It is 74F outside and the dandelions are in full bloom in February. No, I’m not in Brooklyn, NY. I thought I would be, that was the plan. I thought I’d be home working on a book proposal, making winter root vegetable stews and snuggling with my cat, Ella. I was supposed to give a workshop at the Just Food Conference this week.
Instead, I am sitting in a hospital cafeteria in San Francisco waiting for my dad to finish getting a PET scan. His health took a nosedive last week and I flew out to offer moral support and whatever little bit of practical help I can at this point.
Usually when I arrive in SF for a visit my dad has a fridge full of food including help-yourself-to-lunch stuff such as 3-bean, tuna, and potato salads. Not this time. We ate crackers and cheese for dinner the first night when I got in from the airport.
I tossed out a crisper drawer full of slime formerly known as vegetables. My dad had bought at least some of those former veggies on his last trip to the farmers’ market. Even if all goes well and he bounces back from this latest dip, he probably won’t be making any more trips to the farmers market. It’s not so far away, but too far nonetheless.
Ironically, there is a small farmers’ market right outside the hospital here. I hope some of the fresh, local food makes it into the hospital’s menus.
It made me smile when Dad asked me to choose some flowers to buy for the table, and to get some frozen raspberries because he wants to try myВ raspberry curd recipe.
I made 3-bean, tuna, and potato salads that he’ll have to munch on after I leave. Some of the ingredients were local, some were not. Occasionally even a locavore has to have other priorities.
I fly back to BK tomorrow.