It was either that I was beginning to see the limits of my little local farmer’s market or that I wasn’t in the mood to cook. Sure, I stocked up on a whole mess of produce (Beets, fennel, carrots, celery, broccoli, mixed greens, baby arugula, fresh eggs, pink lady apples. The usual.). But this time the tamale stand beckoned with all the appeal of baby asparagus at the first hint of spring. I bought a few versions: pork and green chiles, chicken, beef. I froze up a bunch and served up the pork and green chile tamales. Violet (for once, not feeling omnivorous) took a pass, but Desmond dove right in. So did I. They had that lovely corn sweetness, some funky porky pork, and just the slightest hint of heat from the chiles. The chiles were mellow enough to not scare off Desmond’s usually sensitive palate; so he ate his tamale and a good portion of mine. It must have been freaky Sunday, as there was another culinary reversal today: at dinner Violet ate and asked for seconds of brussels sprouts. Was it a full moon? Was Venus in retrograde? Was the Goodyear blimp floating over the academy awards in the distance realigning the ions in our corner of L.A.? As is so often the case, there was no explanation.