The first cool morning of fall always makes me a little sad, mostly because I assume the good produce is about to disappear until June.
Then I remembered a place in New Jersey where the tomatoes may vanish for a while, but the doors never actually close.
It is a big indoor hall with rows of family-run stalls, the smell of fresh bread drifting past a butcher counter, and shoppers pushing carts like they have done it their whole lives…