A week without a trip to the farmers' market is like a week without the sun: it makes me grumpy. I can’t remember the last time I bought produce in a regular grocery store. Sure, I go to the supermarket for eggs, milk, and cereal, but fruits and vegetables come from the farmers. So, what I did other day, shocked me. I tell myself it a was just a transgression.

I was at Costco stocking up on bottled water, protein powder, and toilet paper (why two people need 36 rolls of Northern toilet tissue, I’ll never know). On my way to the protein powder, I passed pineapples, tall, fragrant, ripe pineapples each topped with a crown fit for a king. They had no brown spots, no fuzzy fur on the bottoms—they were perfect. Better yet, they were only $2.99 each. I couldn’t believe it! I put two in my carriage and buried them under the toilet paper.

Not 20 feet later on my way to the water, I passed a mountain of mangoes, whose green and yellow skins were taut and unblemished. Having just paid $1.75 each for some (which weren’t even good), I stopped to check the price -- $8 for a whole case! I debated whether or not to buy them. What would we do with a whole case of mangoes? Would they be sweet? What if they all ripened at the same time?

My first foray into a closer relationship with artichokes began as a work assignment. Drive to Lompoc, California, chat with a farmer, get some pictures and get back to Los Angeles without becoming a part of the daily human-and-metal gridlock. Coffee in hand, I raced up the 5, beating traffic and made it with a few minutes to spare.

Until that point, I categorized artichokes as one of those foods shrouded in history, enjoyed by Romans and Greeks but not necessarily an everyday part of my kitchen. Spiky, thorny, gorgeous yet inhospitable, my little mind was about to be opened to the joys of this thistle.

I spent the day with Steve Jordan. Steve is a man who knows his chokes. In fact, his level of knowledge is quite intimidating. Serious, polite and quiet, Steve is a forth generation California farmer who has been growing artichokes for over twenty years. California grows the majority of artichokes consumed in the United States, and they’ve been grown here since the 1800s when Italian immigrants brought them to the west. The coastal weather of areas like Lompoc and Castroville are perfect for artichokes, and here they thrive like crazy.

I knew last week was going to be a good week. On Monday, I opened my Henry's Market weekly flier and right there on the front page: "California Sweet Corn 3 for $1 - First of the Season."

I dropped everything and ran to Henry's (it doesn't take much to convince me to go to the market).

When I arrived, there was a huge table covered with ears of corn stacked three feet high. It was a beautiful sight. And since it was early in the morning, I could take my sweet time selecting only the fattest ears (perhaps the firemen overslept; oh, well.)

I gently peeled back the tops of the husks and what lay beneath? Thick, plump, creamy white kernels that I could practically taste drizzled with melted butter. I bought six.

They were good; not as sweet as the corn that will arrive later in the summer, but chewy and dense. This is the kind of corn that's ideal to cut off the cob and saute or add to salads and salsas. The easiest and safest way to cut corn off the cob is to cut the ear in half, then stand one half on its steady base and cut toward the cutting board.

Well, I am embarrassed to admit that I got overwhelmed in Whole Foods the other day. Here I am a Food Professional (whatever that is), and the sheer abundance of goodies in the store was just too much for me. Granted, it was a quick stop—I only had 10 minutes to troll the store, as I was on my way to a book signing at Andover Bookstore in Andover, MA. Since we don’t have a Whole Foods on the Island (nor a grocery store anywhere near the size and breadth of this kind), I try to stop in one of these stores when I’m off-Island, mostly to see what the produce selection is like, but sometimes to pick up a specialty ingredient.

So it’s a little frustrating to be in a store with zillions of different products and not much time to peruse them. But honestly, even if I had hours on my hands, or a store like this nearby for regular shopping, I’d still probably be a bit blinded and a tad frazzled by all the colors and sounds and choices and crowds. It’s just a personal preference for me these days—I like things simpler and quieter, and I don’t mind a few less choices.