread uniform.
Not the idea of the market in the center of the megalopolis is expensive, the idea of participation in the people creating a miracle of creation of the benefits from nature bounties is expensive. Be blessed hour when, having come from the market, you unpack the basket: bread bukhanochka, cream, in which already oil balls, brown sugar tomato, a silk needle of the semi-blossomed gladiolus, viscosity on fingers from a sklyanochka of field honey, a kartoshechka young with growing bare as after suntan a skin, fragrant umbrellas of the real fennel, vyzyvayushchest almost black huge sweet cherry, refinement of breaks of zucchini, painful pallor of escapes of an asparagus, the menacing bomb form - pineapples of an impudent artichoke, sexuality of a young morkovochka, the exuding venison flesh, and ears, (EARS!) full of music, children`s hubbub, crowing of crazy roosters, dog bark... Hallelujah!
I will make tea. Brosha in it mint leaflets. (Mint Steve sells - he has herbs on many acres.) Light steam over cup porcelain will go, will begin to smell a meadow in the house. I will open the book from the broken page... The thought will come: whether no more the value of the grown-up grass against the value of the written book... Speak, not bread uniform... But without bread - in any way.