Spring

Fresh chanterelles are my favorite mushroom. Sure I enjoy porcini and I certainly wouldn't pass up a truffle white or black if it crossed my plate. But there is something about chanterelles that appeals to me the most.

They are so very unique. First of all they are beautiful to look at, golden and trumpet shaped.

Not a true gilled mushroom, the underside of the cap has rounded gill-like ridges or veins that branch irregularly so their texture when cooked is velvety and tender.

A couple of weeks ago I experienced a revelation: I tasted my first pea shoot.

I was at the Little Italy Mercato buying Asian produce from The Vangs, also known as Mr. and Mrs. Green. After purchasing Thai basil, fresh ginger and sugar snap peas, I asked, "What do pea shoots taste like?"

She replied, with no sarcasm, "Peas."

She tore a small piece off one of the leaves and handed it to me. I bit into it and suddenly the sun broke through the clouds, harp music began playing, and I floated ever so slightly off of the pavement.

OK, that's not exactly what happened. There was no harp music. It was Spanish music being played by a local band.

It wouldn’t be Spring in Maine without eating at least a couple “batches” of fiddleheads. This has been a record winter for snow and the melt has been gentle and slow until a few days ago when it rained for twenty-four solid hours! Since fiddleheads grow along the banks of waterways they literally disappeared until the waters receded. Interesting vegetable, huh?

There are two varieties of ferns that are most desirable to eat, the cinnamon fern, a smaller more compact variety, which arrives first, and then the more prized ostrich fern, larger in size and more elegant in flavor. Fiddlehead ferns have a flavor like nothing else. They taste something like the fresh tips of asparagus with the texture of okra. You either like it immediately or you don’t. There is no middle ground or negotiation with this vegetable. Period.

The banks of rivers are covered with people picking huge bags and baskets of this spring delight in large quantities. My sister and I call them the stolen vegetable. No one ever picks their own from their land; it is always people sneaking onto your land and wiping out the fiddlehead crop till next year.

A few weeks ago at the farmers' market I asked for a bunch of beets. The farmer grabbed a beautiful bunch: five crimson colored globes topped with remarkably long, red stalks and large, crisp leafy greens. I could practically taste them.

Then right in front of my eyes, before I could utter a word, he beheaded my beautiful beets and flung the greens into a dirty cardboard box with other sad, misfit vegetables.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"What? You didn't want them did you?" he asked, incredulous.

Didn't want them?! The beet greens are the best part.

It made me miss Carlos, the farmer from whom I bought beets all last year when we lived in LA. One Sunday when Carlos saw me coming, he ran from the table into the back of his van. He motioned me to follow him. When I reached the back of the van, he uncovered a big box full of fresh bunches of beet greens and flashed me a smile. "For me?" I asked. "For you, Miss."