Witness:
Morning.
Evening.
Not bad.
Weekends are, of course, a different matter. While some of the weekend is usually reserved for work on my amazing women's environmental network project, I do my fair share of enjoying life around town or out on the trail. Sometimes it's a real practice for me to slow down and loll about after a week of going-going-going, but I know I need to do it in order to avoid crashing ('cause it ain't pretty when that happens).
I've found that the rhythm of the Jewish sabbath can beautifully support that time-out-of-time resting experience that my body and spirit so deeply need, so I try to honor Shabbat in my own way. Sometimes it's going 24 hours without the computer (I'm amazed and perhaps a bit unsettled at how challenging that is), sometimes it's a day in the woods, sometimes it's just staying in bed til noon, reading with the windows open.
One of my favorite places to spend the early part of Saturday is the Berkeley farmer's market. Oh, how I love a good farmer's market. These transformed parking lots or blocked-off streets are bastions of community, relationship and simplicity, pockets of gentleness in our buzzing, flickering, networked-yet-alienated lives. Even five or six years ago, long before I had any awareness of how or, indeed, why to cook excellent food for myself, I remember waiting in eager anticipation for Sunday to come around again so I could visit the Hollywood farmer's market.
Stretching for several blocks, it was not only a dizzying cornucopia of fresh produce and other assorted delicious foods, it was also a true melting pot. Hung-over hipsters hiding bleary eyes behind big sunglasses wait in line for coffee, while short Salvadoran women haggle over corn cobs at the booth next door. The same African-American man, every week for years and years, plays his drum and sings with the enraptured crowd of bouncing children gathered near him. Gay and lesbian couples push strollers. Celebrities try to look inconspicuous. The blind guitarist plays his mournful melodies. The big-bellied lavender salesman: "who wants lavender, talk to me, talk to me! Who wants lavender, work with me, work with me!" I can still hear his song. Truly, the best of L.A.
The best of any town, really -- no matter where you are, you know you're certain to share sweet conversation and delight your tastebuds when you visit the weekend market.
So, back to today -- I biked to Center Street in downtown Berkeley around 11:00 and spent a glorious couple of hours examining beautiful produce, listening to bluegrass at one end of the market and blues at the other, enjoying an organic buckwheat crepe filled with chicken, cheddar cheese, sundried tomatoes, and spinach, and walking around with a goofy smile on my face, happy to be surrounded by earth's abundance and peaceful people.
Because I'm cultivating a more daring sensibility for trying unusual (well, unusual for me) foods, I came back from the market today with quite an array of goodies that have heretofore never entered my kitchen.
I got some raw fennel (which was served in a salad at a potluck last weekend, with sliced kumquats no less), arugula flowers, miniature artichokes, fresh chives, goat feta, and orange-rosemary vinegar! (About the latter, I can only say WOW.)
Of course, I also got some staples: fresh eggs, plump strawberries, asparagus, leeks, onions. And after a trip to the local grocery and the local meatmarket, I have all the ingredients for some serious playtime in the kitchen this week.
Lunch was an experiment in salad. Small, crunchy hearts of butter lettuce, avocado, sliced fennel bulb, arugula flowers, dressed with olive oil, orange-rosemary vinegar, fennel tips, salt, and a squeeze of lemon. The result was sweet, bitter, tangy, tart, and light. I ate it on my porch, on the purple chair, in the dappled afternoon sunlight.
As you might imagine, I enjoyed every bite.
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