Archives for posts with tag: farmers market

I want every day to be just like this Sunday: chatting with Madeline over bowls of coffee whilst picking at beautiful French pastries, waltzing down to the market, grabbing my weekly bouquet, seeking out the sunniest little tomatoes, buying a weird little heirloom melon just to have an excuse to chat with the beautiful farmers market boy about the change of the seasons, going to four hours of heartfelt yoga, then, at the end of it all, making dinner with Logan, sweet sisterfriend. I want every day to be a Sunday.

Yoga and food have been my two true loves for a while, but Yoga and I just made it official. Come May, I’ll be a real-live yoga girl, certified to teach downward doggies the world over. After a false start this January (mistakenly signed myself up for semi-hot yoga training…there’s a reason I moved away from constantly-90-degrees-Florida…) I’ve embarked upon a nine-month training adventure with my beyond-beloved studio, Yogalife. And it is great. And big. And… big! Life is full. Life is good! Life is Sundays.

The amount that I work out has a direct relationship to the amount of ice cream I eat. Direct, not inverse. Running and yoga-ing, not part of a complete health package with lots of kale and brown rice, no. Just the necessary offset of a fancy ice cream addiction. Last week, a scoop of Molly Moon’s Scout Mint (aka, Thin Mint) with sprinkles. This weekend, an awe-inspiring pale green scoop of pistachio gelato on a cone, devoured while people watching on Ballard Ave. Yesterday, a scoop of mint stracciatella while my nanny charges were at swim team. They swim, I eat.

Other goods at the Queen Anne Farmers Market: a blueberry biscuit (saved for an addition to a picnic for an outdoor concert tonight), three pounds of apples (the apple addiction lives on), four yellow tomatoes (best color of tomato, fer sure), a bunch of teeny carrots, and multiple samples from anyone who’d give them to me and/or didn’t noticed I’d come by to sample peaches fourteen times. Then dinner on the lawn: naan with apricot-y chicken and rice, shrimp and grits, and ginger beer. Yum. And I’m at “work” during all of this, mind you.

Then, real dinner. Finally: Paseo. Mega-beloved Seattle Carribean/Cuban sandwich joint, which I’ve somehow never been to. I’ve stood in line and bailed many times, but never actually eaten a stinkin’ sandwich at the place. So finally. Paseo. I was doubtful that these West Coasters could beat the Florida Cuban sandwich, that flat, weird, mustardy, ham-packed delicious thing, but… maybe so. Very different: a delicious baguette filled with giant hunks of roasted pork shoulder, lettuce, cilantro, jalapeno, and mayo. Very messy, very good. Pros: the bread and pork were stellar. Cons: too much mayo (but I’ve never been a fan) and not enough jalapenos (but I am on the hot sauce crack rock.) Genia and I scored a table, which made it all the better; our sandwiches were definitely improved by the hungry, jealous stares of the dozens of people queuing up outside.

Ideal overcast Sunday: up early-ish, yogurt and almond butter (breakfast part 1), “yoga church” with dear roommate-friend Laura, back home for breakfast part 2 (raisin toast with cream cheese), and a walk across the locks to the Ballard Market. Plus a stop at Cafe Besalu, Seattle’s beloved (and packed) French patisserie. Line out the door, beautiful buttery scent out the door. Just this morning I’d been telling Laura about the tragic scarcity of orange rolls in this world (craving sparked by Saveur) and whaddyaknow, there in the blessed Besalu case, orange brioche. Aka, extra eggy, extra good orange rolls. And there’s breakfast part 3: americano and half an orange roll.

Then on down to the market, where I tried every single sample. Ballard Market has a freakishly high/great percentage of sample-doling vendors. Anne ate: apples, pears, kim chi, sauerkraut carrots, gingerbread caramels, absinthe caramels, chocolate-covered toffee pretzels (really), salmon jerky, muesli, the best $12 strawberry jam on earth, camembert, cheddar, and some picked salmon. Yes. Breakfast part 4: shmorgasbord.

TEMPTING:

Everyone was parked on the curb, eating folded-over wood fired pizza slices, making me envious. But I somehow managed to resist, saving myself for the best “quesadilla” of my young life. A gigantic heap of hearty, winter market-y vegetables (think dark green kale and bright ruby beets) steaming on a hot hot grill, ready to be folded into a tortilla with just enough cheese and topped with spoonful upon spoonful of tomatillo salsa. Yes. Went home full and happy with half a pound of adorable teensy brussel sprouts, a hunk of smoked salmon, some fresh fettuccine (…and a new Kavu jacket.)

Unrelated but kinda related: Lately I have been feeling… inspired. (For lack of a more inspired word word.) I have been reading lots of fantastic blogs (Orangette, Sweet Amandine, Wednesday Chef, Hungry Ghost, An Apple A Day… if you’re bored too) and magazines (Lucky Peach, Kinfolk, The Art of Eating) and feeling like there are two million things I want to do: flower arranging (no, seriously), traveling, photographing, selling orange rolls at the market, writing, eating, cooking, baking, studying critical theory, gardening, editing cookbooks, eating, reading, eating. Thrilling! Possibilities are thrilling.

Unexpected sunshine > expected sunshine. Florida sunshine was undoubtedly wonderful, but November sunshine in rainy Vancouver BC is just about 1,000,000x better. No better feeling than waking up to sun streaming into your room when you were expecting dark greyness accompanied by rain tapping on the roof. And it gets better, going to a big beautiful farmer’s market still full of colorful, wonderful things, so late in the year and so far north. Started off the morning with a big (warm) cup of coffee–I love coffee part for the caffeine, part for the taste, but mostly for the warmth–and breakfast tacos. Yes, breakfast tacos. Smelled them from a block away. I’d read about Off The Wagon before I even moved to Van-land, but hadn’t actually experienced them till now. Nicole (best farmers’ market companion ever, buys not just produce but also baked goods and is really, really good at sharing) got yam and black bean, I got one yam n’ bean, one chorizo and egg.

Corn tortilla, topping, cucumber salsa, avocado. And a maybe-too-hearty of a dash of jalapeno sauce, if you’re me.  Perfect market-ing fuel.

Aside from the joy-inducing tacos, got crazy-looking romanesco broccoli, a watermelon radish (green on the outside, pink on the inside), kale (of course), beautiful little tiny heirloom tomatoes, and the best loaf of bread ever. Then on to the Vancouver Yoga Show, home of more yoga pants than you ever dreamed of. And lots of free samples of super groovy health drinks, and lots of good people watching. Vancouver: the land of November markets, late fall sun, and yoga.

McCall has a surprisingly great little farmers’ market. Kids selling lemonade, the greens guy selling all my favorite things (spinach, collard greens, chard, and the best kale I’ve ever had, in all my kale adventures), cute old pair selling jams and muffins, grizzled ranch guy hawking lamb and cows that I’ve probably driven by in their living days, the famed Stacey Cakes with her irresistible smattering of tarts and pies (I succumbed to a cherry almond tart, breakfast of champions), and a couple selling tamales. Dang good tamales, chicken with green chile or pork with green, served out of of giant steaming pots stocked with seemingly unlimited goodness. Stacey Cake for breakfast, tamale for lunch, market kale for dinner.

Unlike at home where winter means frozen fields, in Florida winter means it’s finally cool enough for plant to grow without being burnt to death. The growing season is just starting in earnest, and this weekend’s farmers’ market was jam-packed with truckloads of fresh local produce and crowds of freezing local people. Starfruit and radishes and the famous Florida oranges, Floridians wrapped in their warmest winter garb for the bracing 65 degree morning. (Tragically, pathetically, I am one of them, shivering in my pashmina in the sunshine.) 

There were masses of the giant beetle-shiny avocados, slices of which I’ve been smearing on slabs of baguette and topping with sprouts for a mid-morning, mid-afternoon, midnight snack.

And lots of dogs, big brawny goldens smiling at tiny sweatered pomeranians. Even a few corgis, all of which I petted with extra love.

It’s nice to not be shoving sunglasses up my sweaty face and instead be cozily wrapped up in my Northwesterner fleece as I pace the market looking for sun-lit vegetables.

Even though it was still solidly within breakfast hours, I couldn’t help myself from getting a fresh grouper taco from the fish van. Big filet of just-grilled grouper topped with chunky avocado-cucumber salsa-guac, lime cream, and lightly pickled cabbage. I felt very content with the world as I perched on the curb and ate my mess of a breakfast taco and watched the dogs and octogenarians go by.