As a young boy I would love to listen as my Grandma Martha told me stories of her youth. I'd sit in the kitchen while she prepared supper for Grandpa and me as late afternoon shadows danced through the kitchen curtains. Earlier, we had strolled the avenue in Hoboken as if it were an outdoor market. First we went to Anthony, the butcher with his wood counter and high stools for me to sit on while I waited.

Then next door was Appicella's. They always had a line of people waiting for the huge shrimp and lump crabcakes.

She had a friend who made his ravioli fresh and his mozzarella cheese even fresher. If he was in a good mood (and he always was) he would give me a taste. Even now, when I bite into my mozzarella, it brings me back to those walks and talks with Grandma.

We then walked down Willow Ave and turned left into Marie's Bakery where you could smell the hot bread floating down 2nd street.

My grandmother is no longer here, but the streets and the shops still exist... for now. Today, enjoy getting to know your farm market vendors and chatting with your neighbors.

Another Story

A True Hoboken love Story

When I was a little boy I would sit at my grandma Martha's table savoring the meal that she had cooked for me. Many times she would come to my chair and hug me for no particular reason. When I asked her why, she would tell me that it was because she got so much happiness from watching me eat and enjoy her food.

The Hoboken that I remember was the Hoboken of the 1980's. Things were changing, but we still had a vegetable peddler who would sell produce on the back of an old pick up truck. I would watch for hours as Louie Sancio "held court" on the sidewalk, talking and laughing, and making a living the same way he did back in the 1930's. "I feed dem and dae feed me," he would say and then move to his next stop. I learned a lot from Louie.

I graduated from High School and put myself through college by spending my days distributing gourmet food to many family owned produce stands in NJ and my nights playing bass guitar in a Rock Band.

In 1992 a customer named Peter asked me if I wanted to be part of a local farmers' market in the suburbs. I did not really know what a farmers' market was.but I figured that they didn't know me either. I asked my friend Nicky (whose family made Mozzarella Cheese by hand for generations) to help me make 50lbs of Mozzarella to sell at this market. "Don't they have their own Mozzarella?" he asked. "Apparently not," I said, "because they keep asking for HOBOKEN MOZZARELLA." The next week when I showed up for the market I was surprised to see a line of people waiting for my special MUTZ. I knew that I was onto something big! Anthony the butcher from across the street on willow Ave let me use his walk in fridge and I was in business. Because of the success at this market I quickly gained a following of gourmet aficionados and was asked to participate in Farm Markets throughout New Jersey and New York. And almost fifteen years later.we are still here at your local market celebrating summer and fall with all of our friends.

The same year I started my business I met my wife in Hoboken at a bar on 4th Street on Church Square Park (you may know it). Sometimes when my son and I play in that same Park I show him the place where his parents met.

When I look at my son devouring a ball of my fresh Mozzarella Cheese or asking for another one of my "special" sirloin hamburgers, I finally understand what my grandmother was talking about and truly feel connected to her spirit. Then I give my son a great big hug.

It is an honor to feed your family

Brad

And Yet Another Story

The line of people at our stand was growing. It was the first warm day of the season and it seemed the whole town converged on the local Farmers' Market to take home Juicy New Jersey tomatoes, a crusty loaf of bread, and Hoboken Farms World Famous Fresh Mozzarella Cheese. The problem was this. I had run out of cheese.

Why?

Who knows?

But the line got longer, and the sun shone brighter, and babies began to cry.

I called "Uncle” Sal and he promised that he could make some more cheese and deliver it soon.

I explained to the line of waiting customers that with a little patience and understanding we all could get through this troubling event together.

Then it happened like a black out in July.

Neighbors talked to neighbors, kids played together and shared without whining, strangers introduced themselves, babies were content, scores were settled, love blossomed, and universal tranquility prevailed on this Saturday morning on "The Mozzarella Line" at the local Farmers' Market. And then I realized what the Farmers' Market represented for me. Years ago in Hoboken all the kids would be out in the street playing, adults would sit on stoops and talk about their lives. In the morning Mr. Tarrantino would walk from his apartment on Adams Street, procure the hot bread from Dom's Bakery on Grand Street, and drop it off at his daughter's stoop before the grandkids went to school. Families and neighborhoods would ebb and flow together and the seasons they go round and round.

Welcome back to your Farmers' Market and say hello to your neighbor.

Eat Love Brad