About yesterday: first, the usual Saturday morning market at 9am with freshly baked bread, and which had fermented (proved) in the fridge overnight to go into the oven before 6am. Friday had been a 10-hour kitchen day, and Thursday not much less with double and/or different fare to prep. People shop for different things in the evening than the do during the day. I'll come back to what that meant.
After the Christmas market and the festive season, generally, my stock of artisan soap that's made by a daughter of McGregor, was seriously depleted. When I ordered in early January, she could supply about 50% of the range with the other fragrances and variations needing another four weeks to cure. So, for until yesterday, I had less than half the range on offer and, happily on Friday the remainder of the original order - and more - arrived. It's the news my regular customers have been hoping for - for a while!
Then it was home, unpack, put away and do a bit of tidying up. I also had to pot a fresh batch of cottage cheese as well as cut smaller bits of the ultra mature artisan cheddar that I sell. Before cooking the prepared scotch eggs and baking the fish cakes, I had to
prepare my usual food market crate with everything I need from condiments to mini serving boards and everything in between. That also means storing the things it usually stores, elswhere on gazillions of available sky hooks.
repacking my usual stock box and replacing the marmalades and jams with pickles, chutney and olives
After sweating over a hot gas stove the cooking, it was time to start loading the pickup ute the bakkie with the heavy and non-perishable bits before a quick shower and change.
All that between 12 noon and 4.15pm.
We drove out of the gate to set up just after 5pm.
Our Dutch friends had the stall next door. And that's as close as we got to having a conversation until we all collapsed at the local nearly six hours later.
I served - for those who wanted - both the scotch eggs and with the Asian slaw that was also this week's special #inthejar.
Once my partner in crime arrived with her sweet offering, all hell broke loose. She had to go: she wasn't well. Next thing I knew, I was selling the last fish cake and the final two scotch eggs. I have no photos of her magnificent profiteroles or flourless chocolate cake or... You'll find our full "menu" here.
This is why.
And this.
I have no idea what time that was, but having arrived at 5.30, the first time I looked at my watch was at 8.25.
I am done. Would I do it again? Hell, yes. Fabulous vibe and fantastic village initiative.
Until next time, be well
Fiona
The Sandbag House
McGregor, South Africa
Photo: Selma
Post script
If this post might seem familiar, it's because I'm doing two things:
@artywink
@hive.blog and Canva.