I have never been one to scour the farmer’s market in search
of the finest produce, the ripest fruit, or the freshest cider. In fact I have rarely looked into any of the
groceries I buy from my usual big supermarkets like Safeway and WalMart, but
its time to see—no—to taste what’s
really going into my mouth and body. One
would have to expect that produce from a local organic farm that is sold at the
farmer’s market would have to be superior to one of the billions of pieces of
produce shipped to WalMarts all over the US.
Well it was time to test the theory.
My item of
choice would be the peach. Few fruits
could match the sweet succulent explosion of flavor that came with every bite. I wanted that perfect peach: that peach that
felt like there was a circus going on in my mouth! I wanted to find a peach just like Kramer’s
famous Mackinaw peaches on Seinfeld. You
know, the kind that only come around once, and with flavor that is unparalleled.
Well we
don’t have Mackinaw peaches, so something locally grown and organic would have
to do. I set off to the Moscow Farmer’s
Market down on Main St. with the girlfriend and we decided to check out one
of the bigger fruit stands. This place
had crates upon crates of peaches and apples and peppers, and any thing else
one could need. It was an organic farm
from Royal City, Washington. The peaches looked just
splendid, I doubted anything from WalMart could match. 
When we got
to Walmart, Jamie (the previously stated lady friend) took one look and one squeeze
of the peaches in the produce section, and knew they didn’t have a chance. Nonetheless, we picked out the best one we
could find, hoping to make it a somewhat fair fight in our taste contest to
come.
After a
weekend of drinking and barbeques in the park, we had almost neglected to have
our little showdown of peach purity, but finally it was time. Jamie kept me out of the kitchen as she did
her best to make the chunks of peach as even and similarly shaped as
possible. I would be the first to go
blindly into that good peach.
With my
hood pulled over my eyes, I took the first bight. It was a circus! The sweet juice erupted in that explosion of
flavor I had been hoping for. It was
almost perfect, except for a tad of sourness that would surely have dissipated
in a day or two of ripening. It seemed a
solid choice, but something told me this was no farmer’s market peach. I don’t know what it was, a hunch, something
in my gut. It just didn’t feel right.
Then it was
time for the next bite. After thoroughly
washing my taste buds off with the delicacy that is Moscow tap water, I sunk my
teeth into bite two. For a second I
felt as though another flavor fit was about to occur, but it quickly subsided.
The bite was gone as quickly as it had come.
My choice felt obvious, but it was Jamie’s turn.
Covering
her eyes in a beanie, before the anxious looks of her dogs Cirque and Kade, Jamie waited to test what she already felt sure of. I gave her the farmer’s market peach
first. She kept silent, but I had come to know what she knew. One look at those wedges and it was obvious that my newly found hunch was wrong. A sip of water, and then next bite. Soon it was over and she ripped the hat off
her head.
“I know
exactly which was which,” she said.
 |
| Pretty obvious yeah? |
The case
was closed.
And the inspirational scene for any
who don't know it. Classic Kramer:
who don't know it. Classic Kramer:
Once again, the story telling aspect of this piece really shines through. One point to think about: If the quality of the Walmart peach was better, say if you had arrived a day earlier or a day later would that have effected your choice? Would the taste be as vastly different? Its something to think about.
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