Nicholas Kristof is one of my favorite journalists. I rarely miss his column and am often motivated by the things he says. Today's column is another hit.
Lettuce from the Garden, With Worms
An excerpt:
Over the years, though, I’ve become nostalgic for an occasional bug in my salad, for an apple that feels as if it were designed by God rather than by a committee.
I miss an outdoor space, mostly for the way that my basil and mint ran rampant and cheap last year, and all my cooking was spiced with chili peppers, but also for the huge bounty of cherry tomatoes that came over a 3 month period from one plant in a pot. Because I am lazy, I missed out on the chance for a community garden space this year, and all my attempts to sprout herbs in my apartment faded, because even a constant on grow lamp can't really make up for the lack of bright, direct sun. What's fantastic for dinner parties and gorgeous afternoons inside isn't so great for mint or basil.
So I return to the farmer's market, buying clumps of mint, cilantro and spring onions for three dollars a piece, splurging on a box of sweet cherries (eaten all in one sitting last night), gaping in awe at purple and yellow cauliflower, at tiny strawberries just bursting with sweetness, at fresh squash in all shapes, sizes, and colors (my favorites are the striped zucchini, their seafoam green streaked with forest, and the patty pan squash, only yellow and green right now, but the tender white ones are so sweet, and wonderful stuffed and roasted), and being unable to resist the new potatoes, red, white, purple, skins so tender, they flake off with the wipe of a finger.
I love a grocery store, because I love to look at the food, but I'll take a farmer's market for visual effect any day. Because these are not the usual foods, the "committee designed" ones. The cauliflower is yellow and purple, not white, because that's what color it is, not what color sells best. The strawberries, cherries and blueberries are small, because that's how they grow, not grown until huge because that's how they sell (well, I always try to buy the smallest in the store when they're not at the market - they're sweeter). The tomatoes are red-orange, and oddly shaped. Some of the cherry tomatoes are bright yellow. The butter is creamy and white, the eggs are all colors, brown, speckled, pristine white, the butcher sells fat back and pork belly, hard to find even at Whole Foods, the closest butcher to me. The scallions are purple before the greens begin, and the spring onions are sweet and fragrant and pink. The garlic scapes are curled around themselves, a tangle of soft spice. The food is uniformly not perfect - there are spots and rough patches. The cuts of meat are small - no giant ribeyes here. There are flowers, everywhere, and pots of tomatoes and herbs. At the risk of sounding cliche, it's a very real place.
I know the farmer's market does it's own branding of marketing and advertising. There are samples everywhere - 3 kinds of cherries to choose from, lots of homemade cheeses. There are the bigger sellers, like EcoFriendly, which gets lots of attention from writers, magazines, and restaurants in the area (of course, they took all our old egg cartons I'd been saving, so they're not too big!). There's the sense of things being somehow more natural (lots of "grass-fed" and "grown without pesticides" signs) and more healthy (although some information out there suggests that the less far food has to travel, and the fewer chemicals used in its growing, the more nutritionally dense it is), when it may be just a place to get variety. There's a sense of community, and crowd. People are nicer in line there than at Whole Foods or Safeway (although the Safeway checkers around here are so fantastic!). A lot of emphasis is placed on foods being grown by the sellers, or other products being produced locally. The markets near me also place emphasis on education, outreach, and gleaning. So, the way you feel authentic, like a regular do-gooder, when you shop at the farmer's market, even though you probably realize that doing so puts you in a definite position of privilege. But, its a privilege that at least doesn't rely on a middle man, or on "committee approved" packaging or creating.
Being at the farmer's market feels like being in my mom's garden, grabbing up butternut squash or peas before the rabbits do. Oh sure, it may be weirdly shaped, or it may have a little nibble taken out of it. But there's no substitute for the feeling, the hot little sun burnt gourd in your hand, imperfect and whole.
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