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24 January 2008
The fresh green, red, yellow and orange peppers on the farmer's market truck are the best we've ever tasted. Dave stopped at the truck when he got home from work and picked up bananas and apples, and then I went by there tonight for some veggies for a tortellini minestrone I plan to make for tomorrow. John, the farmer who grows these fine foods, parks his truck on the street behind our building on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. He is probably about my age, maybe a few years older, and of Italian descent, who grew up in Dingli, on the western shores of Malta. When I told him that I was making a minestrone, he offered his family recipe and told me to let him know when I was going to make it, and he'd prepare a sack with all the veggies I'd need for it. (I didn't have the heart to tell him I am making it tomorrow, so I said next week.) He said, “Is okay! We'd eat it three times a week when I was a child, but now, I make it every Friday. It's wonderful, the Maltese minestrone; you will see! Even when I was a boy, 12, I would stand at the pot, and oh, how wonderful.” When I asked how much the delicious peppers were, he looked around to see if anyone else was listening and then he said, “For you, 2.33 euro. Usually I charge 3.50.” How sweet. Then I asked for mushrooms, and he said, “Oh, I'll get for you the freshest ones.” And he reached up on a shelf at the top of his racks and pulled down a box of the whitest mushrooms I'd ever seen. All closed at the stem beautifully. And boy were they good! The grapes, too, are amazing. I've been to his little truck probably five times now, and I'm a bit ignorant about what I'll be paying him at the end, since nothing is priced. He weighs it on his scale, and until today, he had no cash register, so he was scribbling things down on paper and totaling them with pencil. I couldn't read his writing all that well, so it was a mystery. I can only hope he's not robbing me blind! Dave's a little suspicious of him, but I can't help thinking the best about the guy. He's got such personality. Tonight, I stood in line for over 15 minutes to check out. I figure the locals know whether he's scamming them, so if he's that busy, I should be able to trust him. Then again, it seems the locals do a lot of talking at check out time. Are they bartering with him in Maltese? This is the problem: I can't pick up a word they're saying, so I could be missing out on some aspect of the game. Gonna have to ask my new friend, Lucien, a local woman I met on the bus two weeks ago, who gave me her phone number, and insisted I call if I need anything at all. She was precious! Surely, she will know if I need to be more scrupulous in these little exchanges. I called her last week for advice about what to have Isabelle see before she left the island, and she was so happy to hear from me and offer advice. She even suggested we get our families together for dinner sometime. Yep, I need to pick her brain more often and get the scoop on the ways of the island. I've seen market trucks like John's on other
streets as well. They seem
to keep unusual hours, as I never know which one will show up where.
Last week, I asked John when we can expect him to be there, and
he said Tuesday, Thursday and some Saturdays.
Then tonight I asked if he'd be here Saturday and he said no.
So I'm baffled.
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