At the Produce Stand

"I'll bring you plums to-morrow
Fresh on their mother twigs,
Cherries worth getting;
You cannot think what figs
My teeth have met in,
What melons icy-cold
Piled on a dish of gold
Too huge for me to hold,
What peaches with a velvet nap,
Pellucid grapes without one seed"
--Christina Rosetti


It's great to be here! I move through the dirt-floored aisles with abandon. A basket sits by my feet, already overflowing with fresh sweet corn, eggplant and Granny Smith apples. I pick through the shallots and elephant garlic, inhaling their intoxicating bouquet. A glance to the left and my heart palpitates. I can hardly believe how gorgeous the mangos look today. I'll be squeezing them momentarily!

Shopping at the produce stand is delightful! Here, where twenty bucks and a cornucopious appetite yields a trunkload of treasure, I am a man overcome by the juiciness of nature! I feel as if I've stepped into a singles-bar for the tastebuds, where my every fickle desire is courted by possibility. Is that a cantaloupe looking my way? Should I should sidle up to that attractive display of vidalias? My my, doesn't that honeydew look sweet! Everywhere I cast my gaze there is the obscene nubility of fruit, and I'm irretrievably drawn to it.

I am not Graham Kerr or Emeril or Jeff Smith when I shop for produce. Rather than eyeing the bounty with the measured discretion of a merchant chef, I am more like Rosetti's Laura. I am seduced by the overwhelming sensuality around me. I am bewitched by the enticing array of Earth's offspring. Everywhere I look there are colors in profusion. The day-glo oranges and yellows and greens of citrus fruits! The deep, erotic reds of radishes and apples and beets! There are the wholesome earthtones of ginger and mushrooms, and exotic purple okras and string beans. Even virginal white eggplants sit innocently beside sinister black radishes. I fill baskets wantonly, never dreaming of using a scale!

And it isn't just the color that grabs me. An infinite variety of shapes and textures complement every nuance of hue. There are sumptuous lobes and fleshy expanses! Impressive globes or lavish clusters or long, firm tumescences! Profusions of fruitful exuberance are everywhere! If I want it rough I'll take coconuts and jicama. If soft and luscious suits my desire I'll take guava and avocado and papaya. Never mind the staid beauty of a Victorian still-life. Forget the button-down supermarket romaine hearts wrapped tightly behind fetishistic cellophane. Here instead are life's greatest works. Here, in the vegetable kingdom's teeming open-air brothel, are the orgiastic manifestations of nature's most unquenchable desire -- the will to procreate. My blood runs hotter and faster because I'm in its midst! I am Laura, lust-drunk with the sap of life.
But unlike Laura (and unencumbered by the Victorian castigation mantra scrolling through her head), I don't have to blame the imaginary come-ons of imaginary goblins for my predilection for produce. I'm comfortable with my appetites, and unrepentant. If it is the sweet, wet juiciness of a watermelon I crave, I simply endulge. If my fancy is for the exquisite liquid tartness of a mouthful of ripe raspberries, so be it. If being close to the ripeness and raucousness of fruit makes me salivate in sympathy with its life-force, I do not feel debased. I am in heaven! I answer the goblin call of "Come buy! Come buy!" with a simple, knowing "Yesss!"

At last I haul my treasures to the flaxen-haired girl behind her dilapidated cash register. "Oh! I love mangos too!" she says as she handles mine gently before placing them into the bottom of a bag. "Mmmm, and these strawberries are perfect!" We exchange healthy smiles and our eyes betray conspiratorially similar appetites. Ah, my fellow travelers are everywhere! Touching life. Craving it. Celebrating it. And here in the produce stand most of all.

Gerald Michael Rolfe
writer@geraldmichaelrolfe.com
http://www.geraldmichaelrolfe.com