The heartbreak of micro-amnesia

This week, microgreens sadly fed the compost, not me.
This week, sadly, microgreens fed the compost, not me.

Tuesday, after having counseled the 30-some CSA picker-uppers who visited Moore Brothers Monday that they ought to use their portion of fragile microgreens within 24 hours, I dutifully packed mine into my lunch bag. I’d assembled the fixings for a lovely salad: butter lettuce, spinach, and scallions from the CSA, a little Red Oak from my own garden, a knob of goat cheese, and the whole clamshell container of those spicy baby radish leaves.

And then, halfway over the Ben Franklin Bridge, I realized I’d forgotten the whole kit – just left it sitting on my kitchen counter. Where it would sit all day. With a projected high of 85 degrees. Blast.

The lettuces were actually fine when I got home – I guess because I’d stored them in a damp muslin bag. But the microgreens were definitely funky beyond redemption. With an apology to the farmers, and a promise to do better next time, I put them straight into the compost barrel, so maybe they will feed me somewhere on down the line.

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