Over the Fourth of July weekend, Mike's lovely stepmother and I returned from the local farmer's market with armloads of fresh corn, peaches and berries.
As we scurried around the kitchen, trying to find a proper place for everything, she retrieved a beautiful, whimiscal little bowl, just perfect for the pint of blueberries, freshly plucked from their bushes.
I let out a quite audible gasp.
She either did not hear me or, more likely, dismissed my noises as another one of my quirks. It could, afterall, been directed towards just about anything - the discovery of a perfectly plump peach or juicy blueberry, for example.
Just as when everyone politely smiled and shook their heads when I pulled monster cookies, homemade marshmallows, spicy cocktail nuts, good quality chocolate and a 9" springform pan from my luggage earlier that weekend - my tendancies are quite happily accepted by Mike's family at this point.
Either way, this did not discourage me from falling absolutely in love with this little dish.
So when I returned to my little piece of Manhattan, I was determined to locate this piece to add to my collection. A mere five minutes later, the piece had been located and ordered.
It now sits quite happily it my kitchen cupboard, eager to hold my treasures from this weekend's farmer's market.
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