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As usual, things were pretty low-key at the first
regular downtown farmers’ market last week. There was an easy
camaraderie as vendors greeted each other and familiar customers. There
were lots of plants: flowers, herbs, and a wide selection of tomatoes.
Spring produce was displayed in all its glory: young onions, bundles of
asparagus, ruby red rhubarb, greens such as kale, and different kinds of
lettuces, from baby spring mixes to beautifully ruffled heads of
buttercrunch.
Hill Street Gardens even had beet microgreens, tiny
leaves no bigger than a thumbnail tapering down to a red thread. Hearing my
exclamation, co-owner Gus Jones chuckled ruefully: “Yeah, those are
beet thinnings.” Boy, did that bring back memories — ones I try
to forget. In my produce-farming days, we had 16 rows of beets, each 100
feet long. If beets aren’t thinned out — and the thinning must
be done by hand — there won’t be enough room for the roots to
develop bulbs, so my memories are of sore knees, an aching back, and
keeping my head down as I debated whether I should look up and see just how
much farther there was to the end of a seemingly endless row. These days,
chefs pay astronomical prices for microgreens (though not at the Hill
Street stand), but back then it never occurred to us to sell — or eat
— them; we just threw them on the ground. The crowd at the market was good-sized, though not as
big as it will be later in the season. The vendors were relaxed, and
customers didn’t have to wait — except at the Merwyns’
stand, where the season’s first strawberries were being sold as fast
as they could be bagged and a long line of patrons stretched toward Fifth
Street. Even at the end of the line, the delicious fragrance of
strawberries fully ripened on the plant wafted over us. No berries from the California strawberry megafarms,
which supply 80 percent of the United States’ and 25 percent of the
world’s strawberries, could ever begin to compete with dead-ripe
seasonal strawberries for flavor. They certainly last a lot longer, though
— those local, fully ripe berries only keep for a few days. I
don’t know, and probably don’t want to know, what they do to
megafarm berries to make them last so long. I once found a partial box in
the back of my refrigerator that had been there for nearly two months. It
was creepy: The strawberries hadn’t even begun to go downhill. Fresh local strawberries are best eaten simply so
that nothing interferes with that glorious flavor — by themselves or
perhaps sliced and tossed with a little sugar that combines with the juices
to make a kind of sauce, then spooned over ice cream, pound cake, or
shortcake. The disgustingly gluey, mucilaginous red goop made with
high-fructose corn syrup, artificial coloring, and artificial flavoring
that’s sold in grocery stores is an affront even to the commercial
berries sitting next to it. Smothering fragrant seasonal strawberries with
it is almost criminal. Strawberries and rhubarb are a culinary match made in
heaven, and the pie described in the accompanying recipe is a marriage in
which they can be a couple without destroying each other’s
individuality. The cream-cheese layer is tasty but not necessary, although
it does help keep the crust from getting soggy if you’re not serving
the pie immediately.
Back in line at the farmers’ market, some of
the people around me were speculating about the location of the
Merwyns’ farm. The consensus was that it must be south of
Springfield; after all, most local strawberries don’t start showing
up until after Memorial Day. Overhearing this, Dale Merwyn looked up from
the flats of berries he was setting on the table as fast as he could:
“Nope, we’re from Chandlerville, west and a little north of
here,” he said. I can attest to that personally: Our families have
been friends as long as I can remember. With a twinkling smile, Merwyn told
the crowd, “We’ve got a secret for starting them early.”
Whatever the secret is, it works.
Send questions and comments to Julianne Glatz at
realcuisine@insightbb.com.
FRESH STRAWBERRY- RHUBARB PIE
One pie shell or six or more individual tart shells,
baked and cooled
Rhubarb mixture 1 cup sugar 3 tablespoons cornstarch 1 cup chopped rhubarb 2/3 cups water 4 or 5 cups fresh strawberries
Optional 8 ounces cream cheese, room temperature 2 tablespoons sugar 1 teaspoon vanilla
In a medium saucepan, mix the sugar and cornstarch
until no lumps remain. Stir in the water and fruit and bring to a boil.
Reduce the heat and simmer for about five minutes, until the mixture is
thickened and the fruit is cooked through. Remove from the heat and cool to
room temperature. (Don’t chill before mixing in the strawberries;
they won’t combine smoothly) Cut the strawberries into halves or quarters,
depending on their size. The amount needed will vary, depending on the size
of the pie shell(s) and how high you want to pile the strawberries If you are using the cream cheese, mix it with 2
tablespoons of sugar and the vanilla and gently spread the mixture on the
bottom of the pie shell. When the rhubarb mixture is at room temperature,
gently combine with the strawberries and spread the mixture evenly in the
pie shell(s). For an especially attractive presentation, cut up
only about 4 cups of the strawberries to combine with the rhubarb. Arrange
whole berries, pointed side up, so that they completely cover the
strawberry-rhubarb filling. Melt a little strawberry jelly over low heat
and very lightly brush the whole
berries. Note: The rhubarb mixture is also wonderful used to
make other fresh berry pies, such as blueberry, raspberry, or blackberry.
It’s also possible replace the rhubarb in the filling mixture with
the same berries that are being used uncooked (strawberries will need to be
coarsely chopped). If you’re using berries instead of rhubarb,
replace 2 or 3 tablespoons of the water with lemon juice.
This article appears in May 17-23, 2007.
