According to a family member who accompanies me to local farmer’s markets, fellow customers are frequently puzzled by my shopping style. I will root through an entire pile of pears, kiwis, squash, plums, tomatoes - what have you in order to find the perfectly photogenic item. Sometimes the person behind me will politely ask what’s wrong with all the others, and then I tell them.

Many times they think I know what to look for regarding taste. At the Palo Alto market Saturday, I leaned over the crate of mixed pears. The lady across the box was also picking through, and as I began my typical culling, she handed me a large Bosc pear. ‘Is good’, she said. ‘You eat.’

I nodded, but she was persistent. She pressed it in my hand. ‘Taste good, fruit salad I make. Some better than apple. Cream.’ I smiled and held on to it while I looked at the red ones.

‘Red good too?’ she asked. I looked kind of blank. What usually happens is, I get the fruit home where it might sit for a few days, depending on how many things I’m photographing. Lots of times, fruits get dark spots or worse, and they are relegated to the compost heap before I have a taste. So I hated to tell her I didn’t know what these were like.

At this particular market, I run into elderly ladies who seem more in need of conversation than food. At times, I need the dialog just as much too.

I did indeed buy the pear, even though it failed my picturesque test. But I think I will take a photo now that it has a personality, so to speak, attached.