SUMMERTIME AND THE MARKETING'S EASY

June 16th, 2007 at 04:50pm Jeannine Kadow 49

Aspen's Culinary Critic Goes To The Market Looking For Love

And Ends Up With Lettuce 

While the hungry hoards mobbed the infamous Tent and attended the smorgasbord of seminars at this Weekend’s Food and Wine Festival, I opted out Saturday, preferring a long leisurely stroll through one of Aspen’s premier culinary venues, the Saturday Farmer’s Market.  This was the first of the season – and what a way to welcome summer.  National supermarket chains, superstores and uber-grocers have ripped us away from the land with cold cavernous constructs that have no sense of season, place, or time.  While they may very well offer advantages of convenience and pricing power, the true market elements they lack are essentially priceless:  community, connectivity, and cultural context.  They are way-stations in which one loads up and leaves. 

That is not the origin purpose of a market.     

The local outdoor market serves up a sweetly sublime mix of dazzling visuals, vibrant people, gorgeous produce, and artisanal works.  It is a place to linger and mingle, gossip and chat.  Going to The Market is a timeless tradition practiced, perfected, nurtured, and revered in Europe.  For far too long going to the market in America has meant metal carts, packaged foods, and bar code scanners.  They are largely impersonal and going to one is just another chore stressing the limits of an already overcrowded day.  It is a thankless task lacking in pleasure and never ever equated with leisure.  No wonder Americans have awakened in recent years with a hunger to get back to the land.

In New York City, the Farmer’s Market in Union Square has flourished, becoming the IT destinations for savvy chefs who practice the art of cooking with the season, sourcing superior product.  What started as a once a week ramshackle event is now a six day a week year-round city staple.  And, as in Europe, the outdoor market in Manhattan is a way of life.  We have one market day here in Aspen and only for the summer.  All the more reason to cherish it. 

In our eerily disposable society, I recommend doing Aspen’s market like a European – and that means acquiring a simple straw basket which you will use to stash your market prizes.  The waste of paper and plastic bags is akin to market blasphemy in Old Europe.  My happiest moments in two decades of living in France were strolling in the dappled sunshine, straw basket in hand, picking prizes from the farmer’s stands:  lush lettuces, purple potatoes, baby artichokes the size of a child’s small hand.  Then again, I was in love, and that state of supreme ebullience enhances every hour of every day.  I have found many things in the mountains – athletic bliss, soulful joy, companionship and cultural camaraderie, but I have not found love. 

Back to the market.  In addition to a basket, be prepared with cash.  The exchange of bill and coin for food is oddly satisfying, speaking deeply to our bartering past where the chink of money in a register or can was the melodic sound of merchanting.  The third market essential you will need is a simple but sublime market hat.  At altitude, that summer sun scorches – and much as I love connectivity to the earth, I do not long to look like a prune.  With SPF 50+ on my face, hat on head, cash in pocket, and basket in hand, out I went Saturday to market in the origin way.  If I can’t order up love, I can at the very least, buy lettuce.

Strolling along to the sound of live music, children’s laughter, and communal chatter elicits a sweet, heart-piercing poignancy.  Time stops, one drifts from vendor to vendor in a slow happy haze, admiring, questioning, and acquiring.  There is only the now now, and in the now now the most pressing issue is deciding between the big tomatoes and the small ones, then boldly taking  both.  I am in the midst of touring the town’s dining venues tasting tomatoes.  Almost every chef is offering up a unique tomato-based dish.  But, standing there in the market, I knew I had to take a handful home and do my own thing:  big red organics sliced thick, stacked Napolean style with layers of fresh basil and creamy mozzarella, then seasoned with a drizzle of aged balsamic and a pinch of dazzling white salt from the sea.  

Summertime is light time.  Thanks to a vigorous regime of Spring Training, I am at fighting weight, wanting to keep it that way lest I happen to literally run into, bike into, or bump into The Perfect Man.  At the Okagawa Farm table, early season vegetables seduce the palette in texture and taste.  Sweet sugar snap peas puree into a velvety fat-free soup (inspired by one of my most loved chefs here at Pacifica).  Succulent summer squash sizzle sublimely on the grill, and shaved baby beets the color of Bordeaux made a beautiful base for grilled fish.

At the Sustainable Farms market stand, I found outrageous organic greens: astonishing arugola, tight heads of beauteous Bibb, and a marvelous mélange of tender young greens.  I toss the melange with raw sugar snap peas, ribbons of screaming yellow squash, and dress it in something delicate that respects the early innocence of the product; balsamic is best for robust salads, but this ingenue demands softer essences like a champagne or walnut oil vinaigrette.

I steered clear of the Cloud Nine Brownies stand where baked chocolate classics enhanced with raspberry, mocha, and toffee tempt; I managed to prowl past the popcorn stand without so much as swiping a fistful from the freebie bowl;  I gave Louis Suisse the cold shoulder, but stopped dead in my tracks at the Mountain Lite Baking Company, enraptured by sumptuous goodies that are organic, egg, and dairy free.  I rethought my no-desert decree with the rationalization that when I literally run into, bike into, or bump into The Perfect Man he may like a taste of something sweet – and healthy.  After all, this is Aspen, home of uber-athletes in the extreme.  I tucked a pretty pack of chocolate chips cookies in my basket and strolled on.

I am always on the lookout for new party concepts – my biggest hit was a Panini Party hosted a while back, featuring sandwiches from Marco, Aspen’s master maker.  Guests were gleefully happy to have something other than the tired old standards suffered at Red Mountain's stuffy private soirees.  This year the panini gives way to the piñata.  Rainbow-colored and big, he sits atop the market table of a purveyor of fresh-cooked then frozen Mexican fare.  I stopped by to talk tamales with the vendor.  Whilst chatting, I tasted a chip from the sampling and ranked it a ten.  Most everything I will need for the party’s on sale at that table.  The piñata, however, is not.  I will have to source that elsewhere - unless, of course, I literally run into, ride into, or bump into The Perfect Man in which event I may whisk him away to Patagonia to gallivant with real Gauchos, and pitch the piñata in favor of a party for two.

Pas a deux was always my favorite move.

Suddenly inspired by my vision of Patagonia, I panicked.  When I did indeed literally run into, bike into, or bump into The Perfect Man, I would most certainly to invite him home for dinner.  But a home without flowers is just a house; a bedroom without flowers is just a room.  In the winter and off season, I have refused to buy commercial.  They wither within days.  In season, however, florals last, and the market brims with riotous wild mountain blooms.  I heaped together three dozen stems in three shades of pink and continued my stroll.

There are artisans at market and pasta makers and a palm reader too.  I lingered at her stand, wondering what she would read in the love line on my hand.  For thirty-five dollars I could have done it.  I could have found out what amorous destiny awaited.  But instead of paying up, I put my hands in my pocket and made a hasty retreat.  Love is best served up unexpected. 

I did not, alas, bump into the Perfect Man, but I did come across a Walking Egyptian – a thrilling experience that was totally new.  The Walking Egyptian is sweet white summer onion on a long lush green stalk.  The flavor is ethereal and light. Dice the white, gently sear it in extra virgin olive oil and then use the blend to sauté anything green.  Fresh spinach or kale will do nicely, as will organic haricots verts.  Extending my love for the Walking Egyptian to my book life, I have a fresh stack of fiction tableside by the hugely talented Andre Aciman.  Run, do not walk to Explore Booksellers and sample some of his work – notably, Out of Egypt, his mesmerizing memoir.  Sneak a peak at the jacket photo.  Andre is undeniably appealing with that literary Je ne sais quois academic mystique.  Andre has lived in France.  Andre writes about love.  Andre is erudite and original - and, alas, very married.  Voila  So much for The Perfect Man. 

See you next in the market next Saturday. 

You’ll know me.

I’ll be the blonde with a lot of lettuce and a big straw hat. 

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