25 March 2014

Frolics at the farmers' market

I'm a sucker for a farmers' market, so when my husband discovered that one was happening near us on Sunday, I gathered together my FM essentials...

Gilet. Posh girl hair. All the spare change.

Armed and ready, we pottered off to Nether Edge (a leafy suburb of Sheffield, obvs) and were swallowed up in a crowd of fellow gilet-wearers with kids called Tarquin and Hugo.

I gave each pretty little stall a good peruse, pretending to muse over trinkets made of gems circa 1995, but I knew I wouldn't buy.

Because the main attraction of a farmers' market is always MEAT.



For me, farmers' market = the grown up equivalent of going to the fair so you can eat candy floss and bat your eyelashes at boys.

We rounded a corner, and that's when I saw it. Buffalo burgers, being fried right there in front of us.

BINGO! That was where my money was going.

Buffalo, I've learned, is low in fat. So I added a slab of cheese and a big white bun, y'know, to make sure I'd have enough energy to get round the rest of the market.

It was pretty tasty. I batted my eyelashes at my husband.

Then we came across a vegetable stall selling a lot of kale. I'm relatively keen on kale so this was a happy discovery.



Next stop, sitting in the sunshine at the bowling club eating a peanut butter brownie.

I spent the last of my cash on some olives stuffed with whole chillis, before we rolled home.

Giddy slash still experiencing a sugar rush, we opened the most ridiculously expensive bottle of wine and whiled away the evening munching the olives.




A very sweet Sunday.

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