When so many farmers' market vendors all seem to be selling the same produce, choosing which one to buy your food from can be difficult. A good farmers' market sport is actually having a seat on the outskirts of the market and just watching the indecisive customers wandering back and forth between stalls. It can be kind of hilarious as long as it's not you. Some vendors offer samples, but you'll rarely be able to compare the cucumbers from three different vendors, and you probably won't be sampling the kale since that hearty green needs at least a good blanching or dousing in vinegar and oil to soften it up. All you can do sometimes to decide is rely on loyalty. You find a product or a producer you like and you stick with it.

Now that's tough, because you may find a pretty good tomato, but you'll never know if there's a better tomato on offer at another stall unless you cheat on your first stall. You could buy both, but that feels wrong too. If the other were better, would you leave the first entirely, or still buy some sad tomatoes from the first stall out of pity?

When I met Giovanni I knew he was good...At the first Mile-End Market day he was selling only raspberries. About 3 other stalls were selling raspberries too, but I bought mine from this man. Why? Well, when I met him I was actually busy NOT buying raspberries. I'd sampled some at one of the booths and at another market and wasn't impressed, so I figured raspberries weren't quite in their prime yet and not worth the high price tag. I'd decided to bide my time. He immediately asked me, though: "First time? I don't think I've seen you here before," and he was right. I left without buying any raspberries.

Then the magic of farmers' markets happened - I came back the second week and this man remembered me. It wasn't a fake "were you here last week? I think maybe I recognize you." It was instead a sincere acknowledgment of my return, even though I was wearing my contacts that day instead of my glasses, a very Superman-like change in appearance. So I took a second look at his raspberries.

Some were bigger than the others, and normally to me that's a bad sign. It often means they're genetically modified, like the over-sized everything at normal grocery stores or even the Atwater or Jean-Talon Markets. Except the Mile End market is all organics. So I asked why they were bigger, and he said they were a different varietal of raspberry, a little sweeter...good salesman. So I caved and bought them, and yes, the bigger ones were sweeter, but they were mixed in with smaller ones that I didn't like very much. Still, I somehow managed to get through them/
Now a relationship had been established, so when Giovanni started showing up at the market with fresh corn (ignore the deceptive boxes that say Product of U.S.A. - they are actually all grown on his Quebec farm, but brought to market in the recycled American boxes) I decided to give it a try. I love fresh corn. I was in Appleton, Wisconsin one summer and bought corn by the dozen off the back of a truck. That was the sweetest, most amazing corn I've ever eaten. You don't even cook that corn. I've had good corn since then from the corn guy at Atwater, but so far this year neither his corn nor Giovanni's has compared.

Now the thing is, by now I like this guy so much that I will continue to buy his corn anyway. I mean, it's better than potatoes as far as starchy vegetables go, especially with some lime juice (or butter for non-lactose-intolerant types) and salt, but it's not amazing.

I skipped a week or two of market, and when I went back Giovanni, my vendor, had added cantaloupe to his stock. He also had cherry tomatoes and big juicy (read: potentially watery) beefsteak tomatoes.

"I'm making a zucchini-tomato tiau," I said about the beefsteaks, "so I think these will be perfect." "What's a tiau? Is that Italian?" he asked.

I'd figured it was French, but as the man and I were speaking French and he was obviously Francophone, and still in the dark about tiau, that didn't seem right.

"No, I'm not quite sure. It's from Josée di Stasio's cookbook and it's just tomatoes and zucchini chopped in rounds slow-roasted in olive oil. I speak some Italian and so I don't think it's Italian."

It turns out Giovanni (whose real name is Jean, but he called himself the Italian equivalent - Giovanni - when I asked his name in Italian) did a lot of biking through Italy a couple of years back and still speaks a fair bit of Italian. My Italian's not as good as my French, and my French isn't stellar, but Jean and I managed a little conversation about learning Italian, and visiting the country. There's something beautiful about speaking with another person in a third language, though you both speak the others' first and second languages, for the sheer love of the way the words roll off the tongue.
So I bought his tomatoes, the cherry tomatoes and the beefsteaks, and made my tiau. The beefsteaks were a bit too liquidy and bitter in the tiau so I just took the leftovers and coarsely chopped them in the food processor to make a roasted tomato sauce for pizza and pasta. That worked much better.

I crossed back and forth through the market several times that day and though Giovanni was busy with other customers he always waved me over to continue our Italian conversation. I'd slip out when he had to sell some more corn or tomatoes, but now I know he'll always remember me: "Giornalista! Vieni!" ("Journalist, come here").

I even bought a cantaloupe from him on a whim since he had a truck load of them and I could smell them halfway across the market. I'd tried other Quebec cantaloupes and been disappointed, much like the corn and raspberries, but he gave me a sample of one and it bolstered my courage. Unfortunately he gave me one that didn't have a sweet musk (a sign of a ripe melon), and when I looked at it questioningly, he guaranteed it was good. Well, it was okay. It needed a few more days to ripen. He doesn't have the melon experience of my fruit guy in Jean-Talon, Leopoldo, but he's not Italian. So it's not his fault.

Even with a slightly disappointing cantaloupe, I'll still go back to this farmers' market stall. The quality and prices are good, and the integrity is there, but it's mostly the human element that brings me back; this man remembers me. Maybe his week is a little more interesting (or at least lucrative) if he sees me (and the hundreds of other market patrons he may recognize), and mine a little more complete if I buy corn, tomatoes, cantaloupe, or raspberries from him.