Santa Monica Farmer’s Market

The Santa Monica Farmer’s Market here in L.A. is a funny, funny thing. It’s sort of an institution. People get very serious about this market.

I’ve been coming here for 20 years and the antics never disappoint. It’s basically a little village that congregates and then disperses without fail – rain or shine – every Wednesday. But as eye catching as the produce is, it’s the people watching that’s not to be missed.

Business people, homeless people, yogis, hippies, moms and of course all kinds of farmers.

But the chefs are my favorite.

Oh, those chefs. There is not one ‘type’ to them, but what they do all have in common is immense bravado and the desire to arrive well before anyone else to clear out all the specialty produce before the poor, destitute common folk like us have a chance at it.

The Los Angeles Times has been covering this phenomenon for years, discussing whether the chefs have the ‘right’ to get first dibs on things. Believe it or not, there is actually a lot of public resentment over this.

I say who cares.

Rather than the debate, what I find much more interesting is the bravado of it all. The chefs walk the market like peacocks with plumes fully spread amongst a sea of the rest of us regular pigeons. While some show restraint and wear street clothes, many of them don their full regalia (even at 9:00AM): bandana, chef’s jacket (monogrammed with their name and restaurant name), requisite clogs or crocks and an entourage of one – or two – ‘attendants’ to push their massive cart of horded produce.

This is not to be missed.

Weaving through the crowd of mere mortals (ie, us) they seem to take pity on people (like me) who at 11:00AM have already more than missed the coveted goods.

Yesterday that would be zucchini blossoms.

But I say chefs be damned! I have a little veggie patch in my own back yard which just so happened to have two fat blossoms on it this morning, just screaming to be filled with goat cheese, then gently cradled into a pool of sizzling olive oil until ever so slightly golden in color.

A perfect little snack enjoyed not in a fancy restaurant, but in my humble kitchen, alone on a sunny spring afternoon.

Bee Jam

I am a sucker for good jam. It’s not my fault. It’s in my DNA. My earliest memories of my dad are of him spooning heaps of strawberry goodness into his mouth, directly from the jar. Why bother with toast?

When life gets overcomplicated, the kitchen is a soothing place for me work things out. I can transfer the energy into something else. Something beautiful and delicious. I’m not just after the end product, but the pleasure of the steps along the way. The feel of the smooth wood floor under my bare feet; the cold kitchen tiles; the grain of the wood cutting board; the razor sharp knife; the sun coming through the windows; the hound dogs roaming, searching.

They enjoy the pursuit, too.

Yesterday I found myself in the kitchen with a gorgeous bowl of kumquats purchased from the Santa Monica farmers market. I love kumquats, but I know for many they are an acquired taste. They are simultaneously sweet and intensely sour – a perfect metaphor for many things going on these days.

I began the process by pouring boiling water over the fruits (just to soften them up a bit), then I halved them and threw them into a pot with equal parts honey and water.

Then the magic happened.

The kitchen door was open wide, which connects to my back patio of flowering lavender, and the garden beyond. Once the pot of fruit and honey began to boil on the stove, the bees started to arrive, almost on cue. They hovered, they buzzed, they flew around the kitchen with glee, smelling and searching for the sweet reminder of home.

It was a brief communion, as so many things are…their search for home inside my home.

Once the orange sticky mass cooked and cooled down, and the last of the bees flew back outside, I spooned the mixture into a pretty teacup that my friend Marylee (the bee lady) gifted me many years ago.

The kumquat marmalade was delicious – a bright, shiny, bittersweet mixture, eaten directly from the container with a spoon.

Winter Salad

Even though it’s the middle of winter, the Farmers’ Markets in Los Angeles are overflowing with color. Citrus, as well as winter greens, are especially prolific. I had the pleasure of perusing the Santa Monica market today with a dear friend, and picked up some produce with contrasting colors and flavors in mind. Specifically: orange and purple; sweet and bitter. I came home with lovely fruits and some beautiful peppery Purple Mizuna from McGrath Family Farms.

I could eat a salad twice a day, year-round, if left to my own devices. And though I’ve never come close to ever being a professional cook, I do like to take the time to make it look pretty on the plate.

Winter Salad:
Purple Mizuna
Blackberries
Oranges
Orange Baby Tomatoes
Sea Salt

All I did was wash, slice and arrange the produce. I squeezed some orange juice on top and dusted with a little coarse sea salt. The bitter greens against the sweet juicy fruit was delicious!