The Guatemalan vendor at the farmers market loves her vegetables. And I think it started in planting. Every Saturday I would ask her what (or how) to cook what's on her splendid table. This time she said the beets were sweet and that I should use their natural leaves (mildly bitter on the stem and would balance out nicely in a soup). Yes, I will do it. At home I have fresh corn and decided on its flavor to marry conveniently with the beets for an amazing soup mirepoix garnished with broiled Brussel sprouts glazed with coconut milk and lemon, and before serving dotted with olive oil. She also had green beans and sugar snap peas, last bags, and I grabbed them. My pasta dish is now a menu of these simple greens, with the spinach fettuccine all quickly boiled, and once tossed together must be contrasted with homemade bagel-croutons, charred, crunchy, salty and peppery for texture al fresco. Meta-deliciousness is a seasoning embodiment of food passed on heart to heart from the home farmer to the home chef-- and that's a source of good. I had bought all the grapefruit and papaya from the tent next door from my friend's, and I was given a cardboard box to carry all my market to my van. On the road I had imagined all that will be happy in my stomach to come.
Two things I always do when I go to the plentiful valley for my weekend walks: collect unique river rocks; and gather wild edibles. I chanced upon the wild tomato bush while picking violet succulent flowers, their tendrils have weaved together and the two plants are now stuck, but I saw the beady red fruits on the dry hay in the thick and gently snap them out. The precious scent of the tomatoes was undeniably culinary and good. The animals haven't gotten to them as yet. Some where still green on the vine, but they were growing along side the ripe ones on the bunch, and for the dish I was imagining their use, both colors would present themselves perfect on top. There were dragonflies that day, and I remembered being inside a Mary Oliver poem. There's a strong flowing stream at the end of the trail coastal side of the protected valley where that river meets the sea. I wash the edibles there, and I wash myself to freshen my face. I love the micro-falls that come down from the stones and rapid pebbles. A flock of common grey pigeons always home there at the confluence for a fresh water drink before the stream from the Iao Mountain disappears in the sea. The rocks I gather are unique at this yin yang intersection intertidal with the falls. A dinosaur egg. An imprint on a split rock of a fossilized U (perhaps the first ever letter primal earth every wrote eons ago before fire). Further upstream is a sand cave hidden under an outcrop tree. Sometimes I nap there. Most times I sit on a river rock and watch the birds again and again drink water. I brought flowers for my kitchen table before I cook, and these olieferas I have exude a divine perfume concentrated as five lilies as five lilacs. What a herald for the beautiful foraged dish I'll be preparing to come tonight...
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