Perennial Firsts

We don't exactly live at the mercy of the seasons anymore when it comes to what we eat - that's the reality of the 24-hour Supermarket and the globalization and industrialization of food. It's actually quite amazing and impressive that, in theory, at any given moment anyone in the world could be eating something from anywhere else in the world with nary a can opener, glass jar, or other preservative in sight. I say "in theory" because it is actually a travesty that so much of the world's population does not have access even to the most basic subsistence nutrients, let alone the diversity of exotic foods that I may take for granted as part of my everyday life.

Perhaps it is for these reasons that I take so much pleasure from cooking seasonally and locally, and especially in making those recipes that mark different parts of the year. And though a sort of restriction, to focus primarily on what's available to me in the place I live, food that is living and growing in the same weather I feel every day, makes me feel that much more present in the current place and time and season. It probably makes sense, then, that the productivity of my kitchen would follow the productivity of the fields and orchards, which really takes off in late spring and early summer.

Three dishes mark my transition to warmer weather, each an illustration of that fleeting overlap between the delicacy of spring produce and the explosion of summer flavour. The first is Salsa, which I featured in an earlier post. This, more than any other dish I make, follows the transition from spring to summer to fall, changing in flavour and texture as time goes on and the first salsa of the year is definitely a milestone. In late spring, when the farmers' markets open, the available flavours are a combination of the earthiness of last years apples and onions from cold storage and the first slightly tart tomatoes and nectarines from inland where it gets hot sooner. The resulting salsa teeters on the edge between rich, deep, and hearty, like a steak, and bright and sharp, like a crisp spring day. Like the place at the red edge of the rainbow where you catch a glimpse of violet that hints at the next rainbow.

Another dish that really heralds the coming warmth and produce explosion of summer is the first rhubarb-basil compote or cobbler. Rhubarb starts a little earlier than basil and in truth both are really summer crops, but the cool thing about living and eating in Seattle is that within 50 miles there are such diverse microclimates that allow the cultivation of all sorts of foods (in some cases different neighborhoods seem to have different weather, but that's a different story.) But the first time that rhubarb and basil show up in adjacent wooden bins at the farmers' market I dive in and make a heap of compote for yogurt, ice cream, sandwiches, and really anywhere else I care to try. It is sweet and savoury and tart all at the same time, and so I keep finding other uses for it.

Another delightfully multipurpose sauce that continues to surprise me is pesto. The first pesto of the season is a momentous occasion in part because it is green. Winter is a lot of colours, from white to scarlet red, brown to rich purple, but one thing that is mostly absent from the menu is green. All that changes when spring rolls around. Many of the early greens - asparagus, kale, lettuces - prefer to stand on their own, lightly dressed so the subtlty and grace of flavour can be best appreciated. Basil, on the other hand, walks straight up to you and says "Hello, I'm delicious and I go with everything." A little egocentric, perhaps, but quite true. My pesto changes colour over the summer, too, depending on the state of the ingredients. The first batch is lighter - using green garlic and shallots instead of garlic cloves and the first basil of the season which is a brighter, sunnier green. The extra moinsture makes it slightly frothy, too. And the taste is fresh, almost like the smell of cut grass - a little sweet and a little sharp at the same time if you mix in the right amount of pepper and pine nuts, too. And it goes on everything. Well, maybe not breakfast cereal and such, but you never know... On Sunday I stuffed a burger with it and that was an incontrovertibly brilliant success!

So go forage. I haven't even begun to talk about some of the seasonal gems, like porcini mushrooms as big as a fist, a raspberry the size of a golf ball but infinitely tastier, and small, wrinkly, amazingly rich strawberries. But you only find if you taste, and you can only taste if you look, and you can only look if you go explore.