The peach weighed in your palm before it’s bought. The basil passed across the counter with unsolicited cooking advice. The vendor insisting — almost flirtatiously — that you smell the tomatoes before making any serious decisions. Someone else warns you off the wrong melon with the urgency of a family intervention. The whole thing runs on appetite, opinion, and off-Broadway theatrics.
And perhaps that’s the charm of it. You leave carrying things that bruise easily and must be eaten imminently, which feels oddly reassuring in an age of shelf life and same-day delivery.
