RecipeMuncher

Every Saturday morning I wake up, make coffee in my old French press, amble around the apartment for a while, then slip on some shoes and go across the street — to the farmers market. Do you hate me yet? That I feel lucky to have a weekend farmers market across the street is an understatement. I’m already lucky to live within a short drive of an apple orchard and berry bushes and  pastured beef, pork, and heritage breed chickens. There’s fresh eggs from someone’s backyard (...)