Essay #79: Red & Ripe

The farmer's market is open for the season! And it seems the outlook is very rosy indeed.

Essay #71: Spice of Life

 

Peppers were ubiquitous at the farmer's market this week. All shapes, colors, and degrees of heat. 

There was a very interesting article in the New York Times this week about hot peppers and why people love to consume these barely edible little bundles of fire. Pleasure in pain seems kind of masochistic to me. I've never understood the appeal of food that makes you cry, but I've never ventured much beyond medium salsa. What I found interesting about the article was the science of how a vegetable can mimic the sensation of setting one's tongue ablaze. Capsaicin, the chemical that makes peppers "hot," triggers the heat receptors in the mouth, making the brain think you're chewing glowing coals regardless of the actual temperature of the food. Here's another fact that a spice-wimp like me learned early on: Reach for milk, not water. Water won't dissolve capsaicin or lessen the burn (although the ice may feel good while it's in your mouth), but milk proteins will tame the flame.  

I haven't done this in a while, but here's the specs: 1/60 f/4.4 28mm ISO200

Essay #62: Peaches

I went to the farmer's market on Saturday in search of fresh spinach to make a salad for dinner. To my great disappointment, there was not a single leaf to be found. However, one vendor had something I'd never seen in a Wisconsin market:

Peaches! Fresh, warm, and juicy. The perfect summertime treat.

Essay #60: Summer's sweet

Thanks to everyone for their suggestions (and do keep adding them!). A couple of you mentioned trying a summer theme. Summer is in full swing here, and you know what that means: the farmer's market!

Mmm, strawberries...

I decided to explore the area farmer's market this weekend, and I was a bit surprised to find it significantly more stocked with goods than produce - especially since this is, after all, a predominantly agricultural region - and not a single cheese curd to be found. But I did find these gorgeous strawberries, one of my favorite summertime delights. I wonder if there are any pick-your-own strawberry patches around here?

Essay #40: Blue potatoes

Some bizarre kind of fruit? A frostbitten kiwi, perhaps? Nope, these are potatoes. No, not rotten ones; fresh, yummy, starchy spuds.

What makes then blue? Not a dye or anything to be leery of, but an antioxidant also found in blue or purple fruit. I knew that someday I'd find a carb that's good for me!

Essay #39: Emu eggs

OK, so this week was a lot busier than planned. I guess that's what happens when you're a working girl? But I'll try to make it up to you by posting all weekend.

There are a couple of vendors that sell ostrich eggs at the local farmer's market, but this week I came across these beauties: emu eggs. They're a beautiful blue-green; I tried several different white balances and couldn't replicate the color. I did a little research: According to the all-knowing Internet, they cook and taste like chicken eggs...or, actually, a dozen or so large chicken eggs. They take upwards of an hour to hard-boil. That's a lot of egg.

Essay #38: Cheese curds

A staple of Wisconsin farmers' markets (and grocery stores), cheese curds are squeaky fresh cheddar cheese, no aging or processing. They're best within 12 hours of their making--as in, they were milk that morning. They typically come in white or yellow (or a mix, as shown above); most people have a preference, but I've never been able to taste a difference. Critics claim they have the texture and sound of chewing on a balloon, and while that may be somewhat accurate, it leaves out their fresh, creamy, salty flavor. Mmmm.

And yes, that is a Holstein-printed tablecloth underneath them.

Topic: Fun at the Farmer's Market

I love the farmer's market. Where else can you find such an assortment of fresh produce, familiar and exotic? Two words, people: ostrich jerky. This week I'll showcase samples from the fascinating (and sometimes freaky-looking) world of the farmer's market.