I love Duffield’s. Every time I go to Pitman, I arrive late-afternoon or early-evening, and I’m out at Duffield’s pretty much the next day.
Let me save you the trouble of blowing up this picture – it says “Duffield’s Farm, Where Jesus Is Lord”. The lord is watching over the vegetables, and he’s watching over the meat counter (Boar’s Head products, deli salads). He’s watching over the cider donuts, and he’s watching over the fruits. He’s watching over the honey and the preserves and the Tastycakes too.
Something I do feel differently about these days is the cake selection – I’m just not that sure that god (Jesus, the holy spirit, etc) meant for us all to be fat in the way implied by eating great quantities of highly artificial pound cakes with rainbow sprinkles (jimmies, we used to call ’em). This is the body of Christ. This is the body of Christ.
Actually, this is probably the body of Christ too (I’m not so up on these theological matters). And for quarts of freshly-picked strawberries, I could consider maybe getting religion.
And asparagus? Don’t even get me started. This and peas are the great pleasures of Spring for me. Lamb should be, but Americans don’t love their lamb that much, and meat is barely seasonal in America these days, more’s the pity. It’s such a shock to get back here, come to Duffield’s, see some huge Americans, and buy pounds and pounds of fresh vegetables at prices that Japanese farmers wouldn’t even consider stooping to if their fields had a clear line of sight to Fukushima #1.
No nukes around here, nosirree. Oh, except Salem #1 and #2 and Hope Creek. But other than those three, nosirree.
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