by Carmen Farrell
Come summer, nothing gets me more hot and bothered than exploring the stalls at my local farmer’s market. It may be subliminal (ever notice how many fruits and vegetables are reminiscent of male genitalia?), but it’s probably because the market is such a feast for the senses. I can’t get enough of the colours, and smells and textures. That’s the kind of shit that makes me feel happy and connected. So I go, I peruse, I buy. Then I come home and my kids devour the fruit in no time, turn their noses up at the green stuff and we do it all again the following week.
That’s what I’m loving right now. The fresh stuff.