A hard cocktail of rain, wind, and snowflakes assaulted the farmers market last week. It was the kind of prolonged spring squall that has to make a farmer—more of whom showed up than shoppers—question his or her career choices. The only thing that sold out was coffee, because everyone’s hands were cold. A vat of steaming congee, on special at the Vietnamese sandwich stall, would have sold out too, but they ran out of bowls.
I was lucky enough to nab a serving of that thick brew. I squirted on some hoisin sauce and began enjoying my morning, in a better position to appreciate the weather.
