in which some stranger brings me strawberries

I think it was the second night that they were here that they finally made it over to the local Asian market. They had stopped off at Mr and Mrs C’s house, so it was a bit late. I think they really just wanted to have a look around and buy a few things. They almost went the first night they were here, but decided against it for some reason.

At any rate, they came back with a rather interesting story. It would seem that as they walked around the store, they noticed a strange man. These are the Beast’s words – not mine. They noticed he was speaking Tagalog, and rather loudly at that. They noticed him at the fish department and again over in produce.

It wasn’t until they were about to leave the store that this man approached them. He turned out to be an old friend of B’s grandfather. It sounded like he used to help him fix cars or something. It had been several years since they had seen him.

Apparently he had moved to the US and recently became a citizen. Of course, they exchanged phone numbers and within 30 minutes of their arrival the phone rang, and guess who?

B didn’t really know who this guy was, but I wasn’t the one who called him strange. We actually never met him.

It turns out though that he did show up while we were out one day. Not only that, he brought 9 baskets overflowing with the most beautiful and delicious strawberries I have ever seen.  And that is saying something. I used to wait for the bus when I was in college in a strawberry field. And my Mom would often bring back pints of fresh strawberries from a fruit stand when she would end up visiting Orange County. The Beast insisted he brought them for me.

These were the kind of strawberries you dip. Or put on top of a cake. Or just take photos of. They even had the stems on them. Not a single one was blemished or had any amount of mold or anything. These were perfect.

But nine pints is a lot of strawberries for 4 people, especially when 2 of those people aren’t fans of the red berry. And although I thought about making jam out of them, it seems a waste to cut them. They were just that beautiful.

In the end, I dipped about 6 baskets, using 2 pounds of dark chocolate from Trader Joe’s. It looked like I had opened a candy store at one point. Then I baked a cake and put some of the strawberries on top, and chopped some to put in the middle with fresh whipped cream. The final basket, which was getting a bit old by this point, I pureed in the Cuisinart, then ran through a sieve and added to fresh squeezed lemonade. That was some amazing lemonade.

B and I joked around about my new suitor (who was also married, by the way). It seems he was probably more interested in the Civic. The one that just reached 249,000 miles. I have no clue as to why he would be interested in the car, or why B’s mother would even mention it to him. The whole thing was really just another bizarre story to add to the list. But at least I got some strawberries out of the deal.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in married life, stories and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s