I’m very new to this idea of buying locally. The farmer’s market used to scare me. For years I was a timid shopper, unsure of the wild-looking produce, all leafy and stalky and some of it still dirty from the ground in which it grew. The market seemed expensive; I worried about blowing my meager budget. And if I did buy something on a whim because it looked beautiful or tasty, what on earth would I do with it in my own kitchen?
I was a scaredy-cat. Thank goodness I finally got over that this summer.
Evanston’s farmer’s market is my new favorite haunt. The market feels less like a shopping destination and more like a playground with free food. Daphna and I prowl the grounds, picking out tomatoes and peppers, greens and pears. The vendors ply us with slices of fresh apple and samples of berries, or with little squares of chewy, smoky grilled cheese, part melted and still warm with the grill’s kiss. Or if Daphna is hemming and hawing over the flavors of cider sold by a single vendor, a nice young man will pour us samples of all three varieties, letting us sip and discuss, weighing the merits of each. The market is a pre-lunch tasting menu. Having a friend—and not just any friend, but Daphna, my best cooking buddy—with me to sample everything makes the food taste even better.
I know they’re called free samples for a reason, but I feel a little like a thief chewing my way through stolen loot. All this free food makes me swoon with happiness. Farmers at my market exhibit such generosity that I wonder if maybe what they’re really selling is respect and kindness for earth and people. That’s something worth buying, so I dig out my wallet and I fill bags with onions and potatoes, ears of corn, some dainty colorful tomatoes. I fork over my cash and scurry home with my loot.
In my kitchen, I set down my bags. Like a good book-keeper, I tally up the receipt. The total is ten dollars. That can’t be right. I double-check my math. It is right, but I still don’t believe it. I have spent ten dollars for a bag full of the freshest food a city girl can buy. Ten dollars for a morning spent in the open-air sunshine with a dear friend, gossipping about food and new recipes, drinking cider and eating gooey cheese. Ten dollars for a kitchen now fragrant with basil’s grassy perfume. I bought a single bunch of basil for two dollars. “Bunch” is an understatement—it was more like a bride’s bouquet. I walked away with so much basil that I happily added some to Daphna’s loot and yet I still have too much basil! Is there even such a thing as too much basil? Is that like saying I have too much love? I need to give my basil a good home. I’m thinking pesto—a good choice, don’t you think? I can almost taste my sassy homemade pesto, rich with pine nuts and garlic, a green paste bound together by swirls of olive oil. I may consult a cookbook or two, but it will be delightful research—the kind that ends up on slippery pasta and craggy slices of sourdough toast. The kind that makes a person think there really is no such thing as too much basil.
Happy shopping, friends. May your toughest challenge this week be figuring out what to do with your fresh basil.
11 comments:
Ooh, I made a pesto lasagna last week, just mixed the pesto in with the sauce and bam! Instant food coma :) I love your blog, by the way!
You have no idea...try growing some herbs or veggies. Ask Wife about our never ending zucchini supply. Sometimes there can be too much of a good thing.
Ammie, thanks for stopping by! I'm happy to see you here. Say, would you be interested in making ME some pesto lasgana? Hmm? ;-)
Oh, JD, if only I were around to give all those extra garden vegetables a good home. I LOVE zucchini--such an agreeable little thing it is. You and the Wife should check out The Classic Zucchini Cookbook by Andrea Chesman et al. It's an adorably illustrated cookbook with lots of solutions for that pesky zucchini problem.
I will gladly make you a pesto lasagna the next time I hit up the farmers market ;)
Ammie, which farmer's market do you visit? Is it in or near your neighborhood?
I pretty much always go to the one in Lincoln Square; it's the closest one I know of, and it's got decent selection, although no melted cheese samples as far as I know. The Evanston one is great, I wish I felt motivated/had time to ride my bike up there more often!
Zucchinis are a lot like people who do not believe in birth control. It as if Zuchs took God's command to "be fruitful and multiply" waaaay too seriously.
I read an awesome poem about zucchini once by Marge Piercy about trying to get rid of her excess harvest by leaving them in people's mailboxes, in empty baby carriages on doorsteps, etc.
Ammie, I don't think I've been to your farmer's market! I've been to the one in Lincoln Park, which is a great market, but it's a long trip to get there by public transportation. Fear not about the melted cheese: I bought a block of their cheese meant for grilling. You, Daphna, and possibly her husband ought to come over for a grilled cheese party! (Note about D's husband: I'm not sure how he feels about melted cheese, but he's certainly invited if he wants to come over for a visit.)
So, JD, have you considered Ammie's suggestions about leaving your extra zucchini in your neighbors' mailboxes? :-) Ammie, I LOVE these stories about the lengths people go in order to rid themselves of garden vegetables! If any of these people live near me, feel free to leave some in my mailbox; I will GLADLY make good use of it in the kitchen.
The zucchini poem is up over at my blog!
Groovy, Ammie!
By the way, anyone with extra zucchini can send them to me. I'll happily take the burden off your hands!
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