Since the beginning of time (OK, last summer) Chris and I have argued over the goodness of Cascadian Farm's organic sweet peas. He thinks I'm crazy for calling them "the good peas" and going to as many as three stores in search of them if I'm going to include peas in a dish.
Last Tuesday, we were eating at The Good Fork in Red Hook and the first thing I said when I tasted my sweet mushroom risotto was, "Oh my god, these are the good peas!"
Massive eye roll ensues.
"No one company has the monopoly on good peas," Chris argued.
After a petulant "Uh-huh!" I explained that recently, when babysitting, I'd tasted the baby's pureed peas. I asked the father if they were "the good peas... you know, Cascadian Farm?" They were.
Massive eye roll ensues. Again.
In my ongoing effort to prove I'm right about the things I truly believe in (and god dammit, I believe in these peas), I asked the server if he knew where the restaurant got their peas. He didn't but offered to ask the chef. I heard him over at the window, "Chef, where do you get your peas?" I knew by the look on her face--the look that she was slightly embarrassed to use frozen peas in her dishes--that she could only use one kind. "Cascadian Farm?" our server yelled into the kitchen.
"Yeah, Cascadian Farm," she yelled back with a pleased smile.
Someone else had a pleased smile that night, too.
Thanks to my friend Julie Powell for the awesome title.