As you know, there’s been a massive egg recall. More than half a billion of them have been recalled, or so I’ve read. That’s a lot of eggs! What irked me the most about it, even more than the salmonella scare itself, was that the tainted eggs came all the way from Iowa. No wonder supermarket eggs are so lackluster — it’s because they’ve traveled cross-country to get here. That is why I try to buy local eggs from the farmer’s market, pictured above.

Just recently, however, I really needed eggs and I considered buying the supermarket variety because my swiftly ripening bananas demanded to be baked into bread. So off I went to Vons. It shouldn’t be that bad, right? Lo and behold, a sign was posted above the cartons saying that the particular brand — Lucerne, to be exact — is NOT part of the Iowa egg recall, despite the fact that Lucerne is one of the brands on the recall list. I looked at the what few shoddy egg cartons remained, some of them soggy with who knows what…and peeped inside. They were cracked and ugly. I desperately wanted to bake banana bread but I just couldn’t risk using these tired-looking eggs, salmonella-laced or not. I decided to wait another day and go to the farmer’s market for the farm-fresh variety.

I had a sneaking feeling this would happen: I got to the market and the egg guy said they were sold out. The egg recall had everyone in a hizzy and cleaned out his supply quicker than usual. I was crestfallen. I drove through downtown La Jolla traffic just to get eggs and now they’re all gone! The egg guy must have seen my disappointment because a couple minutes later after I walked away, he came up to me and said, “ma’am, if you’d like some eggs, come see me later this afternoon at 12:45.” He had eggs on reserve somewhere in that van of his!

Of course I said I’ll think about it. Since I ran into a couple friends at the market, I dilly dallied and had some lunch to kill time. I then went back at 12:45 and as promised, Egg Guy sneaked a carton of a dozen jumbo eggs in a plastic bag and handed it to me. I couldn’t believe I had just taken part in what seemed like an underground transaction for quality eggs. It was just too hilarious. A black market for eggs? I’d believe it. I also like to believe that Egg Guy recognized that I care. I care enough to deserve his backdoor farm-fresh egg supply.

Watch out for my next post, in which I baked these bad boys for banana bread.

Things I want to devour at this precise moment, RIGHT NOW:

a stack of pancakes with butter and real maple syrup or
Swedish pancakes with lingonberries
a damn juicy cheeseburger with fries and a chocolate millkshake
tacos with cilantro
quinoa salad
New York-style cheese pizza
peach pie with vanilla ice cream
clams steamed in white wine

Oy vey!

Y’all know I absolutely adore farmers’ markets. The strawberries are sweeter, the lettuce more crisp, and the local farm eggs beyond fresh. This post is dedicated to farmers’ markets far and wide.

My first open-air market experience was in Santa Monica at the Third Street Promenade market but the best experience by far, was in Paris where the cold autumn air literally bursts with the aromas of fresh mint, parsley, earthy carrots (yes, carrots!!) and apples. Nothing seems to compare to the markets in Europe, but the ones here in the U.S. are pretty good too, without a doubt — namely, the one in La Jolla, which I’ve been going to regularly since I moved back to San Diego.

The tomatoes are beginning to emerge.

I’ve never cooked these before but I must try someday…

Stone fruits are peaking.

It gives me great happiness to go to the market, buy my citrus fruit and avocados and farm-fresh eggs, and rush home to eat it all. It’s almost like I’m giving myself medicine, it is that damn wholesome. The farm eggs, by the way, are the most amazing eggs you could ever eat. I was always aware of how they’re way more fresh than the ones you get at the supermarket but only recently did I find out for myself. The whites are as clear as water, and the yolks a vibrant yellow. You can notice how fresh they are when you fry them over-easy — the yolks run luxuriously and the whites are firm and bouncy. And with that, I end my ode to farmers’ markets! Stay tuned for more adventures…

As promised, I am determined to have a few words about Maine food. I’ve been thinking about what to write about and I’m having trouble because although I have plenty to say on the subject of haddock (a wonderful fish similar to cod), wild blueberries (smaller and more flavorful than the ones you buy at the supermarket)  and lobsters, I have no pictures of anything I ate. The brilliant me decided not to pack a camera so now I’m confronted with writing a food post with zero photos. I feel like I’m committing some sort of food blog sacrilege, for what’s the use of a food post without the food porn photos that go with it?

I decided this particular post will benefit by having no visual examples of what I would like to discuss and that is the topic of tomalley, the mysterious green stuff inside a lobster’s body. It’s hardly a lovely sight to behold.

Lobsters are an everyday aspect of life in Maine, or at least where I was, in Augusta. Nearly every restaurant has lobster rolls, or fresh-steamed lobsters or at least something lobster-related like lobster chowders or stews. Even the local Panera had a beautiful lobster roll — fat chunks of lobster lightly dressed in mayonnaise and nestled on tender ciabatta bread.

All in all, I was lucky to get my fill of lobster during the trip. During a twilight picnic with steamed lobsters, I was further enlightened by the creature’s allure. As we cracked open the hard red shells, a co-worker mentioned the subject of eating (or not eating) the tomalley, or tomale. I instinctively felt that I should avoid eating the strange pasty stuff but I was quickly informed that the strange pasty stuff is prized by some lobster eaters.

True crustacean aficionados would argue that tomalley is a rather delectable, if not best part of the body. I can’t say that I fit into this category, especially after discovering the reason why tomalley is typically forbidden is because it’s toxic in some instances. Also, the greenish gray color throws me off. It is enough to make me squeamish — I had a hard time even ripping the lobster’s head off!

On another note, tomalley is not exclusive to lobster and is akin to crab as well. My family loves crab and I think they are among the true crustacean aficionado crowd because eating the abdomen (and thus the accompanying tomalley) is the ultimate dessert to their crab dinner. Unlike lobster tomalley, crab tomalley is a deep ochre-yellow, almost brown color. A cousin of mine once rapturously advised that I put rice and melted butter in the crab body’s cavity, mix it around and eat/savor it that way. Sort of like a crab tomalley risotto, if you will. It takes a fair amount of courage for me to even crack open the body and remove the guts. To proceed with eating the tomalley is something I need to work on. But I love the legs and claws!

So what category do you fit in? Would you eat the tomalley for the sake of fulfilling the gourmandise spirit, or will you chicken-out like me? I think I need to learn how to fully confront the lobster (or crab)!