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Spring is a season of expectation. The hard winter gives way to a softer soil and longer days. From above, comes rain, and from below, all manner of surprise: flowers and their pomp, vegetables and their substance. Almost every week, I go to the farmer's market. And almost every week, I'm surprised by what I find.
It's Friday, and so I find myself asking: What to expect this weekend?
For those who like asparagus, the season is finally, and firmly, upon us. Here in DC, the stands are almost overflowing with them. At the market in Portland, Maine, last week, I also saw some for sale.
There's something about this member of the lily family that provokes a strong reaction. The Romans were so fond of it they kept a special asparagus fleet of ships for the purpose of delivering it to their tables quickly. Standing amidst the farmers' stalls, my grandfather echoed this sentiment. He mentioned that the wild asparagus was sprouting in his neighborhood, and that he had to harvest them before another guy in the neighborhood got to them first.
Rhubarb is also available; I was delighted to see it last week at the DuPont market. I love rhubarb, as it makes one of my favorite pies: strawberry rhubarb. A secret, by the way, of a good strawberry rhubarb pie, is orange peel, in part because it cuts some of the sourness of the rhubarb. (Cooks Illustrated has a great recipe for this, as they do for many things.)
Rhubarb, like asparagus, is a spring vegetable high in sugar content that cultures have become very fond of. Where the Romans had their asparagus fleet, the English had their Rhubarb Express, a train that delivered forced-rhubarb from the Rhubarb Triangle of Wakefield, Leeds and Morley to the markets in London.
Harold McGee, for his part, calls rhubarb "a vegetable that often masquerades as a fruit." Fruit or vegetable, I don't care. When I find a wild patch of rhubarb, you can count on the oven being warm.
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Mowing the Lawn