At the Farmer's Market

This picture borrowed from:
this website.

I can hardly contain my excitement about last week's farmer's market, though it has been nearly a week since I experienced it. It was undeniably the best time I have ever had at a farmer's market, for one reason: I actually talked to the vendors instead of idly choosing a single vegetable and moving my way closer to the kettle corn.

I will admit to an initial hesitancy towards this particular part of my project. I was that girl when I was younger that needed someone else to ask my questions, most of the time remaining silent even when I was dying to ask a question. I was too shy for my own good.  Well, I either grew out of that or else my burning curiosity cannot be denied any longer.  I learned so much about various fruits and vegetables that I never knew before.

One fruit in particular stood out to me: dates.  Now, I don't claim to be incredibly open minded about food;  I am, without a doubt, the pickiest eater in my family.  Though, one of my own personal goals (one of the many) for this project was to broaden my culinary horizons and try new foods no matter how unfamiliar they may look to me. It was with this mindset that I threw back my shoulders and walked resolutely to the date stand that was placed right next to a stand of raspberries that were calling to me, "Heather! We are safe and familiar!"
The man tending the stand was wearing a fur-lined cap and a smile that immediately put me at ease, he reminded me of my grandfather.

"Hi-" I choked out, with a gesture towards the boxes of dates, "could you tell me about these?"
"That depends, are you the IRS?" The man asked with a grin towards my mechanical pencil, poised over my notebook.
"No, just a morbidly curious student," I said innocently, surprisingly falling into the easy conversation that usually only friends and close relatives can invoke in me.

The gentleman then pulled from his wallet, with the air of an extremely loving grandfather proudly displaying photos of his grandchildren, a picture of a palm tree in the desert. "This is where dates come from," and grinned at my stunned expression, apparently he got this reaction a lot.

The shock that I indeed know diddly-squat kept me silent. I am not sure what I was expecting, but palm trees really only put me in mind of bananas and coconuts. He seemed to not notice my expression as he continued to educate me on the properties of a date tree, or to give it's correct name Phoenix dactylifera. "This type of palm tree originated in the Middle East, though these particular dates are from Palm Springs, California."
"So they grow best in hot climates?" I asked, my curiosity finally pulling me out of my silent reverie.
He said yes and continued to tell me that dates of full of electrolytes, "better than gatorade" he added with a wink.  Apparently, dates are an important part of Middle Eastern cuisine due to the extreme heat, the electrolytes in this tiny fruit replace many, if not all, of those lost while sweating.  A good website which has a bit more information about dates can be found here.  


Dates can be eaten raw or cooked and I have heard that they do well in shakes. The gentleman suggested I find a recipe for "Date Cookies," which is exactly what I did when I got home. 


Needless to say, I left that farmer's market with an appreciation for a fruit I had previously shunned, and a pound of Barhi dates in my bag.