Tuesday, June 30, 2009

To Market: St. Mark's Church
















Midday today hovered near 80 degrees, breezy though hot in the sun. But at the market in the dappled shade of St. Mark's Church, on the corners of 2nd Avenue and E. 10th Street, no one seemed to mind much.

The pleasant man behind the Breezy Hill Orchard & Cider Mill table volunteered that both the blueberries in his pies, and the butter in their crusts, were from Dutchess County, up around the Hudson Valley wine region. Otherwise, in the heat and lethargy of 3 p.m., no one was much for conversation.

Tiny red potatoes called to me, though. Piles of yellow wax beans and green string beans announced on their sign: Picked by hand! And attitude galore came from two crates of kirby cucumbers — squat but thick as baseball bats — and the zucchini, longer but matching in stature, beside them.

A dog (Strings, did the woman call him?) was busy with some pigeons, which were busy with some breadcrumbs that exactly the type of old woman to do such a thing threw out suddenly, near a garden of pink roses, to the small crowd's chagrin.

There was broccoli rabe, basil and bok choy, plus organic oatmeal bread, ginger cookies big as salad plates, and cardboard cartons of blueberries, $4 each or two for $7, but no fish. With a tug and a whoosh the back gate of the fish monger's white truck clicked closed for the day.

There were red and white onions, round cherry tomatoes in an awning's shade, and green peas for shelling, which for the first time in weeks I resisted.

But there was no ignoring four boxes of New Jersey peaches all ready to eat, if not a day past ripe. Which, because I am my mother's daughter, made me think they'd be perfect for marinating in red table wine, while dinner was prepared, and then eating for dessert, served in the old wide-mouth champagne glasses.

Standing over the peaches, deciding whether I could make it all the way home without bruising them, a woman reached for one as I did. Together we lifted the warm fruit toward our noses and, as the honey-sweet scent hit us, let out soft, involuntary moans.








































































3 comments:

Erika said...

When I lived in New York (which was my whole life, until I moved to California), I would take my collapsible shopping cart on the M5 bus from my apartment near Lincoln Center to the Union Square Greenmarket, in the days before everyone knew what it was, before everyone wanted local fresh seasonal, and before farmers market shopping was an aspiration.

The Santa Monica markets are wonderful, unbelievable, but I sort of miss the days when the way I shopped was considered rogue. These photos, and the sensory memory of the smell of warm peaches on the hot sidewalk, bring me back. I love it.

Michelle said...

So good to see you here, Erika!

And I completely relate — sometimes, when the market is absolutely packed with do-gooders exactly like me, all toting their own bags and asking if the beef is "grass finished," there's something less fun about about the whole enterprise...

Before I moved to New York in 2000, I lived in Santa Monica, a few blocks from the big Saturday farmers' market. I love the NY Greenmarkets, but there are Saturdays I've definitely wished I were back in SM — where there was always a vendor making some wonderful breakfast foods. Enough with the muffins, bring on the breakfast burritos!

Erika said...

So we've lived opposite lives - you lived here and moved there, and I lived there and moved here!

Tamales, by the way, are our morning market breakfast of choice....

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