Beans headlined my last-minute grocery list.
Elbows flared, an older man blocked my way. His stance was wide, his reach, long. He radiated ownership, as if these were his beans, and he examined each one, stem to tail.
I needed two handfuls, pronto.
Ragged shorts, crumpled canvas hat, one tube sock at half-mast—he didn’t look like a chef. Those focused hands might have belonged to an eccentric composer seeking the lost chord: the epitome of crunch, sweetness, savor. Shine.
I headed for Dairy, impatient yet curious. Was Mr. Persnickety entertaining a V.I.P.? Perhaps he was painting a still life, in oils, and he needed fresh props.
When I circled back, The Green Bean Guy was gone. [Read more…]