Locally Grown Girl

allergens

When I was a kid, I would get hives if I ate strawberries. That went away, and I got hives from eating chocolate. That also went away. I know that these went away because I ate the food again. Then the itchy mouth that I would get from pecans and walnuts turned into anaphylaxis. That has not gone away. Then I ate some amazing oysters, and ended up with violent vomiting for 36 hours and very painful weeklong rash that covered more than half my body. It clicked that an earlier bout of what was thought to be food poisoning might have been a reaction to some cooked mussels. 

I'm careful about such things, but I'm also more informed than most. I've done a lot of research and know that there isn't really such a classification as "tree nut"--there are drupes, like almonds and pistachios (related to stone fruits), and hazelnuts are related to birch trees, while chestnuts are closer to oaks and beeches. Cashews are their own weird thing, as are coconuts. Pine nuts are the seeds from any number of pine tree species. I can eat all of these with nothing but delight. Brazil nuts, pecans and English walnuts send me into anaphylaxis. No idea about macadamia nuts; I've never had one. When I first ate a pistachio, I did so when I had my epi-pen in hand, and a clear schedule for the evening, and the consent of my husband, who was up for rushing me to the ER if necessary. I totally get that I'm the weirdo with this attitude. Life is a gift, and life is also a short-term problem. I wear my seat belt, but I don't live in a bubble. 

I also know a lot of people who lie about allergies. Being allergic is a socially acceptable way to get out of eating something you don't want to; this is not a secret. It's seen as more polite than just saying you don't like something, chefs in particular here it all the time. There are also a lot of parents, some I know well and some I only read about, who claim life-threatening allergies in their kids, when what they really mean is "when I took my kid to be tested, the doctor scared the crap out of me." The kid has never actually had anaphylaxis, they simply had a very reactive test done. Allergies being as changeable as they are, a test when they're 5 could be irrelevant when they are 6; in my experience as a patient, allergists are not always forthcoming about this, because they don't want to be liable in case of a horrible incident.

As a non-parent, there are days when "life-threatening allergies" sounds not unlike "my kid is a genius." Some of what I hear presented as fact--like a kid can't even be in the same room as a peanut--I really wonder about. I find it interesting that I can physically handle walnuts with no problems at all, but any sort of contact between nut juice and those oh-so-absorbent tissues in my mouth has my gums bleeding, my eustachian tube on fire, and my mouth exploding in pain within seconds. An actual piece of nut, chewed and swallowed, equals a visit from an EMT.  Yes, you over-protective parent folks, your kid will also get into Hogwarts, win an Olympic medal and play Carnegie Hall--assuming they're not killed by a nearby peanut in elementary school. When parents get into those absurd one-upsmanship conversations about how special and/or fragile their darling child is--well, as someone who is generally an eavesdropper in those conversations, they sound like idiots. Today's parents tend to be a fearful bunch. And when you combine this fear with the nationwide tendency to dumb down the food our kids eat--chicken nuggets, pre-cut apple slices, mac-n-cheese--well, it looks like another form of helicopter parenting, and as such deserves no approval. 

This sounds like I am a cruel and compassionless jerk, which I am not. I go to great lengths to feed people food they can eat, and that they will like, even though I have friends and family members who are variously low-carb, low-fat, low-salt, low glycemic index, vegan, vegetarian, pescetarian, soy-free, dairy-free, gluten-free and sugar-free--or just run-of-the-mill picky eaters--and it is absurdly complicated to feed them all. I also hope that my cavalier attitude about my own allergies provides a different perspective. Having a food allergy is not like having cancer. It's easy to work around, it's not a death sentence, it's not a "fight" to "win" sort of idea, and for the most part it's not even that big of a deal. It's more like being a natural redhead--you're a bit of a freak of nature, and you should live with it for a while, until your body changes again. And yes, I just called myself a freak of nature, and I do not hate myself or those I know with allergies. It's not a great evolutionary tactic, you know? 

It's sweet and well-intentioned when parents go to lengths to provide kids' classrooms with "allergen-free food" but I wonder--how are the kids who can't eat almonds cleared to eat apricot fruit leather? What about kids like me, who got hives from strawberries, or the guy I know in England who's allergic to pears, of all things, or the kid who thanks to a rough start in life has oral aversion and eating is a real struggle? How do veggies and a bowl of hummus help a woman who can't eat garlic? The made-up term "allergen-free" relieves some parents, but it certainly doesn't mean it's all-inclusive. If the US suddenly got an influx of SE Asian or Japanese immigrants, whose populations have a much higher rate of rice allergies, then suddenly the gluten-free mixes would be a big problem. And meanwhile, Seattle's in the midst of a whooping cough epidemic because we've lost our herd immunity, and I've read that Vashon Island has lost its herd immunity to polio. You don't get your kid immunized against polio, but you worry about peanuts? Your theoretical priorities are utterly fucked up. 

What I would love to see: a culture where medical science helped people cope with fear, rather than inspired fear. Inclusiveness without smugness, and celebratory group activities that didn't revolve entirely around food. A balance of personal responsibility and societal support. A new way of talking about food, so people didn't have to lie about allergies to be served food they liked. An agreement that there is no such thing as perfect health, and that minor ailments like diarrhea, a rash or a headache are both avoidable and not the end of the world if they do happen. 

grumbling

I should apparently change this to the food/grammar blog. But please, bear with me a moment: Refrigerator is a fairly modern word. I know my grandmothers both had iceboxes. My dad might've been a teenager before getting one (he's now 80-something), and they were becoming slowly more common through the 20s and 30s as different types of cooling systems were invented. (If you really care, go enjoy this Timeline of Low-Temperature Technology at Wikipedia).

Anyway. The fridge didn't really come into being as ubiquitous until post-WW2. So the word "fridge" is quite recent. 
So why the hell does it have a d, and word refrigerator does not?
I think since it's so recent the general excuse of "English is a terrible language" doesn't really fly. This is more like willful idiocy.  

Cap'n, frowning: I don't think I like this. This ham tastes really weird. 
Me, puzzled: That is corned beef. You big dope. 

It is times like this that I remember Cap'n's utter horror when I said something like, "oh, there was more than one moon walk? I had no idea."  And then secretly amuse myself by thinking how it's totally reasonable to miss a few decades of the space program. But how on earth can someone confuse ham and corned beef?

Priorties, people!  

Baking: A Manifesto

I want to lay out my arguments for something I've been insisting on for years to individuals. The conversation goes something like this:
Friend: I'm intimidated by baking. You have to be so precise. It's not like cooking. Cooking is art; baking is science. 
Me: You are wrong. Stop justifiying your fear and/or willful ignorance. Take this warm, freshly baked cookie and shut up.

Depending on the person, I may be slightly more polite or encouraging, but that's only on the outside. 

This whole "baking is a science, cooking is an art" idea is one of the biggest myths of the food world. They both have absolute rules, and they both have basic techniques that allow tremendous flexibility within a framework. Both are based on chemistry and physics and a touch of botany and biology (microbiology, in the case of yeast baking). Both, in the hands of the right person, are an art. 

What are the origins of this myth? It all got going around the turn of the 20th century, when numerous baking-related shifts were happening in this country, coupled with the world-changing scientific developments of the Industrial Revolution. Between the 1860s and 1900s, the "domestic arts" became the "domestic sciences." As part of the efforts of first wave feminists to have women's work recognized as having equal value with men's work, schools were springing up all over the East Coast, concerned with teaching future cooks and housekeepers about germ theory (first presented to the world by Pasteur in 1864) and how and why to use measuring cups (invented in 1879). Precision was key, and imprecision could be deadly--that's how critical women's work became. Louisa May Alcott fans should recognize these ideas--just think of Rose learning how to make "a wholesome loaf" for her beloved uncle, or the patty pans of Little Men. 

The American Women's Home (1869) by Catherine Beecher and Harriet Beecher Stowe is a great example of this--suggesting that Mother's bread was frequently a blackened and inedible blob, and possibly unhealthy to boot; bread baked by immigrant maids was likely to cause the family to drop dead on the spot. The book refers to "savages" boiling lumps of flour and water and saying "Man eat dis. He no die." In the same chapter, they write "the unknown horrors of dyspepsia from bad bread are a topic over which we willing a veil." By turning to science, poor ignorant mothers and even poorer maids everywhere could spare their families or future employers malnutrition, disease, and those unknown horrors of dyspepsia.

Yes, the insistence on science in the kitchen affected cooking, too--resulting in generations of tough, overcooked meat. But bread was more than half the diet for most of America (the Beechers considered bread to be the fundamental item for their chapters on healthy food and good cooking), and baking benefitted more directly from the use of measuring cups, so science took over baking to a larger degree than in cooking. Good Housekeeping began publishing in 1885, and opened its test kitchen in 1900; I dug up a fine GH lesson in breadmaking from 1912 that manages to be funny, helpful, guilt-inducing and vaguely terrifying all at once. 

In 1906, the Pure Food Act came into being. Today, we think of this as devoted to the meatpacking industry, but there's another broad component: the PFA made it illegal to make, move or sell adulterated food. Today, that means melamine from China--but in 1906, it primarily meant shoddy bakers making their bread cheaper by adding chalk or sawdust or whatever was cheap and vaguely flour-like in composition.

There was plenty of public fury over cheating bakers, but rather than encouraging city riots against neighborhood bread shops, the more general tone tried to be one of education, tied to everyone's favorite teacher, consumer-driven shame. Good Housekeeping created its Bureau of Food, Sanitation and Health in 1913. Today, a word association game would add in the words "meat" and "bacteria"--but again, Americans ate drastically less meat a century ago than they did today. Their word association would lead them to add "germs", "canned goods" and "bread." 

The PFA also affected flour companies. A 1920s cookbook from Salina, Kansas that belonged to my great-grandmother (it's too fragile to scan, or I would supply images) includes several ads for flour. There's "the old reliable family flour" versus "scientifically milled from select Kansas turkey hard wheat" versus "success in your kitchen is assured if you use Robin's Best Flour". There's also a "scientific rotary fruit and vegetable press" (it's just a food mill)...and in the realm of irrelevant oddities, there's an ad for "milk-fed poultry." These ads laid the groundwork for my last point in the myth building. 

We can't escape baking mixes. The earliest were for custard, followed by pancakes and biscuits; cakes were later, kicking off in the 1930s but not really taking off until after World War II. For comparison, Hamburger Helper--the closest cooking version of a baking mix I can think of--wasn't introduced until 1971! I've read that the removal of bad-tasting powdered eggs were key in making the baking mixes popular, in part because of the taste but also because, supposedly, women wanted to feel like they were doing more than just adding water to a mix. The interesting thing that is tied to these mixes is the decades-long ad campaign targeted towards promoting their convenience and reliability--which nicely followed up on the earlier messages from the flour companies. By the time women began working out of the home in larger numbers (around the time that Hamburger Helper came into being), cake mixes got the missing touch of guilt--you might work, but you can still show your kids you love them with a cake, which is just as perfect and capable as you are yourself. 

What we've got is 130 years of baking-related fear, driven in part by genuine food safety issues, but primarily by advertising campaigns. It's absurd, and certainly not what the creators of "domestic science" schools intended. It's time to get over it. 

I've baked nearly my whole life; when I begged for an Easy-Bake oven, mom told me to use the stove. My brother and I were very early readers, and when I was about 4, we shared his Betty Crocker kid's cookbook--I loved making snickerdoodles. Around the age of 10, we had a discussion about why most of the jars in mom's spice cabinet didn't show up in our cookie recipes; the result was god-awful oregano cookies. The holiday classic Chocolate Crinkles, we still call Chocolate Glop Cookies, because the first time we baked them, we missed the line about "refrigerate for at least 3 hours." They were still tasty--just thin and chewy, and not very pretty. I still have accidents, like the time I used double the salt in my regular (very brown sugar heavy) chocolate chip cookies and everyone went nuts--so hello, salted caramel chocolate chip cookies. 

The rules that exist in baking are no more difficult or stringent than those for cooking. The technique for puff pastry is no more complicated than properly butterflying a chicken. Sauces are flexible, and can be adjusted at the last second for flavor--so can cookies, right up to the point that you put them in the oven. More vanilla or salt? A bit more flour? Not lemony enough, needs more juice and/or zest and/or oil? I do that all the time. Just like cooking, you can't actually undo what you've done, but there's plenty of tinkering. And pie crust? Good lord, it's a little different every time you make it. So is marinara sauce.

The importance of measuring cups has lately been overtaken by people insisting that scales are vastly superior to measuring cups. This is simply a sign that nerds rule the world, not that you can't bake delicious things without a scale. Case in point: I tested a doughnut recipe for a friend, and didn't quite get that her flour measuring instructions weren't the dip/sweep method. What I ended up with had too much flour--more like a deep-fried cinnamon roll. Obviously, this is not a bad thing to eat; my neighbors happily gobbled what my own household couldn't finish. Many people might even prefer my accident to a doughnut; it had a lovely tender crunch rather than the soft, light cushion that is a Pershing. Is it what the recipe developer intended? Not at all. Was I lazy, confused and imprecise? Yep. Was it delicious? Absolutely. 

And really--isn't the goal of all bakers to make delicious things to eat? It's no more a precise science than all cooking. Learn the minimal basic rules, follow a few recipes, come up with your own ideas, and go from there. Just don't put oregano in the cookies. 

unfair

I tend to think about my food intake only in terms of what tastes good, and what I'm in the mood to eat. There will be an occasional week when I live on candy; there might be another week when all I eat is tea and homemade half-wheat bread. I go on Thai food binges, Tastykake binges, potato salad binges, granola binges, shakshouka binges, kale binges, or even sugar pea and fresh cherry binges. Every week is likely to bring at least one day of a 90% cheese diet. It's been this way for a long time, although the dishes vary on what I've newly discovered and (commonly as a young adult), what I can afford. 

For more than a decade, I've been what I think of as a too-regular user of restaurants. I was a food critic back in 2000-2002, and since then much of my job has revolved to some degree around professionally-cooked food, with all its secret butter and salt, and frequently giant portions and generous amounts of booze. I've come to realize in the last couple of years that in comparison to my slightly younger friends, I really don't eat out that often. It's weird to me that people I like would rather eat grocery store sushi than stir-fry some vegetables in about 10 minutes, but that's how it seems to be. 

It was 2002ish that a physician's assistant and I had an entertaining exchange about my job and my body. Me: I'm a restaurant critic. Her: So how come you not fat? Me: Well, I weigh more than I should. Her, with the pursed mouth, tilted-down chin and raised eyebrows that signify Truths Getting Told: Honey, we allllll weigh more than we should. How come you not fat? That bit of awesomeness was about 20 pounds ago, give or take. I'd be surprised if she said that today; that extra 20 pounds pushes me into the realm I think of as officially fat. I don't fret about it; when the sun shines again, I'll be walking more and gardening more and most of that 20 will fade away and all my pants will be saggy once more. But as I get older, I have stopped to consider that perhaps it's time to think about the details of nutrtion a little bit, rather than assuming that I can--Tastykake binges aside--trust my cravings to steer me towards whatever my body happens to be in need of. 

So, having a new doctor and it being a couple years since I went through the medical basics, I just went in for a thorough set of blood tests, checking my liver, cholesterol, glucose--all those things that based on my diet, one would expect to find troublesome. Nope. Cholesterol's awesome, with nearly ideal division of hdl/ldl/triglycerides. Glucuse is smack-dab in the middle of a very broad range of acceptable. All the little minerals are right where all the little minerals should be. I do note that my total cholesterol, while still completely fine, has gone up slightly over the years, so I think I might stop using half-and-half in my tea every morning. Will it destroy my quality of life to switch to whole milk? I doubt it. And if that little change keeps the number steady from year to year, then awesome. 

Considering that Cap'n's in great shape--no "I weigh more than I should" quotes from him--and has cholesterol that's more than 100 points higher than mine--and he eats vastly more regularly and more sensibly than I--and gets regular cardiac exercise--I have to believe that the genetic luck of the draw is key. Sure, a totally lousy red-meat-based diet and carrying more than 50 pounds "more than I should" will likely screw with anyone, regardless of their genetic luck. And even though I eat really erratically, I very rarely drink soda or juice, barely eat commerically processed food (oh, those Tastykakes), switched to grass-fed beef 12 years ago, and eat a big variety of fruits and vegetables throughout the year. I have come to believe that these are generally good things to do, but that's in part because they're choices that make me happy and comfortable. 

Still, this makes me want to write a book called the It Doesn't Fucking Matter Diet. I already have a follow-up title in mind: Finding Health Through Idiocy (and Tastykakes).  

the planet is just so hungry

There is a super cool exhibit at UW's Burke Museum right, called Hungry Planet. The guts of this mobile exhibit are made of Peter Menzel's cool photos of what families and their week's food look like around the world. No surprise--the US has a lot of fast food, a billion gallons of soda and beer and just four people. Japan's has a ton of plastic packaging. Ecuador's grocery shopping involves the family mom strapping 100 pounds of potatoes to her back and walking it home across a mountaintop. The photos combine voyeurism with liberal guilt in a compelling way. 

I got rather spazzily excited about it all, and started a project for work about it, called Hungry City: Seattle. I took a photo of my week's food (with a TON of caveats). You might dig it. Find it here. 

I don't mean for this post to seem all self-promotional bullshitty; it's just that I don't really want to rewrite the whole work-blog entry here, and the Burke really did get me all spazzily excited. You should go see the exhibit; it's around 'til the first week in June or thereabouts. I'm really glad I don't have to buy drinking water or schlep 100 pounds of potatoes on my back while my husband leads a donkey home from the store, which is many roadless miles away. Three cheers for first world problems, like my frustration regarding the cheese selection in my immediate neighborhood. 

what can't you do in a shipping container?

First I learned about Stockbox. Which is brilliant. Even the New York Times thinks they're worth paying attention to. 

Today brings bliss: pop-up restaurants and a beer garden in a stalled-out construction project. I know of a few stretches where this would be really cool--frequently in areas that aren't really in neighborhoods so much as in between neighborhoods--not necessarily walkable, but missing out on annoying NIMBYs who'd freak out at the idea of people drinking a beer outside. 

vive la revolution

Seattle's revolutionarily-inclined sugar fiends should know this: See's is right in the middle of the kooky Occupy Seattle action. And See's is owned by Warren Buffett.

In case you need more explanation: he's one of the good one-percenters. Do not confuse him with Jimmy Buffett (why on earth would anyone want to be parrot-headed?) or my best-ever drag queen name, Fajita Buffet (rhymes, in this case, with "ole!" rather than "miss muffet's tuffet."). 

reaction

I have this tendency towards skepticism. Sometimes it's beneficial, but it's also made me a less-than-great student (I don't believe what teachers tell me), a resistant medical patient (what, exactly, is the science behind your advice, and what is its source?) a less-than-cooperative employee (you really think that's a good business model?), and an accidentally unsupportive friend (you think he's 'the one'? gimme a break.) 

The tendency comes out loud but not especially proud in nutritional matters. I am not an expert, I am just a skeptic. When it was determined that my beloved husband had hereditarily high cholesterol, I was furious that his nutritionist was promoting almonds. The new (at the time, around 2007) study that almonds had all these great health properties? That was sponsored by the Almond Board of California. She was also a vegetarian, and was pushing him to eat less meat as well. Except we don't eat meat every day as it is. There were one or two pro-fiber changes he made thanks to her suggestions, but it had zero effect on his cholesterol numbers. More fruit every day isn't a bad idea--but it wasn't the solution he needed. And almonds are not a miracle food. No food is a miracle food, no matter what a marketing commission-sponsored study might say. 

Before that episode, I spent a few years reviewing numerous diet books for Amazon. They're all essentially the same--more vegetables, and either more whole grains and less meat, or fewer grains and more meat. A gazillion dollar industry is built on this. It drove--drives--me crazy. During these years, and beyond, I dealt with a deeply frustrating physical issue. At its root was an "incompetent disk" (I love that phrase) in my lower spine that caused all sorts of referred nerve pain and direct low back pain. Ultimately, I had the disk removed and that part of my spine fused, and had a terrific physical therapist and aside from lingering nerve damage, all is now well. But those pre-fusion years--years spent trying to delay or avoid that surgery entirely--were awful. Every healer I visited had different solutions, and different ideas for the cause. It was fibromyalgia. It was all in my head. It was stress. It was just something to learn to live with. It was body mechanics. It was curable by opiates, or vitamins, or antidepressants, or yoga, or some experimental medical procedure (most famous one: frying the disk with concentrated heat and letting it regrow) or cortisone shots. Finally, an impossibly painful procedure was able to determine that a single disk was at fault. I had great doctors, and terrible doctors, and finally the big surgery was what I needed to get better. 

So I get, first hand, the idea that sometimes drastic solutions are what works to solve health problems. And I get, more theoretically, that dietary changes can be those drastic solutions. Celiacs need to avoid gluten, diabetics need to watch sugars of all kinds, those with high cholesterol should balance their fat and fiber intake. But I am deeply, deeply resistant to the recent "elimination diet" methods that are currently everywhere in my circle of acquaintance. 

First, there is of course an obvious and well documented history of this country's food-based health fads. We are a nation of plenty, and because immediate starvation has only rarely, and only in the short term, been a national issue, most of our citizens find other ways to fret over food. Mr. Kellogg founded an accidental empire on his grain-based dietary advice. When I was a kid, half of my fellow students were claimed by their moms to be hypoglycemic, and thus in need of a midmorning fruit snack. (I have not met a hypoglycemic in at least 25 years. Where did they go?) Now, it seems that everyone is allergic to something. And when I say "something" I mean broad categories of proteins. People report experiencing symptoms that in general sound to me like being human. Mild headaches, occasional digestive upsets, lower-than-ideal energy, sporadic itchiness, a bad mood. They eliminate all sorts of foods in search of an ideal state of health, a personal skin-enclosed utopia. There are some allergy tests that do not have, to me, a particularly reliable record--around 70% accuracy. In school, that's what--a C minus? Not good enough in my book. 

I'm not saying that there are never reasons to eliminate a broad category of food from your diet. The last time I ate oysters, I ended up with violent vomiting for 24 hours followed by a bright red rash that coated me from clavicle to patella for a week. I visited my terrific allergist, and sure enough: no more mollusks for me. That was not the case a few years ago, and I assume (and hope) that it could easily change in the future. I also ended up being visited by the paramedics after eating a Brazil nut. For years, it was "no tree nuts"--although I knew I could eat all the almonds I liked, so this never made sense. Turns out there is no botantical "tree nut" category--so many things we know as nuts are utterly different. Variations on this are why some people get a rash from cow's milk but can eat chevre 'til...well, 'til the cows come home. I get that bodies are different, and reactions are different, and just because to me an allergy means "hives and breathing trouble" that isn't necessarily what it means to everyone. 

After my years of crippling pain, and that damned pain scale, I know that sometimes even a minor reduction in feeling lousy is worthwhile. When I signed up for the spinal fusion, I was told to expect a 3-point reduction in pain on that chart. Considering that doped to the gills I averaged a 7, a 3-point shift sounded awesome. But now, my daily experience is ballpark of a 3--if I don't take my meds, my legs are pins/needles to varying degrees, and without careful attention to posture and regular stretching, I am guaranteed a severe, life-affecting headache. It's how I roll, and I don't need opiates or accupuncture. I also don't feel the need to pursue an ideal state of zero on that pain chart. Some days, I experience that, and it's great. But it's unlikely that it'll ever be the norm, and I don't honestly care that much. When you have lived for years at the other end of that scale, a 3 is great. A 3 is dancing, and long dinners out, and gardening, and going for walks, and using public transit again, all on the same day. It's not thoughtless perfect health, and that's fine. 

For me, the only circumstances where it would be worth elimating gluten, dairy, eggs, soy or whatever would be if I was down past 5 on that scale, on a regular daily basis for a lengthy period of months, and it was proven to me after a couple of weeks of avoiding that food category that I was getting that 3-point improvement. I do see that in some cases, and good for you if you're one of them--dealing with a chronic health issue is no picnic. Be of stout heart and firm mind and best of luck to you. But when I see people living utterly normal lives trying these diets in search of magic, it drives me crazy. If it was the 1600s you'd belief that baths were unhealthy; if you lived in the 1700s you'd believe in balacing your humors via bloodletting and laxatives; if you lived in the 1800s you'd chew each bite 100 times and drink sulphorous water (another laxative); if you lived in the 1920s you'd have decided it was all because of your mother, and if it was the 1970s you'd be hypoglycemic. 



 

enough already

A while back, I ranted about the word bounty. Very little attention was paid to it, which is probably the right response in light of my Andy Rooney-ish attitude. But earlier this week, I got a press release that said "thanks to the abundance of bounty..."

Which is saying "thanks to a lot of a lot..."

Seriously. Enough with bounty. Crops, harvest and produce are all very nice words when you are trying to describe the piles of vegetable ingredients at farm stands and farmers markets.

In related not-exciting food grammar: I still prefer farmers' market, but the national farmers market association has adopted farmers market as the correct term. If it's good enough for them, I'll surrender that apostrophe. Although I'll miss it. I do wish that every market would do the same--there are markets in our state that use farmers, farmer's and farmers' in their names.