This past weekend, I spent three glorious days in the North Carolina sunshine with my best friend, A., and her husband and two-year-old. It was little C’s birthday, and I just couldn’t resist a circus-themed party.
Friday night before the big event, A. and I were fixing dinner: something light and fast before the hotdogs, cupcakes, and apple juice to come. A is the manager of the local farmer’s market in her area. One of the perks is first dibs on fresh produce while the farmers set up their stalls.
From her fridge, she pulled out a bundle of perfect, young asparagus stalks: the first of the season and the sweetest I’d ever tasted. We ate the thinnest stalks raw as we washed and snapped off the ends of the rest.
C toddled up and A. gave him a stalk. He took the asparagus and munched gleefully. I’ve never seen a kid eat vegetables like that. (I’ve also never typed the word “gleefully” before, but hey.)
