I once dated a man (okay, two dates) who grew up in San Francisco and said that his mother was always one of two places: church or the farmer's market. People out here glow when they talk about the farmer's market as if it was a quasi-religious experience. So I went to the Sunday Market at the Marin Civic Center in San Rafeal. It was like nothing I had ever experienced in the way of food.

I had never before tasted a tomato until I tried the mini-heirlooms sun ripened in NoCal, each with a different tone, some sweeter, some a little sharper.

The peaches were perfection, the strawberries tasted as if they had been dipped in sugar and raspberries came in red and gold. I was a virgin pluquot eater--and immediately loved these hybrids of apricots and plums; many of the squashes I had never seen before, and I wasn't even sure if they were squashes. I recognized vegetables I had seen in pictures--bitter melon, burgundy kohlrabi, chartreuse cauliflower. For produce in this area, the bar was very, very high. If I wanted to add the element of backyard edibles to my garden service, I had better start learning even more rare, more delicious things to grow. I stopped at Nash's Oive Oil stand and sampled a few of his home grown and pressed vinegars and oil.
"You're just dipping your bread, " Nash scolded. "Soak it."
I sampled a light, almost ephemeral oil and imagined it gently tossed with mesclun.
"Okay, how about this one?" I asked. "I think I want it."
"That's the first one you tried," he said. "Taste the creamy one."
This one had a smooth, almost buttery edge to the tasted.
"Ooh, that's the one," I said.
He nodded.
"Could I grow an olive tree on a houseboat in Sausalito?" I asked.
"It might get too damp," he said. "Then you have mildrew."
"Are there organic sprays for this?" I asked.
He shook his head. "No, the spray would totally change the taste of the oil."
I wasn't going to give up this easily.
I had been told figs wouldn't ripen, grapes would mildew, and now olives. There is always something that has adapted. But in the meantime, I tossed my fresh mesclun lettuces, heirloom zebra striped tomatoes, and Sonoma goat cheese in this perfect, creamy oil and he sold me on his balsamic. It's perfect too.