I had our annual family reunion to attend to yesterday, so my market visit was like a quick sprint. The fun part was getting to known all the new babies. It also amazed me that no matter who the married partner is, they all look like papagrande. 
Them some strong genetics! But that’s not why you’re here today. I promised signs of summer. As if the weather itself wasn’t a clue…
Behold, the noble apricot. Joe at Walker Farms had the first of the stone fruits out today and as per usual, he offered a sample. So. Good. Other things have apricot overtones, but when you try to describe the flavor of an apricot, you get lost. It’s one of the base elements that can’t be properly broken apart. It tasted like…an apricot. A good apricot. I could get all flowery and say I tasted the potential of the coming summer harvest in on velvety smooth bite. But no. It was just a really good apricot. So I bought some.
There were also nectarines and peaches, neither of which I tried but plenty of other people did. I usually wait for the freestones later in the season. I like to cut my stone fruit rather than eat it out of hand. Most of them are just too juicy for manageable eating. Great for prepped meals - I entertained the thought of roasting a few at home with honey over pancakes. They roast so well, bringing out the warm, honey flavors of the fruit. So well shall see!
And then the cherries. Keep in mind this isn’t peak season yet. But these firsts generally held their own. Not as complex as their more seasoned brethren. But if you love cherries, you just don’t care. The only real deal killer for me is if they are bruised up. They tasted, again, like cherries. Mild cherries. Cherries without the late May zip and tang. Good. But not stellar. So close….
There was a visit to Euro Pane and Taylor’s afterwards. I’ll focus now only on the Taylor’s visit.
Danny gave me some sad news. Jimmy, my usual friendly butcher and all around great guy, fell ill a couple of weeks ago. It started with numbness. First his left leg, then his entire left side. They thought it was a stroke (he’s in his 40’s! a stroke?!) But the scans all turned up negative. The local hospital did every test they could. Nothing came up that pinpointed a diagnosis. His speech slurred. His beautiful penmanship crackled into a series of sticks and scribbles. Danny sadly stated, “Remember his guitar playing? His passion? He can’t do it anymore…it’s just…gone.” I was stunned and completely crushed. Oh, Jimmy.
They sent him home, unable to provide him with anything other than, “You better get into USC Medical Center because we can’t help you.” But there a hugely long waiting list.
Jimmy taught me just about everything I know about meat. But beyond being a great butcher, he was also a good friend. He made my Mom feel at home when she came with me for some bacon. He would ask about her at every visit. He automatically double-wrapped my ground beef because he knew some of it was going into the freezer. I never had to ask him for anything twice. He memorized how I ordered and then used the time he saved to chat and talk about family, his guitar playing, and everything else. We invented something called “Jimmy’s Choice” where he would pick a cut of meat for me and then educate me on it, and then I’d go home a prepare it and report back.
Jimmy still tries to come into work. But he can’t even wield a knife. And right now it’s just a waiting game to see when he’ll get a call from USC. No one knows when, and as time slips by, I get scared for him and that the Jimmy we all knew and loved will slip away even more, his disease unchallenged by the stops that good medicine might be able to provide.
Is this a plea? Yes. It is. But it’s not just for the butcher. It’s for the man. In my world, he’s been a beacon of friendliness and education. He’s a good soul. And that has to be worth something in this life. I hope it’s worth a connection that gets him closer to the medical care he needs.
Hang on, Jimmy.
tableauvivante
Inspector Vino
