My tiramisu turned out to be slightly uninspiring. I think blame can be laid on the crappy ladyfingers I bought—there was only one brand in the store and they looked, smelled, and tasted vacuous to say the least. Also, they didn’t absorb enough booze . . . or perhaps I wasn’t diligent enough in painting the mixture of espresso and brandy on them? The result wasn’t offensive; it just wasn’t the celestial, palate melting experience I was going for. And, after all that work, Mum (the patron of this feast) decided that two desserts are excessive and struck tiramisu from the menu. So we’ll have to scrape by with a rhubarb-ginger crumble.

This morning we woke early and took a trip to Seattle’s U-district farmers market. We bought eggs with alarmingly golden yolks; cream-rich raw milk; butter the color of buttercups; and a handsome leg of lamb. All this was procured at the Sea Breeze Farm stand—my favorite of all the many wonderful booths at this excellent market. Not only do the boys from Sea Breeze farm offer a sumptuous array of pates, sausages, cheeses, and roasts, they are also quite gorgeous themselves (with an I’ve been up since 5 am milking cows and tossing hay bales about like they weigh 5 pounds sort of aura lingering around their cheeky smiles). And, as if this isn’t enough of an allure, they clearly know good meat. What greater virtues, I sigh and speculate, could a girl want in a man . . . or in a shopping experience.