• Who: Mom and Dan
• Where: PSU Park Blocks—Portland, OR
• What: Berries, berries, berries, millions of other fruits, cheeses, veggies…

You think you know farmers markets. You think you have experienced farmers markets. You think you have seen all there is to see at farmers markets. You think that in the end, all farmers markets are basically the same. Well you know what? You are wrong. WRONG! Because you have not been to the Portland Farmers Market (unless you have actually been there).

The Portland Farmers Market is like a humongous street fair on steroids that had a baby with a hippy/hipster/lesbian commune/Phish show on steroids, and then gave that baby up for adoption to the Sierra Club and John Mackey because they couldn’t reproduce and wanted to make sure that such a A Rod-esque baby had a good home. That is the Portland Farmers Market. Little white tents, as far as the eye can see, in an overwhelming display of every type of organic fruit, vegetable, nut butter, bread product, flower, meat, cheese, dungeness crab, table-making demonstration, ukulele/didgeridoo performer, recycling bin, coffee roasting station, live antelope feeding you could ever imagine to exist.

Attending this weekly event with my mom, who is a seasoned professional, was like having the good fortune of finding an English-speaking tourguide in the Bhutan. She navigated the rows and rows if seemingly identical booths as if walking through the aisles of Safeway. She asked questions that I couldn’t even understand about pick dates, varietals, crops, ‘good years’ and harvest deadlines. She ran into what seemed like old friends (“Mom, do you actually know that person? Or are you just being overly friendly?”) and ignored what I assumed to be actual people she recognized (“Oh Mom, isn’t that…?” “Walk over here, honey, so she won’t see you.”). She was undaunted by the flailing children, dancing barefoot to the bongo player, and the 40 person line for coffee at a stand that looked suspiciously identical to the 3 stands next to it. 

What she failed to mention in advance, when she gave us the list of necessary items and regulations (open-toed velcro strap sandals, reusable bag(s) [preferably cloth], large docile dog [ideally Labrador], Subaru or 1-speed bike, etc), was that the Portland Farmers Market is not just a market, it’s a sample buffet!!!  And this is not just a situation where you are lured in with samples by sad suffering vendors and are forced to them sheepishly skulk away when you realize you have no interest in buying anything. You are ENCOURAGED to sample!  There is no shame in the sample! The sample is king!

And so we sampled. We sampled until we couldn’t stuff any more samples into our berry filled mouths with our berry stained hands. And after we’d finished sampling, we washed our samples down with a sample of homemade apple cider, walked to the next row and sampled some more! Ah, the Portland Farmers Market. Maybe the best [free] brunch in America.