We live in the Central Valley of California, which grows a terrifying quantity of fruits, vegetables, and nuts. There's also a great deal of fresh produce. HA HA HA HA!
We live in the Central Valley of California, home to an incredible array of far-right wackos, many of whom extract profit from the land in the commodity form of fresh produce. We take advantate of this fact as much as we can, by which I mean that Lauren and I eat a nearly absurd amount of fresh food. Our breakfasts typically consist of 2-3 tree fruits and/or 8 ounces of melon, along with some kind of bread product. We frequent farmer's markets and fruit stands, often three times a week.
Last time we visited our regular fruit stand (or "dealer" or "pusher"), Cipponeri's, they had a flat of apricots for sale for $4. The flat was a box approximatey 18 inches by 24 inches by 4 inches deep. We figure it weighed around 15 pounds. Lauren wanted them, indeed insisted on them, since she had decided to put away fresh tree fruits this summer by "the dozenth apple last fall." (Nothing against apples, just that we don't grow autumn apples fresh here. The longer the winter wore on, the more difficult it was to face another morning of Fujis or Braeburns. Plus, the commercial apple business, like all industrial food business, does some weird things to those objects you find at the Safeway, covered in wax, in mid-February.)
So after she canned 8 or 9 quarts, we still had a bunch of apricots. I decided to take independent action of my own, and tonight made apricot ice cream.
It's a political act. It says, in it subtle and tasty way, that I can make my own (@#$%^*%* ice cream, you Dreyer's/Edy's/Häagen-Dazs bastards! And of course, Lauren's canning says, in an equally subtle and tasty way, that she's in charge of her own &$$*())($ breakfast, you Sara Lee/Dole/Del Monte mofos!
Normally, we're not inclined to such outbursts. We might be high on fruit.