Visit a city Farmers' Markets and you might think that Old MacDonald is full-time into artisanal baking these days, rather than, you know, digging up those boring, unprofitably old-fashioned vegetable things that grow in the ground. Ee-Aye-Ee-Aye-Ho-Hum.
Gooseberry pies, gluten-free muffins, Jalapeno donuts and even soybean gelato: these are the staples of the urban Farmers' Market, where bare feet and clogs have replaced rubber boots.
True, there is a nervous looking man at one of the stalls in the back who does a decent business selling apples with bits of twig and leaf still clinging to the core. Kale is currently enjoying a boom, brussel sprouts are having a small renaissance, and a stick-insect of woman in ballet slippers might occasionally buy a nobbly carrot. But that's about it for traditional arable crops. Nobody cares about turnips, potatoes or green beans.
I bought a Farmers Market souvenir t-shirt featuring a cartoon illustration of broccoli designed to look like a tree underneath which a family were sheltering. After all, I felt I had to buy something, even if it was false advertising.