love muffins of the highest expectations

My expectations are definitely on the high end when I head off to a farmers market in the dregs of winter in Seattle. Even if that winter happens to actually be on the warmer side. Take Valentine's Day for example. I'm not one for going out and spending money on gifts that have risen in price miraculously during the coming weeks until February 14, we here in this sometimes cozy basement that we call home, are strong followers of love all throughout the year. But an opportunity arose, happening to fall on Saint Valma's day, that we could not say no to. Brunch, also known as a late breakfast, with our good friends who happen to be house sitting in an ooh so plush neighbourhood on the east side. Right there on the water, with the sun shining gingerly, we ate scrumptious food, drank champagne and of course rightfully pretended that this quiet humble home in a not at all humble community, was indeed our own.

Dreaming about overflowing crates of berries and dairy farmers selling their freshly made yogurt, with cow in tow, I headed of to Ballard Market to buy my delicious goods and maybe some muesli, since I didn't organize myself earlier to make my own. Now, know this. I do realize a farmers market is the result of local farming. Which means that in the winter there is no local berry farming. Unfortunately, for my expectations, there is my world and than there is the real world. And that's all there is to it. So I decided to take another approach. The apple and pear approach. After waiting around for the 'bell to ring', only than was I allowed to buy produce, I bought my chosen bundle of apples and pears and headed off to the car. Just to put things into perspective for the moral of the story, I don't live anywhere near Ballard. I have to go over many hills and turn many corners to take the short cut. As I'm driving I decide that I really did want berries, as they are the color of sweet, sweet love. So I pulled off to a store, ran in and of course the first thing I see and certainly didn't smell, are massive, bulging strawberries. After one whiff, I'm out the door without the strawberries, or any kind of berries for that matter, in search of summer tasting love fruits. I arrived at the co-op really close to my house, where a few weeks earlier, I tasted delicious strawberries, not local by any means, but still the smell was fresh in my memory. I'm running really late by now, after a few sniffs I buy strawberries and blue berries and what I thought was vanilla yogurt from Grace Harbor Farms. I know it was mad to buy blueberries but the romance had seduced me by that stage.

Back at home I get my little fruit, yogurt and muesli, lets call 'em fools, ready. Now I am totally flabbergasted from driving around in the car all morning in search for something that I could have walked down the street to get. Or even better, settled for another version of something I could have easily made at home the night before. I had decided the to wear my pajamas, now wondering if its going to be harder to pull off if my mood has altered from awesome to, you really better enjoy these @#!* ing glasses of fruit. We arrive at our destination, pristine and waterfront, with our contribution to breakfast and a better attitude to say the least.

I'm constantly tortured when my food doesn't meet my expectations, and when you rarely follow a recipe it sometimes gets a little exhausting dealing with yourself. I've made a personal pact to just chill out when things don't go my way, which I guess could be well worth following in life in general. In the end the berries were by far not ready to be eaten, which bugs me that they were in the store, but is also my bad for not preparing myself in the first place. That morning by the water, the four of us ate egg strata with mushrooms and fennel sausage, that our friend prepared the previous night. She made it with the cubes of bread on top so when we bit into it there was crunchy munching going on. I tell you what, that strata was so good I'm going to make one of my very own and will have you the recipe somewhere in the next couple of weeks.

My berry fools were tasty, but there were elements of trickery, hence the name, such as the beautiful and perfect amount of honey i mixed into the yogurt and the crunchy almond granola. No amount of love will give mother nature the strength or the need to produce summer fruits in a grumpy old Seattle winter. If you think you can out smart her by going to the store and buying expensive containers full of them from Mexico, than you will be sadly hurt. My innocent and not uncommon theory to spend one's day of love buying only local produce, my Mrs righteousness rearing her ugly head, had backfired. We buy local for a bunch of reasons, less burning of fossil fuels is one of them. I not only drove really far out of my way for fruits I didn't use (finished the last delicious apple 15 minutes ago), spent way too much money on out of season produce and bought tasteless fruits from an entirely different country. I guess my lesson learned is, if I'm going to wake up in the middle of winter and be Mrs buy only local, I better get use to eating apples and pears.