To Market: Grand Army Plaza, sugar plums and eggplant

Sugar plums existed solely within the realm of Christmas poems, for all I knew, until this morning, when not one but two rosy-red varieties sat looking sweet and dew-dampened at the Grand Army market.

The first batch I came across — heaped in a bushel basket for $4.00 a pound — looked like big cherries, though more round than heart-shaped. The second — selling a few stands down for $5.00 a pint box — were closer to pingpong balls, which woke me up to the fact that they were not sugarplums, as I'd been thinking of them, but sugar PLUMS.

Speaking of waking up, did I mention I was at the market a good two hours earlier than usual? We have a houseguest this weekend, who at 6:59 a.m. put his little paws up on the bed and reached his nose toward mine, in order to, when I opened my eyes, give me a look that said: Dear God, woman. How can you just lay there when I’m STARVING?

After he inhaled a bowl of venison bits, we walked up to the park and did a preliminary investigation of the market, during which time he discovered a dirty paper napkin and a wine cork and I discovered haricot vert (petite, ultra thin), fresh garlic with their woody stems still on, and a big bin of baby artichokes — which sent me hurrying back home to pick up money, a canvas bag, and the camera, and to leave Nigel to beg for banana bread from an up-but-also-groggy R.

Returning, however, my hands-down favorite find was a line of six varieties of eggplant at the Kernan Farms stand, from Bridgeton, New Jersey. Piled along a long table were:

• white eggplant, looking like delicate ostrich eggs, and which apparently used to be the more common variety, thus why they’re called what they're called;

• long, skinny, streaky-purple Chinese eggplant;

• squat, near-black eggplant — maybe what the I Love Eggplant! site calls Hindu eggplant;

• squat, streaky-purple Sicilian eggplant, apparently also called “zebra” or “graffiti” eggplant;

• longish, black Italian eggplant;

• and finally, judging by The Cook’s Thesaurus, Rosa Bianca eggplants, which looked like enormous, purple heirloom tomatoes, complete with chubby-baby rolls.
















I picked out two Rosa Biancas and a perfect white oval, planning to stuff them both.

I actually had an agenda for today’s market. I wanted to see if — instead of letting my eyes and my stomach determine where the money fell from my pockets — I could organize myself enough to leave with enough ingredients for five meals.

While hurrying back up to the market with my wallet I’d put together some ideas, and through the first few stands I jotted down what I bought and what I’d paid. But soon my eyelids began to feel heavy, and then I forget entirely about the pen and paper, and soon also about my plan for the meals.

Yawning my way down the street, no coffee in me yet, I paused at the bottom of our stoop to consider what I’d bought: sorrel and arugula for salads; sugar plums, peaches for our trip to the beach today, and some fluorescent green Shiro plums, simply for their color; two dozen clams, which R. is the master of preparing with linguini; some okra, green beans, sweet butter, red onions, red potatoes and eggplant. Five meals? We’ll see.