La Macchina Fotografica

It was raining peacefully on Sunday morning. The streets were washed clean by a storm that had hit the day before. The road shimmered in the weak light, twinkling with each drop from the sky. On a tempestuous Friday before the storm, I’d been hit between the eyes by a hurtful comment from a friend. It left me reeling. Sunday’s gray drizzle seemed appropriate.

Despite the rain and the winter season I went early to the farmer’s market. I was thinking of a baguette. And maybe a wedge of cheese. I wanted to talk to the chili man. And ask the asparagus guy when spring would arrive. I needed the farmers just then. So, I bundled up and went to the market.

This time of year it’s easy to park at the farmer’s market. The fair-weather marketers are long gone, waiting now for their tomatoes and sweet corn and warm summer breezes. Rain doesn’t help bring in the crowd but it does enhance a quiet market day for a man with a bruised soul.

Alone with my baskets I pulled up my collar. I was still grumbling to myself about Friday. But, some Swiss chard caught my eye. Pulling out two dollars for a nice bunch of it, I overheard a conversation at the next stand.

“How is the most lovely jewel of the universe today?” a man with a European accent asked a smiling woman. The woman had been alone at her booth. Before the man with the accent arrived she hadn’t been smiling. I looked at the young woman who had just sold me the chard and we both laughed. One comment brought three smiles—the best market deal of the day. With a spark of renewal I went to see the chili man.

“I want you to know that I sent some of your chili sauce to my friend in Chicago. He said it was the best he’d ever tasted,” I said to him.

“Well, of course!” the chili man replied. He is nothing if not self-assured of his chili-sauce prowess. “I just made some new mash. Try this.”

Down the way, the asparagus man had nothing but potatoes. “The asparagus will be here in about four weeks,” he pronounced. The first day of spring had now been declared. “Are you getting any good pictures today?”

The egg couple saw me coming from their mountain of egg cartons. They had a dozen, extra-large, brown, organic eggs waiting for me. Just the kind I like.

“I had to get my eggs at Safeway last week,” I said. They both groaned. “They were watery. Stale,” I added.

“We have you spoiled,” the man of the couple said, looking up from his stack of a billion eggs. “See you next week.”

The young woman who usually sells me my baguette wasn’t there. I got one anyway from a girl I’d never met. Then I got a small salami from the French charcuterie guy and asked for his advice on sausages. At that point I realized that my basket was overflowing and I needed to stop.

On the way out there was another man with an overflowing basket. Like me, he’d bought his baguette. After making a photo of him I realized that we are all the same. Every one of us can be made just a little happier with a baguette in our basket and a trip to farmer’s market.

The dailiness of life has this hum to it. Like an old refrigerator on its last leg, it drowns out the nuances of life. Then the fridge finally dies and…quiet. Birds chirp, you can hear the breeze again. Turning off the electricity might be a prescription for sanity.

For years part of my weekly routine was to visit the Sunday farmer’s market in San Rafael. The catch is that one needs to get there early, preferably by 8:00 AM. Lately life’s tasks and goals seem to have ensconced themselves between me, the farmers and their market. Sunday morning comes, I take a look at the clock, I passively watch 8:00 come and go. I go to Safeway instead.

The local Safeway has been slowly killing my soul. The music, the bad produce, the indifference, the ads over the sound system, and the corporate sterility all combine to put me in a grumpy mood. This past Sunday I woke up and told myself, “No more Safeway. Can’t do it.” I found my market baskets and drove up to San Rafael.

My heart swelled when I drove over the small hill at the Civic Center and saw the tents and canopies of the market. A stuffed produce truck meandered ahead of me, casting off a few lettuce leaves in its wake. Patrons scurried from their cars with empty baskets in hand. The warm sun was basking the market in springtime glow. People were smiling. I felt like I was home again.

Every season is different at the market. The dance of the seasons are always in full throttle. In March it is asparagus. Asparagus is like the trumpet section of an orchestra. It blares out, heralding spring’s arrival. When local asparagus comes to market, we know that everything is changing. Could summer be far behind? What next? Tomotoes? Sweet corn? Eggplant?

There’s no need to get ahead of ourselves with the bright colors of summer. Spring’s pastels mean fava beans, tender onions, leafy lettuce, artichokes, and so much more. Summer’s assertiveness can wait. There is asparagus to eat! And what could better to celebrate my reunion with the market than to share with you this recipe. It is an asparagus salad with chopped, hard-boiled egg? It makes me think of Easter. It makes me ponder the wonders of rebirth. It brings out the old cooking teacher in me. Enjoy!

Asparagus Salad with Olive Oil, Lemon Juice and Hard Boiled Egg

Serves 4.

2 lbs. fresh asparagus
1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
lemon juice – freshly squeezed from 1/2 lemon
salt – to taste
3 eggs – hard boiled and finely chopped

Cut off the bottom inch of the asparagus spears. Peel the lower stem portion of the asparagus with a paring knife so that the tough outer skin of the asparagus is removed. Do so by setting the knife about 1/8 to 1/16 of an inch into the base of the asparagus and gently pulling the knife up towards the tip end. You will want to hold the spear with the tip pointing towards you while doing this. The knife will guide itself and remove only the tough, outer portion of the asparagus. Depending on the freshness of the asparagus, you will remove several inches in length of the skin.

Soak the asparagus in fresh water for about ten minutes, removing any grit that may have lodged in the tips.

Heat a large 12 inch pan filled 2/3 of the way with water until it boils rapidly. Add about a tablespoon of salt to the water and then add the asparagus. You may have to cook the asparagus in several batches depending upon the size of the pan. Boil the asparagus until it just begins to turn limp and then remove it from the water. Drain the asparagus and arrange it on a serving platter. An attractive way to arrange it is to lay down a first row of asparagus and then lay subsequent layers so that they cover the preceding layers beneath except for the tips.

Put the lemon juice in a small bowl. Add a generous pinch of salt. Slowly add the olive oil, beating the mixture vigorously while doing so. Taste the mixture and adjust the ingredients if necessary.

Pour the dressing over the top of the asparagus and sprinkle the chopped egg over it. Serve the dish while it is still warm.