I love the Farmers' Market, but it isn't always easy. When you love the Farmers' Market and share my inability to wake up before 11 a.m. on a Saturday morning, there's simply no time for doddling.
There are three guidelines to which I always hold true when I visit the market. I don't wear sunglasses, no matter how bright it is; I enter from State Street, even if it isn't the most direct route; and I always make my rounds counter-clockwise. Most people do, but there are always a few decorum-soiling yabos to get in the way of us counter-clockwisers. There's nothing wrong with shoving those people. They have it coming.
Often when I arrive, I don't know what I want to cook the next night. I like to pick up goodies to stock my fridge, but the primary goal of the Farmers' Market for me is to prepare one big meal the next night. Never that night, because a home cooked meal on a partying night is just a waste.
So when I arrive at the market, I start brainstorming. My first stop is picking up a crusty bread and a single bunch of basil from the bread, basil and pesto store at the corner off State and Carroll. It costs under three bucks combined, plus they set the mood with far and away the best free samples, with pieces of fusilli coated in every variety of pesto they have.
Almost everything I make can be supplemented by fresh basil and good crusty bread, but all I've committed myself to at this point is making croutons. So I still need to decide what to make for the rest of the meal, since salad, as a meal in itself would simply not have cut the mustard.
I see tomatoes everywhere. This is a good time of year to go tomato crazy, but you still must choose carefully. This is why I eschew sunglasses. The abilities to notice color differences and blemishes are important. After passing several unimpressive displays, I found what I was looking for at a rather anonymous stand. I picked out eight specimens, none of them with major blemishes or bruises, bright red in color, but not to the point of looking artificial, and all of them firm without being under ripe. Under-ripe tomatoes make inferior sauce, and I've now decided to make sauce.
There's a convention that canned tomatoes make better sauce because of their consistency, in both senses of the word. Untrue. Fresh tomatoes make a much tastier sauce without necessitating sugar, which is needed to counteract the bitterness of canned tomatoes. And with eight phenomenal tomatoes costing me under $2.50, there's little not to like.
Now I planned the meal. I located two pristine bags of mixed field greens for $2. I grabbed a bundle of scallions, which are always fabulous at the Farmers' Market, add a level of flavor to almost anything, and allow you to hum \Green Onions"" by Booker T. and the MGs the rest of the day. Next, I bought a pound of string beans for a dollar. Farmers' Market string beans are always spectacular. Then I grabbed two bags of spinach for $2 because I love spinach and two bags doesn't cook into all that much.
I was now ready for my meal. I just needed a couple more things. I stopped by Farmer John's to grab some Parmesan, the best this side of Parma. Then I stopped by Forgotten Valley to grab some of their genuinely addictive havarti. Finally, I was under strict orders from my mom to buy hickory nuts at the market and ship them back to New York. A half pound cost $7.50, nearly doubling my day's tally, but my parents pay out-of-state tuition, so I try to let stuff like that slide.
The next day was showtime. Football was on, and I began doing prep work in front of the TV. I cubed half the bread, placing it in a baking pan. I sprinkled it with salt, pepper, Parmesan and minced garlic, tossing in some extra virgin olive oil. I threw it in the oven at 350 degrees and tossed them every 15 minutes or so until they were crunchy.
After football, time was short before my friends would arrive. Even if the attractive and unattached young women of my group were not ones to whom I planned to demonstrate my breakfast skills, I still dread a bad showing. I washed the spinach and set it aside. I washed, pruned and sorted the string beans before saut??eing them in a touch of olive oil and salt for just a minute and set them aside. Never get too fancy with great string beans.
I then steamed the spinach in the water that clung to it from the washing, then squeezed out the excess water and saut??ed it with garlic, salt and caramelized onion in some olive oil, before adding a touch of heavy cream. Just a tablespoon makes a huge difference in flavor. I then pureed, reseasoned and set aside the spinach.
Sweating profusely in the heat of the kitchen, I washed the greens and prepared a light dressing of lemon juice, mustard and olive oil. I chopped the washed tomatoes, which were gorgeous inside. I saut??ed them with onion, garlic, some carrot and scallion. After seasoning them with salt and pepper, I ran them through the food processor. Some people's parents get them SUVs. Mine got me a food processor, and I love them for it.??
The sauce was ready, but I was not. Aditya, who had run errands for me like a true friend, and Emily, who I knew would arrive early, had not arrived, so I quickly stripped and jumped in the shower, singing ""Mack the Knife"" to calm my hurried nerves.
Rapturously unsweaty, I returned to the helm, boiled the pasta and dressed the salad, just in time for my friend Stephanie's arrival. As the one person who always reads my work in the Cardinal, she deserved a good showing. Naturally, I delivered, with penne tossed with fresh tomato sauce and a chiffonade of basil, a creamy puree of spinach, field greens with homemade croutons and lightly saut??ed string beans. And the satisfaction of a job well done doesn't compare to the chef's late night reward of leftover croutons served with leftover sauce and slices of fresh havarti.
That's a good weekend.
