Farmer's Market Fun

In the summertime, I receive a weekly box of produce from a CSA. You'd think that would be enough, but the pull of the Farmer's Market remains strong. In fact, this is the second time in a week I've been to a market.

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The weather is so variable. I realize two or three blocks after leaving home on the mile-long trek that I probably should have brought along a jacket or umbrella. But the temperature is warm enough that I decide just to relish the smell and feel of the rain, singing and whistling as it alternates between pouring, sprinkling and disappearing altogether. I have sympathy for one farm stand, where there is a stream of water cascading from their produce bags. One of the men taps the awning and it is as though a faucet has been turned on. Apparently a reservoir of water builds in between the sign and the tent itself. Fortunately, it looks as though the nearby customer is escaping unscathed.
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This afternoon, I'm on a mission for berries - a few weeks ago I picked up one of the last half flats before Hayton Farms sold out. This time when I trade my empty box for a dollar off a new half flat of raspberries, the young woman counters, "I'll give you 2 for $20". After confirming that I can mix and match I take her up on it with strawberries and raspberries, but no blackberries - they're never as satisfying as picking my own.

This is madness - Trent hates all fruit that grows on bushes (though bogs and trees are acceptable), so I will need to eat every berry on my own - but I'm sure that by Wednesday's market, I'll need another box or two. Later on, I run into a college guy with a similar stack of berries. "So she upsold you too?" I ask. He responds that with his love of berries he just can't resist. A kindred spirit.
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Waiting in line to buy apricot jam, the farmer encourages the woman ahead of me to try the tayberry jam. One of my coworkers was chortling over her acquisition of this unfamiliar berry earlier this week, so I sample a bite. Delicious! I learn that many flavorful berry crops can't be machine-picked and these are in danger of disappearing. I hope the farmer is successful in his encouragement of his son to fight against this and carry on the family farming legacy with crops that require such individual attention.
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Walking in the market in the warm rain, nibbling on raspberries (by the end of my trek, only five of the six cartons remain). A stoner standing in the middle of the pathway is entranced and approvingly says "oh yeah". I suspect he enjoys watching someone savor the delights of the harvest.
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The group in front of me at LaPasta debates the merits of the various varieties of pasta. Though one person in the family dislikes gnocchi, they decide to purchase some to serve with salmon. The Italian vendor advises them on the best method of preparing it. While it sounds delicious, I know that I'll be buying the smoked salmon ravioli to serve with a beet-cream sauce, a recipe I learned years ago from the same stand. This is fortunate, as they purchase the last two boxes of gnocchi.

My next stop is at Sea Breeze Farm to purchase the necessary cream. The gnocchi-woman is directly behind me and we talk about our dinner plans for the evening. She's intrigued by my pasta plans, especially when I tell her about the lovely pink color of the sauce, and has me repeat the recipe a couple of times so that she can recreate it another week.
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Buying sausage and bacon from Skagit Valley Ranch, another farmer comes up behind me and says to the owner, "I've got some shitake for you". She politely declines, but offers him bacon ends.

"How much?"
"For you, nothing."
"No, I can't - I want to trade or pay."

She still refuses and presses the bacon on him. He reluctantly agrees, and adds "okay, but I'm going to remember that you have shitake credit."
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A couple is sharing a crepe. "Nutella?" I ask.
"With banana - so good," they say, she daintily licking her fingers and he with a light layer of hazelnut spread on his cheek.

Later, in line for a ham gruyere crepe at Caravan Crepes, another couple stands behind me watching the preparation. The young black man shares in a confidential tone, "When I was in France, I ate so many crepes I almost got sick. That's all I would eat - that and french fries - that's all I could afford."

Trent and I retreat under a tree for shelter to share a few bites. It's 2:00 and the market is officially closed. Around us vendors roll up their signs and pack up their wares. Time to go home.
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Salmon Pasta with Beet Cream Sauce
Prepare salmon-filled pasta as directed. While waiting for the water to boil, heat a bit of butter (approx. 1 TBS) in a pan. Grate 1/2 - 1 beet into the butter and saute. Add about 1/2 pint of cream (half and half will work too in a pinch, but the sauce will be thinner) and simmer until sauce is thick. Remove from heat and add fresh grated parmesan to taste. Toss with pasta. Add additional parmesan at the table if desired. Serve with plenty of crusty bread to sop up the sauce.