The last market of the season is always a bountiful one. Lots of squash and root vegetables, cheese and apples. It’s wonderful. Yesterday was a cold one and the vendors were bundled up like Randy in A Christmas Story. As Ralphie said, “Like a tick about to pop.” They were layered. Smart farmers.
We walked the square slowly. The light was good, and the vegetables were luminescent.
Sungold tomatoes are aptly named. If bacon is the candy of meats (and I think it is), sungolds are the candy of tomatoes. They are almost fruit-like in their sweetness, but with just enough acid to give you that wonderful pop of sour to offset the sweet. If I were on a desert island, I could live on bacon, chocolate, Franziskaner NA and sungolds.
Romanesco is a Brassica, like broccoli, except incredibly beautiful in its symmetry. Tastes good too, but that’s a side benefit of being mathematical logarithmic spiral. And it’s self-similar, a fractal pattern that would make Mandelbrot sit up and take notice.
We also grabbed a bunch of sweet potatoes to make sweet potato fries. During this ultimately successful escapade, I sliced a little bit of my thumb off with the fry cutter, but ultimately it was worth it. I would have documented the fry portion of the story, but to be honest, they were gone before I had a chance to get a shot. Trust me; beautiful and delicious.
Wife 1.2 ended up with the backpack, the contents as follows:
- Madison Sourdough Baguette.
- One gallon maple syrup.
- Hooks Cheese: English Tilston Blue, Blue Paradise Double Cream Blue, and Gorgonzola.
- Bandaged Cheddar fr0m Capri Cheesery. Amazing.
- Tuscan Lacinato kale.
- One bunch of leeks.
- A giant cauliflower.
- Sweet potatoes (as previously mentioned).
The apples we carried, from Weston Apples, an antique preservation-oriented farm that grows over 100 unique varieties not found in stores. It seems Americans like their apples to taste like sand, so long as they look perfect. Living in an apple producing state, we get the good stuff, like Black Gilliflowers, Golden Russets, Blanc d’Hiver, Wolf River, and my favorite cooking apple, the rare Winter Banana. Yes, it tastes like an apple soaked in banana juice. But the Winter Banana bruises easily, so it is rejected by the finicky tastes of American consumers. The Red Delicious has it half-right; it is the Beverly Hills Plastic Surgeon-ized apple, all look, no substance.
I also carried a huge bag of butternut squash over my shoulder, like a fireman carrying a child to safety. Ten bucks.
We also got reacquainted with Sarah, the salsa queen of Tomato Mountain. All good stuff, but Wife 1.2 and I are especially fond of the Chipotle Salsa. Smoky yummy salsa. Sarah doesn’t like it. But, as I reminded her, we’re the customers.
We Madison folks are richly blessed with a wonderful agricultural community. Notice I said agriculture, not agribusiness. I have nothing against businesses per se, being that I own one and all. I love the culture of the market, the happy people selling their wares. I love the southeast Asian families, sometimes three generations deep, their vegetables arranged in beautiful sculptures. I love the sleepy-eyed teenagers selling pastries and the farmers who still have dirt under their fingernails. We’re buying the good stuff, and supporting good people who create the culture that makes my adopted home what it is.
Respectfully submitted,
Canoelover