First up,
(Your) Dekalb Farmers Market.
despite the explicitly stated "No photography" signs, I have managed to find a dozen or so on flickr from others...
The house I've been living in this past year has been the closest I've ever lived to DFM, and it's proven to be a blessing and a curse. Never have I spent so much money on food in my life, yet if I had to choose a place to do it, this would be it. Their hot bar includes foods from all over, from fried chicken to "Indian spiced chickpeas." The labels for the international foods have been dumbed down for the Atlanta public, which usually creates the feeling of mystery food, but rarely have I been disappointed, especially when a pound of food rings up as $3.99.
David often remarks how my hair tends to soak up the "DFM smell"... it's unmistakable. And oftentimes you'll find the bakery products to soak up the same smells, but it's a little endearing, right? Alas, it keeps me coming back for the single orders of Celray and their vegetable samosas.
2 comments:
YDFM is the one thing I miss the most from Atlanta. It is both why and how I learned to cook. When I first moved to Atlanta, it was in a small, comically overstuffed building around the corner from Wuxtry; I'd come home from the market with fresh thai lemon basil, shrimp paste, coriander root, Cabaret Voltaire and Throbbing Gristle. I'd then proceed to frighten the neighbors with both exotic smells and sounds. While my friends were living on 25 cent ramen, I was teaching myself to cook my way round the world. These days, Janet won't let us leave for Atlanta without a cooler in the back, just so we can make YDFM the last stop before we head back home.
Shame on you for not having the stones to take your own photos...but alas we aren't all bold, or thoughtful enough to take a camera into the farmers market...fel9
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