Desperately Seeking Salem

Some men bring their wives roses.

Mine? He brings home a hunking mound of fermenting sod covered with tiny oyster mushroom spores from the Salem Saturday Market and sets it up in a spooky glass case in our bedroom.

In our tiny, 10 x 10 foot bedroom.

In our brown-colored, dim-lighted, can’t-fit-anything-more-in-here bedroom.

In our hot, steamy bedroom (you thought I was all complaints today).

In just a few days, the whitish mound, which looked a little like a moldering marshmallow when he brought it home, has begun to sprout mushrooms, which are curving out in gentle arabesques.

Today I’ve exchanged it with our kitchen centerpiece for maximum view of this new growth forest.

Have you felt the humidity lately? These babies sure have.

Before long, we will have a bumper crop of oysters, known for containing lovastatin, a natural statin known to lower cholesterol, and which can reduce the growth of breast and prostate cancers. That is one hard-working mushroom!

Sometimes when I’m trying to get to sleep at night I can feel them bursting forth.

You say mushrooms don’t burst forth? If you had been sharing a home with some for a few days and saw how quickly they mature, you might say: exploding righteously forth.

Yes,  mushrooms are aphrodisiacs. When you cook with them.

If you followed my Truffle Week a while back, you know I’m up to the challenge.

This just in from a “local eater of Venti’s and all-around tough guy.” A sign was noticed today at 4450 S. Commercial Street, site of the old Albertson’s building, hailing that Trader Joe’s has put in an application to sell liquor at that location.

Credit Eric Compton for posting the first link to the story.

I’d assume it was some kind of joke if I hadn’t heard also heard a few days ago through the grapevine (husband’s work colleagues) that this was the case.

“Nah,” I said, no way the word on the street is more reliable than the web

(And that might be the only time you ever get an emoticon on this site).

Remember the me of a couple of months ago, who was arguing that we didn’t need a Trader Joe’s anyway?

Do we let ourselves be swayed by a possible prank? A simple sign? A bunch of uniform and affably curvy hand-written words?

Yes.

Trader Joe’s!

The look on their faces yesterday bordered on pitying.

Or as Thomas Hardy might say, the smiles on their kinds of faces were the deadest things, alive enough to have strength to die.

And they all said the same thing:

“I’m so sorry.”

“Nope, sorry.”

“No, I’ve been out since 10: a.m.”

“These are my last ones,” (handing a carton to the person in front of me).

“Those are just my show eggs.” (Shells with the yolk and whites blown out).

“No, we don’t have any eggs today.”

Yes, the Billion Egg Scare has reached critical mass. As of late morning yesterday, there were no eggs to be had at the Salem Saturday Market.

To be completely honest, I’ve been getting my eggs from A&E Eggtopia, a tiny scale outfit run by 11-year-old twins in South Salem. The eggs cost $3 a dozen and are charmingly un-uniform (I often receive one tiny, gorgeous green egg in my cartons). Indeed,  haven’t bought an egg from the market for about two months.

So can I really complain that more and more people in Salem are waking up to the dangers of mass-produced eggs and discovering the orange-yolked marvels of the market? Perhaps not.

But we can’t really eggspect our local egg purveyors to jump up production to respond to the agony of this eggstasy. Their flocks are small and lovingly cared for, and that’s the point.

So how about a backyard chicken?

The public hearing for allowing backyard chickens in Salem is September 20.

Get one, get your eggs, and leave the market marvels to peeps like me.

It’s open… and… they also have an on-site food cart! (Ask for the lime-Serrano pepper ice pop)

More coming tomorrow. The stand’s hours are Wed.-Sat. 10 a.m. to 6 p.m.