Tales of Ricky (#1)

Ricky wandered the Farmers' Market looking for ripe and sweet onions. From what he could see, 8 out of the 10 produce stands advertised Walla Walla sweets. Each one claimed to be sweeter than the last. And so he bought one onion from every farm.

He carried his eight individual bags of onion, his loaf of artisan bread, and a wedge of rosemary chevre from the market's only cheesemonger to an empty table in the beer garden. He ordered a Twin Twin Forks Brewing Hopalope IPA made with Galaxy and Mosaic hops, tipped the bar tender a dollar and walked back to his table. His food was undisturbed. He knocked back half his beer in one long sustained gulp and then started carefully cutting onions, one grower at a time. He would eat a single slice of an onion, cleanse his pallet with bread, cheese, and beer, make notes on the taste and smell of the onion in his notebook, and then move on to the next onion.

He tried them all and found none to his satisfaction. None were sweet enough, none were balanced enough. He packed up his leftover bread and cheese, slugged down the warm remains of his beer, and headed to his car. His trunk was full of flash drives, passports and international money orders. He drove directly toward the freeway on ramp and headed southwest towards Las Vegas. He wouldn't be back. Not to this Farmers' Market anyway. There was another highly-rated one a couple towns away, right on the Idaho border. He would stop there if he had time.