I’ll go to a farmer’s market this morning. There’s a large one nearby.
The grass will be slightly wet — the humidity thickening like a roux, the heat hinting at a thermometer’s breaking point.
I’ll saunter through the sheltered areas.
Justin Cox
Skirt around the sandwich boards informing me of the fresh goat cheese.
Pause at the tent where a woman will shout, “Try a peach today?”
Rotate my neck, looking for that one farmer who sometimes has butter-colored cauliflower.
And as much as it hurts me, I’ll rebuke the man hawking hot sauce. Lord knows, I’ve got enough already.
The bag at my side is filling.
Each purchase is a tiny adventure — a short escape to someone’s farm or garden, a glimpse into their lives.
That’s how I got the two containers of pimiento cheese from Morgan. She runs Lil’ Mo’s, a newcomer in a region where pimiento cheese loyalties can run deep.
A farmer’s market makes one more open to the unexpected. There’s a willingness to try what is deemed foreign or obscure. It’s the luxury of being cosmopolitan with only having to travel a few feet.
Such experiences always leave me spending more than I plan to. I rarely regret it. To spend is human, to splurge here, divine.
There’s an area with trees off to the side — an oasis of shade. My family and I discover it each time we go. I imagine I’ll sit there for a moment.
People watching, I reach into the bag and let my fingers find one of several purchases.
I munch on blackberries. Two handfuls. Popping each one into my mouth.
Anthony Bourdain (Photo by Ben Hider/Getty Images)
My mind moves. It moves rapidly. I think about my day — the things I need to do, the things I forgot to do yesterday, the things I want to try and do better today. I’ll think of conversations, rehearse them in my head, knowing that’s where most of them will stay.
Amid the nonstop woulda-shoulda-coulda’s, I think of Anthony Bourdain.
He would have been 70 today. His words led me here. He taught me to pay attention to the ordinary, including people and places. He allowed me to see the level of humility it took to have one’s worldview changed by others. He showed me that a stop at a good farmer’s market was on par with grabbing a dish of noodles in Hanoi.
For these reasons and more, I call him my patron sinner.
Around the world, from Brooklyn to Singapore, people will toast his spirit. They’ll celebrate his life and mourn his passing. They’ll raise a cold, unpretentious beer. They’ll drink a Negroni or two.
I’ll be one of them.
Happy Bourdain Day!
Justin Cox received his theological education from Campbell University and Wake Forest University School of Divinity and McAfee School of Theology, where he received his doctor of ministry. He is an ordained minister holding standing in the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship and American Baptist Churches USA. When not spending time with his spouse and daughters, he can be found writing and baking late into the night. His thoughts and reflections are his own.
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