Over the weekend, when I asked myself where I should go on this week’s artist date, I thought immediately of the farmers’ market, with its rich sensory environment and sunny flavors. A friend once referred to her regular Sunday morning pilgrimages to the Hollywood market as “going to church,” and I’ve certainly felt the same way about my market jaunts in the past. The deep awe and appreciation that fills me at the sight of striped tomatoes, spotted beans, and fuzzy purple-black flowers; the divine juiciness of a fresh summer peach; the community; the shared mission of both the creators and attendees at the market — all these made me near-religious about starting my Saturdays or Sundays with a market trip. But after we moved to the Bay Area and joined a CSA, we stopped going to farmers’ markets. Receiving that packed box of goodies every other week makes market trips unnecessary; the produce is abundant and often fresher even than market offerings, and it’s fun and exciting to get a surprise grab bag. Now if I go to the market, it’s for fun only — but, being as busy as I am, I rarely remember to go now that I don’t have to. On Sunday I realized how much I miss it.
So this morning I took myself to the Ferry Building Farmers’ Market in San Francisco. After months of foggy, chilly weather, we’re finally getting summer this week, and it was even warm in this notoriously cold city. When Erik drove me to the train station at 8:15, the feel of the day reminded me of summer mornings back when I was a kid: waking up excited, realizing it was vacation and we were going to do something fun that day. I like being able to recreate that wiggly sense of anticipation even without summer camp or sleepovers at a friend’s house. π
My favorite thing to do at farmers’ markets is just to receive with all my senses. I walk up and down, checking out everyone’s booths, listening to the music (alas, there were no performers today, but little kids’ chatter can be just as entertaining!), tasting fruit and honey samples, smelling the hot tamales or stir-fry, feeling the sun on my skin and feasting my eyes on all the colors and shapes.
Today I saw baby corn, thin and pale, and skinny, wrinkly green peppers standing up in their baskets. One entire table was covered in heirloom tomatoes in all hues, and more than one vendor boasted golden squash blossoms. Glossy, fat eggplants sat side by side with rosy pink radishes and delicate tendrils of parsley and cilantro. I saw round pattypan squashes the size of a baby’s fist, and zucchini that were half green and half yellow (I’ve had these before; the two halves don’t taste any different!). At a fruit-and-nut stand I tasted and then bought several squares of dark chocolate-covered almond brittle, its buttery crunch sticking to my teeth long after the chocolate dissolved on my tongue. I sampled my way through yellow peaches and green grapes before selecting the ones I would buy: sweet but not too sweet, and firm without being hard. I’m eating those now as I type.
As I tasted samples at each booth, it occurred to me that I should be writing down my impressions of each flavor, to practice describing qualities we usually don’t bother to articulate. We’ve all had to explain to someone what something tastes or smells like, and it’s often quite difficult if they’ve never had it before. But with familiar flavors, we mostly take it for granted that others know, for example, what makes a scrumptious strawberry or a tasty tomato. And yet, nibbling peaches from across many vendors, it’s startlingly obvious that the flavor of “peach” varies tremendously from variety to variety, and even within the same type (the O’Henry peaches I bought tasted worlds better than the ones I sampled at a different booth!). The donut peaches have a more subtle flavor, a little perfumey, like jasmine tea, whereas the O’Henrys are straightforward bursts of sweet summer; white peaches are something different altogether, and so are nectarines. Trying to describe the nuances of taste could really help me in pinning down elusive qualities with precision of language. But I didn’t feel like doing it today, not when I was sweaty, laden, and surrounded by people!
Back when I lived in LA, my favorite part of the Hollywood market was buying chap chae and an agua fresca and settling down on a curb near the children’s musician to listen to him drum and sing the song about “no more monkeys jumping on the bed.” Next to me there’d be Erik sopping up curtido with his pupusas, or sometimes Jason or Angela, or my parents when they came to visit. I’d listen to the rhythmic smack of the drum and the kind voice of the singer, accompanied by the smaller but more raucuous voices of the more outgoing toddlers, and watch everybody go by: trendy LA girls in big sunglasses, hipster couples with printed canvas bags, young parents pushing strollers, power shoppers who always stopped at the espresso stand, and sometimes Alicia Silverstone or Debra Messing. I guess I liked feeling like I was out in the city with so many of its other residents, sharing this experience. I missed that feeling this morning, though the produce was beautiful and the day so bright. It makes sense: I went to a weekday-morning market at the intersection of a business district and a tourist attraction, not a weekend event in a place where people live, play, and visit. Maybe next time I will find a busy weekend market and settle myself with food, my journal, and my sketchbook, to people-watch again and record a little more of the experience.
Tomorrow is craft day! It’s time to apply myself to my October FabMo boutique inventory. I’ll share with you my ideas so far, and maybe get started on making some of them!
I don’t have to tell you how much I love the farmer’s market. π We go every single weekend to get all our fruits and veggies for the week. We like to go pretty early in the morning so beat the crowds. In fact, I’m eating a huge juicy sweet white nectarine as I type (okay, I had to put it down to type just because it’s so juicy!) and I love it! One of my co-workers was asking me about when I go and she was so surprised that I go every weekend and usually before 9am. I was surprised that she was surprised because it’s not even anything I’ve given a second thought to. I’ve been going to farmer’s markets for produce since my first year of college (lucky for me to have gone to Davis!) and it’s just one of these weekly habits that make me happy. This post puts much of my happiness about farmer’s markets into words. Very nice. π Makes me feel happy and want to go to one right now! But having the nectarine is pretty satisfying too. π
β€ That nectarine sounds nommy. π I had another one of my peaches this morning with goat yogurt (doesn't upset my tummy, yay!) and the granola I got at your shopping party. π So lovely!
It makes me happy that ours is a farmers' market-going family. π
i love markets! not just farmers’ markets but any kind (i would give so much to be standing in the middle of a peruvian market right now). too bad sean and i are night owls; it makes getting up early to make the farmers’ market pretty difficult… but we’ve managed a couple times! π
You need to live where there are night markets! π
I want to see markets in other countries too… we walked briefly through one open-air food market in Hong Kong but we didn’t have much of a chance to browse (and I was too traumatized by the meat and fish stalls anyway). What’s the Peruvian market like? π
the Peruvian markets are AMAZING. i’m partial to non-food ones (shopping for cheap textiles & jewelry etc.) but they do have food ones (but as a foreigner you have to be careful about what you eat because of cleanliness issues etc.). the people are so friendly and i just love the layout and feel of a “market” as opposed to a “store” π
They sound wonderful π Did you have to bargain? I’m really bad at bargaining. π¦
hahaha what’s really funny about that question is that i’m really bad at bargaining too, ESPECIALLY in english because i feel like it’s totally obvious i could afford to pay whatever they’re asking and i’m just being cheap and miserly and horrible by bargaining (even though clearly everyone does).
BUT for some reason i’m good at bargaining in spanish. i think it’s cuz it’s not my native language and so i feel like i’m “playing a part” instead of being myself and it makes it easy for me to be outgoing and engage them in friendly banter while trying to get the price down.
in all my time at US flea markets i’ve always felt awkward asking for a better price so i’m pretty tentative about actually buying anything. but in south america i had absolutely no problem jumping right in and haggling π
Cool π I can kind of imagine that! And I guess for me I’m always really uncomfortable in another language anyway, so I guess it’s like, well, if I already feel funny, might as well just jump in and ask for a lower price too ;b