I stopped by the market to pick up my weekly dose of Peewee-sized eggs from the Captain, and noticed for the first time that he also sells bags of dried beans. I lifted a sack of the hefty Cannellinis, and an old man the next stall over leaned over and said to me, “Don’t get those, get these,” and pointed to a bag of diminutive, wrinkled white beans. “These are the ones we eat everyday. These are the beans you need.” So I bought them instead, and stewed them with a big pot of dinosaur kale, shallots, butter and harissa. He was right, they were better. Tiny and tender, just the enough pop of bean-ness.
And yay, this new baseball jacket (that I bought from Suzanne!) has happily planted itself into my wardrobe. It feels so much nicer to inherit clothing from women I actually know, not just faceless sellers from eBay or thrift stores. I like wearing this jacket and knowing that it has this history, that it came from someone truly rad. Thank you Suzanne!