Ever since I was a teenager, I’ve worked in the fresh produce business in one manner or another.
You name it, it seems I’ve done it: buying, selling, marketing — for foodservice and in retail. None of that makes me particularly special, except when I’m at an occasional backyard cookout gathering where someone might ask: “How do you pick out a ripe cantaloupe, anyway?” As I explain what to look for in the mysterious world of melons, a few others lean in to listen, like the old financial-planner TV commercial: “My broker is E.F. Hutton, and he says …”
I mean, come on. I wonder if nonproduce people even give the finer points of our profession much thought.
However, the question that most often follows is this: “Oh, you’re a produce man? I bet you have the best backyard garden!”
Actually, no. Not this produce man, anyway.
To me, that’s like asking a letter carrier: “Oh, you work for the Postal Service? I bet you love to take long walks on Sunday!” It just isn’t going to happen. I mow my lawn and trim the bushes, and that’s the extent of anything that resembles domestic agriculture. Besides, my travel and work schedule don’t allow much gardening time. So, I leave that to the professionals, who do an outstanding job of feeding my family, our nation and beyond.
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I also consider all the backyard gardeners out there (and you know who you are) who just about this time of summer start to pawn off their monster-size zucchini squash on their neighbors. Don’t think for a minute I don’t see you, scurrying up and down the street in the shadows, carrying something heavy.
It doesn’t do any good to ignore the knock at the door. The well-meaning souls simply leave the loaded paper sack on the porch with a “Just thought I’d share” note, punctuated with a smiley face. Ahhhgg!
Sometimes I answer the door without checking to see who it is, and I’m stuck. “Oh, well hey, you’re a produce guy, just thought that you of all people would like some squash!” I do appreciate it. However, they say almost apologetically as they stuff the zucchini as large as torpedo into my arms, like they’re giving up an infant. (Take it, please, I can’t care for it! Oh, my heavens, must I go on?)
The zucchini can be used to make bread, they suggest. Or, I think, it can be used to club someone senseless. I can just imagine the neighborhood police blotter, reporting about some rogue gardeners on the loose, wielding squash in some drive-by zucchini whacking.
I don’t garden for another reason too.
Some in my family grow tomatoes. After they spend months weeding, planting, fertilizing and such — and after battling the elements, hail, insects and much more — I suspect that those tomatoes must cost them a hundred dollars each.
OK, that’s an exaggeration. But I can’t see the point of going to all the time and trouble of gardening when I can duck into the nearby grocer and buy what I need at a reasonable cost. The system works.
Besides, I’ve got friends and neighbors to keep this produce man in ample late-summer supply.
At least with zucchini.
Armand Lobato works for the Idaho Potato Commission. His 40 years of experience in the produce business span a range of foodservice and retail positions.
