The Marge Farmers' Market Booth; photo courtesy of Danielle Tsi

From the looks of the title of this post, you may think I'm about to give you all the secrets to selling your food or wares at the farmers' market. Want to take on the Ferry Building on Saturday mornings? Great. How about Marin on Sunday mornings? You, go.

If only I could offer you such advice. Instead, I thought I'd take a moment to share my experience on breaking into a few local farmers' markets. I find that many friends and family members don't quite understand what it takes to begin selling at the farmers' markets. They think you can just buy a fold-out table from Costco along with some cute cake stands and call it a day. When I tell them about the long process, the paperwork, the samples, and the constant follow-up and strategizing, they're always pretty surprised. Most of us have our favorite vendors and people we return to week after week at our neighborhood market. But perhaps you haven't spent much time thinking about how it is they snagged their table in the big, bad, competitive world of farmers' market real estate.

Here's how it all goes down:

1. The first thing to understand is that most individual farmers' markets are part of a governing organization. New business owners often start dreaming about the markets they'd like to participate in: maybe one by your home or one you know is extremely popular. The kicker is that most of those markets have lengthy wait lists. I've been told on more than one occasion, "You're basically going to have to wait until one of the other vendors keels over dead." But you still think it's worth giving it a go, so you send in your paperwork to the larger organization and cross your fingers.

2. You wait. You wait weeks and weeks. You call and leave messages. You notice they've cashed your "processing fee" of $100 and think this must be a good sign-- surely you must be in somewhere. You're finally told, "Congratulations! You've been put on the waiting list for 8 local markets. We'll call you if something ever opens up." You start to wish you could have your "processing fee" back.

3. One afternoon when you least expect it, you're called and asked to bring by some samples. They'd like to try your product and hear about how it's unique and how you differentiate yourself from other similar vendors. You hem and haw about what might best represent your product line. You package everything in sweet little boxes with bakers twine and lots of business cards.

4. You bring by samples thinking you're just dropping them off. Instead, you're seated at a long table and asked to walk each person in the room through what you've brought. Open-ended and unexpected questions such as "talk a bit about your process" or "tell us about where you source each ingredient" are posed. You feel like you're back in high school debate class, looking out into the audience for a hint or a way out.

5. They like your product! The only problem? The timing's not quite right. They're waiting for another similar vendor to confirm that they are, in fact, leaving and until that time, they can't move you into a slot. You wait.

6. Finally you get a call back. They'd like you to start next weekend. You panic, feeling like it's way too soon. You've got nothing together yet. You need another one of those darn Costco tables, a pop-up tent, some manpower on the morning of. You need a little cash. There's some very real start-up money even though it doesn't seem as though there should be. From equipment to marketing to signage, to stall fees (anywhere from $20-$50 a week). You say yes and know that it'll all somehow come together. And it does. And it will.

7. You channel your inner yogi and try and find a little peace in the whole thing. There are no time contracts or binding agreements (usually markets like to feel you out to see if you're a good fit and, likewise, it's important to make sure that you're happy there as well). So you try not to think too far ahead and ponder the fact that you'll never have another weekend off in your entire life. You try not to kiss 4th of July barbecues goodbye just yet. Or friends' summer weddings. Or big birthday parties. You just put one foot in front of the other.

Essentially, getting into the highly desirable and crowded farmers' markets in the Bay Area takes a combination of good luck, perfect timing, depends a bit on who you know, persistence, and a solid product. And sometimes the convergence of all of these factors just takes some time. If you're looking to be a vendor, my advice is to get out there and talk to other folks who are selling at markets you like; get to know who the market manager is and introduce yourself; familiarize yourself with the market and who is already there and how you're different; be persistent. Continue calling. The worse they're going to say is, "Yes, you're still on the waiting list." And always remember why it is you're doing what you're doing. The farmers' markets are such a source of community--for me, they've actually become a ritual. My weekend mornings just wouldn't feel right if I weren't schlepping bakery boxes and pie slices all around the greater Bay Area. And for that, I'll take a little waiting and a little patience any day.

Visit Marge on Saturday mornings at The Marin Country Mart Farmer's Market or on Sunday Mornings beginning in April at the Inner Sunset Farmers' Market in San Francisco.

The market's grand exterior, on a side street just off La Rambla.

In the heart of Barcelona, Spain, there is a road called Rambla dells Caputxins, or La Rambla for short. Teeming with life, La Rambla is a wide, busy road that is partially blocked off for pedestrian traffic. You can buy all sorts of things along this street: flowers, crepes, postcards, newspapers, hamsters, and a steaming hot pan of paella. But perhaps the most interesting part of La Rambla is Mercat de La Boqueria, Barcelona's famous open food market.

Ferran Adrià, chef of Spain's famous elBulli, called the mercat "A temple of gastronomy,' if that gives you any idea of what a culinary wonderland this place its. While you can buy all sorts of interesting things on La Rambla, within the huge hangar-like structure of Mercat de La Boqueria you'll find an incredible selection of Spanish fare. Fruit and produce are just a small portion of what's available; there are rows upon rows of incredibly fresh seafood, cured meats, freshly-foraged mushrooms, and delectable handmade sweets.

The variety and freshness of the foods in the Mercat de La Boqueria can be overwhelming for even the most experienced foodie -- one could easily spend four or five hours roaming the stalls, deciding what to eat or prepare for dinner. My first visit took me about three hours, and I finally left because, being on vacation, I couldn't bear the thought of not having a place to prepare any of the wonderful things I was seeing. My second (and third!) trip to the market also took hours. Really, there is so much to see, smell, and taste.

This is one of those situations where pictures speaks much louder than words, so I'll just show you the loveliness of it all. Be prepared for the urge to book the next one-way ticket to Spain.

A forest of cured meats! Hallelujah!

Fruit salad "La Macedonia." Many vendors sell these salads for a quick, healthy, on-the-go lunch.

Fruity smoothies make a great snack. A rainbow of flavors are available.

The selection of seafood is unimaginable.

A food porn shot for the mushroom lover in all of us.

More seafood, still alive and kicking.

A huge selection of sweets are available for a huge selection of vendors. It's a sugar-lovers paradise in here.

More sweets to tempt your sweet tooth.

I loved these silver pastilles. Such a bright light in the busy market.

And did I mention the produce selection? It's ungodly, really.

More fresh seafood, though clearly not alive any longer. ;)

This fresh conejo might offend even the staunch carnivore, but that doesn't make it any less tasty.

More cured meat, for the charcuterie lover (like me!).

I loved these little cupcakes. They were only .50 euros each -- or $0.70 US!

Seeing all of these fresh ingredients makes me wish I had a kitchen to cook in while I am here. Alas...............

Throw out that can of baking powder from 2004! Grate your citrus zest on a microplane, not a box grater! Don't wander away from the stove while your lemon curd is thickening!

You've got to have issues, important issues, to preach about when you're a cooking demonstrator trying to keep an audience of chilly strangers entertained on a cold morning in February. Especially when bucket drummers, porchetta-sandwich sellers, and the latte line at Blue Bottle are all clambering for attention just a few feet of lettuce-strewn pavement away.

Luckily, I have strong opinions about everything you do in your kitchen, and if you're sitting in front of me at the farmers' market while I'm demonstrating a recipe, you're going to hear about it chapter and verse: why you won't buy buttermilk, why you should buy those pricey pastured eggs, why you need to stop storing your herb jars over the stove. But you'll laugh at least once, I can promise, and you'll go on your way amused and at least a little informed, even if all you wanted when you sat down was the free sample.

It's the amused-and-informed part that's most crucial to giving good demo, more important than flawless technique or having the be-all, end-all recipe for seared Arctic char suspended in pomegranate-ponzu gel.

I learned this early on from super-pro David Lebovitz, who was cooking before me the day of my first-ever demo at the Ferry Plaza Farmers' Market. Being a food writer and cookbook author rather than a "real" (read restaurant) chef, I confessed to David that I was nervous about seeming professional enough. What kind of presenter doesn't even own a white chef's jacket? Wouldn't this sophisticated audience root out my less-than-perfect knife skills like a pack of snuffling, Prius-driving pigs hot on the scent of a ripe black truffle?

David, bless his heart, merely scoffed. "Just make 'em laugh! That's all they want," he insisted, and then went out in front of the audience and did just that. He cracked jokes, told funny stories, and in the time it took to melt a block of chocolate for a batch of his "absolute best" brownies, he had the audience eating out of his hand.

Well, entertainment I could do. Having been onstage in many guises, even buck-naked, tap-dancing in an apron wasn't going to daunt me. In fact, as I nattered about bee sex while whipping up a honey-and-almond cake, I realized quickly that it could even be fun. Didn't it combine two of my favorite things, cooking and telling people what to do?

It also helped that I'd seen, or suffered through, hours of bad cooking demonstrations, done by talented but charisma-free chefs who mumbled into their jacket mics and kept their eyes glued to their pans, never interacting with the audience or explaining the whys or hows of what their hands were doing so deftly. Or, conversely, the equally brilliant chefs, beamed in from Planet Moleculo-Gastronomix, who talked the room to glazed-eye death with thirty minutes of nonstop techie arcana. Then there were the recipes, often too complicated or elaborate for a home kitchen whose only prep cook might be a reluctant boyfriend or mad-hungry 12-year-old already whining for dinner.

A good cooking demonstrator, like a good teacher of any sort, is equal parts evangelist and showman. Personally, I love farmers' markets, and have great respect for the hard work that farmers do. So my job up there is to make you, the market shopper, fall in love with the unexpected, like nettles or quinces or the ravishing, marigold-yellow color of an egg yolk produced by a happy, pasture-raised hen. What makes these pitches work is that I'm also a great big ham who loves to be on stage, even if that stage is only a folding table and a propane stove.

But does it pay? Well, no, not directly. No one's handing me a wad of twenties to blanch kale and crack eggs (and jokes) on a Saturday morning. I've cooked at a lot of markets, from Brooklyn to Arkansas to Santa Cruz, and it's always been a unpaid gig. Now, I won't write for free. That's a professional skill I've honed over the past 20 years. It's my livelihood. I wouldn't expect my dentist or my hair stylist to do their job for free; why should I be asked to ply my own trade without remuneration?

But I will (probably) do a cooking demo at your farmers' market without payment. Why? Because hopefully, you in the audience will watch, like what you see (or at least enjoy the freebie sample of what I've just cooked) and thus buy one of my cookbooks from the stack I've so thoughtfully piled on this table next to me. Maybe you in the velour yoga pants and cute stripey tote bag are a magazine editor amenable to pitches. Or maybe you're the person who programs the classes at a fancy cookware store down on the Peninsula, classes I could get paid to teach. Restaurant chefs do it to for publicity, to keep their name (and the name of their restaurant) in public circulation.

It's that nebulous, hard-to-quantify thing known as exposure. Cooking at a well-regarded market like San Francisco's Ferry Plaza Market also puts me in good company, alongside many other well-known authors and chefs. A lot of people come to that market, and lots of them will sit down and watch the cook's demonstration attentively, from start to finish. (Never discount the joy of an attentive audience, especially one that laughs at your jokes.)

Part of the satisfaction of doing this is encouraging people to get in the kitchen. Since I think that anyone can, and should, cook, these demos are stealth teaching, using snappy patter and snacks to sweeten the skill-share. Come for the sample, in other words, and maybe you'll take away a few tips that might inspire you the next time you're in the kitchen or in the market.

To this end, I've fried zucchini pancakes for teenagers walking by the sidewalk offerings of a tiny urban farm in Brooklyn. Made a frittata using eggs from ducks quacking and waddling between rows of chard at the Homeless Garden Project in Santa Cruz. Proved to a row of skeptical seven-year-olds in Arkansas that yes, a bowl of heavy cream will turn into a huge mound of fluffy, puffy whipped cream with nothing more than elbow grease and a whisk.

In places like these, my lack of chef cred (and jacket) is actually a plus. If I can do this, standing here in a goofy gingham apron, so can you. If this kooky woman can cajole browned and beautiful biscuits out of a tiny toaster oven running off a snaky orange extension cord, then surely you can do the same, or better, at home.

Since even basic baking seems to daunt a lot of folks, I like to show how easy it can be. Scones were the subject of my most recent demo, because, like chocolate-chip cookies, they're delicious when freshly baked at home, and pretty much horrible--dry, tough, overly sweet--everywhere else. The reward? Several audience members came up to me afterwards,s saying they'd always thought they didn't like scones. But that morning, they'd realized, after two bites of a hot-from-the-oven homemade one, that it was only bad scones they hated.

Only a handful of pantry staples (sugar, baking powder and soda, salt) were not from the market. Everything else, from freshly milled, Sonora soft-wheat flour from Eatwell Farm and yogurt from St. Benoit to the candied lemon rinds from June Taylor Jams was bought right there at the market. And yes, farmers and purveyors were paid market price for any items used.

So, shop, bake, and be merry. And should you ever have the chance to cook in public, take these tips from me:

1. Talk fast, talk loud. Hopefully you'll have a microphone, but even so, markets are noisy places. Articulate, project, and talk fast, because your audience will come and go, and you want to get as much info out there before they wander off to find coffee.

2. Make eye contact. Look out into the audience as much as you can without chopping your fingers off. Pick a few receptive-looking folks, and direct what you're saying right to them. Scan around and shift your focus every few sentences.

3. Practice your recipe at home. Make it start to finish. Talk it through. Figure out where the boring parts are. Think about what you can prep beforehand. Do you have a brilliant new way to chop an onion? If not, do it ahead of time.

4. Keep an open space between you and the audience. Don't clutter the table right in front of you with bowls and ingredients. Let people see what you're doing.

5. Don't forget about final presentation. Have a pretty plate or bowl ready to show off the final product.

6. Give credit where it's due. If you're at a farmers' market, promote the farmers whose products you're using. Talk about who they are and what they sell, and why you love it. If your recipe was inspired by a cookbook you read or a dish you ate at a local restaurant, tell us about it.

7. Make 'em laugh! Be funny, be informative, tap-dance if you have to, but give 'em a show.

Every year, usually around the beginning of February, I notice that the ornamental plum trees in Golden Gate Park are starting to burst into clouds of pink and white, covering the lawns with a pale, fluffy blanket of springtime splendor. But as much as I love how these 10-foot tall pastel bouquets line the streets, my mind instantly goes to another sign that the season is changing. Soon local farmers markets vendors will start stocking my very favorite bit of produce, which is only found this time of year: green garlic.

For those not in the know, green garlic is simply early season garlic that hasn't yet matured into a fully bulbous state. Green garlic is special for many reasons, but the reason I love it so is that it takes the strong, pungent qualities of mature garlic and lightens up the game a bit. Infinitely more subtle and nuanced than its full-grown brothers and sisters, green garlic has a less intense flavor and a sweetness that only early-season produce can impart. Perfect for both strong and mellow dishes, green garlic can be used wherever you would use regular garlic, in the same amounts. Give it a try in garlic bread or mashed potatoes. As well, green garlic's flavor is gentle enough that it can be eaten raw in a lovely green salad. Seriously!

Perhaps the coolest thing about green garlic, though, is the fact that you can eat the entire thing, from it's long, frondy leaves to it tiny root system. The younger the garlic the more tender it will be, and you'll know true baby garlic by its nearly complete lack of a bulgy, bulb-y end. As the season progresses week by week, you'll notice that green garlic at your local farmers market will get thicker and thicker towards the bulb-end, until it looks almost like a fully matured bulb of garlic with a long, green stalk. At this point you can still eat the entire thing, though the fibrous membrane that separates the individual cloves will have begun to form by this stage in its development. The cloves will have a strong, more traditional garlic flavor as they mature as well.

When shopping for green garlic, look for specimens that are long and green, without any browning or wilting along the stalk. Green garlic should be eaten within a week of being harvested for the best possible flavor, though it can be stored in the refrigerator for up to three weeks if you end up with a bunch of it. To store young garlic, I'd recommend wrapping the stalks in foil and leaving them in the crisper drawer of your refrigerator, where the humidity will work to keep them fresher, longer. If you're not planning on eating them right away, a little spritz of water in the foil every few days will help keep green garlic tender and fresh.

The best way to enjoy green garlic is in a dish where it's the star. For anything even remotely herb-y, I always try it out in a pesto recipe, where its flavor is front and center -- and in this case, green garlic plays the lead role with aplomb.

Green Garlic Pesto Pasta
Serves 2

Ingredients:
6 green garlic shoots, trimmed of the dark green tips and cut into 2 inch pieces
1/4 cup grated parmesan cheese
1/2 cup pine nuts
3/4 teaspoon sea salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly-ground black pepper
1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
4 tablespoons kosher salt
6 cups water
2 cups uncooked penne pasta

Preparation:

1. To the carafe of a food processor, add green garlic, parmesan, pine nuts, sea salt and pepper. Pulse 10-15 times, until ingredients are relatively well-blended, scraping down the sides in the middle of blending. Slowly drizzle in olive oil and continue blending until you get a well-combined pesto texture. Scoop into a bowl and set aside while the pasta cooks to let the flavors meld.

2. Add kosher salt to water and bring to a boil in a large pot. Add pasta and cook until al dente, about 9 minutes. Drain and rinse pasta.

3. Spoon pesto over hot penne pasta and serve immediately.

Twin Girls Farms' fruit at Noe Valley Farmers' Market

Whenever possible, I shop at farmers' markets for my groceries, buying braising greens, fresh eggs, and unpasteurized pomegranate juice at Alemany, and when I can stand to brave the scene, meat from the amazing Marin Sun Farms' stand at the Ferry Building. I don't get most of my groceries at farmers' markets; over the course of a week, convenience and immediate needs demand visits to reputable brick-and-mortar stores. While trips to my favorite markets help keep the fridge stocked, I value the experience more than anything, the routine of getting up early, before my Saturday morning basketball game, and dashing off into the prickly mist to fill empty bags, or venturing over directly after basketball, sweaty, tired, and profoundly hungry, at dire risk of over-spending in shopping for food before lunch.

When I'm back home in Kentucky to visit family, I stop by the Saturday morning farmers' market near our house in Louisville’s Highlands neighborhood. Situated in the parking lot of a Presbyterian church on Bardstown Road ("food for the soul," the church’s sign reads), this market is a pint-sized affair -- a bit bigger than Noe Valley’s. I go there to buy dinner fixings -- and re-visit the scene.

Heading to the local market is a swift, visceral way of getting back in touch with the place you come from. This weekend, I wasn't buying much -- just a few ears of bi-color corn and a bunch of gnarled, stubby dark-orange carrots for a pot of soup -- but I took home more than groceries. At the market, I saw faces I recognized, not people I once knew, but features and voices I recalled from schools I'd attended, the swimming pool I'd frequented, and stores at which I had shopped. I wasn't not seeing people I’d once known, but perhaps their relatives, the next generations, raised in the same place by people staying put, laying down roots. I’m not making a bad joke about inbreeding, just noting that in smaller ponds, you see the same fish (and their offspring) more often. On Saturday, I overheard conversations as I strolled from stall to stall. Over packages of grass-fed beef, two women discussed the summers they were enjoying. "Haven’t been going to Lakeside much," one said, referring to the massive, quarry rock-lined swimming pool I used to visit nearly daily for bare-footed basketball and long, skin-puckering soaks each summer. “Oh no,” said the other. “It’s been too hot.” And hot it was, even at nine in the morning -- the air heavy with the sort of dense, enveloping heat that dampens your shirt before you can make it down the front steps. Here, such heat calls for a day spent indoors, with the air conditioning working overtime.

Farmers’ markets reflect communities. It’s a cliche, yes, but it bears out -- in the same way a concert defines a band not just by its music, and its identity expressed through performance, but by the people coming to the show. Mission Bay’s tiny farmers’ market caters to UCSF researchers looking for a break on one of the sunny benches dotting the well-manicured quad. I wonder how many people actually buy groceries there. Noe Valley’s farmers’ market sustains the precious strip’s residents, and entertains interlopers like myself. On a recent visit, we saw adorable gray-haired ladies ordering up pricey steaks "for one" and a yoga pants-wearing mom swish by Sukhi's samosa stand to issue an unsolicited zinger: "I love Indian food, but it hates my waistline." It was one of our favorite all-time farmers’ market moments -- along with the guy at Alemany who claimed to play classical music for the benefit of his tomato plants.

Whether I’m in Louisville or San Francisco, forays to the market are about people as much as produce, an opportunity to take stock of the swirling community. In this way, they’re all the same -- regardless of what’s in season.

Saturday morning at the Ferry Plaza Farmers Market was classically representative of the way I shop the market. My plan was to get in and out in about an hour and go home to start my day. But all the vendors had stories, and I ran into friends and two and a half hours later, I was trudging home, my arms laden with lots of delicious goodies for the week.

This time of year is special at the market, as I think that the market changes drastically from week to week.

A couple days before the market, CUESA mentioned on their twitter feed that Lagier Ranches would be selling the elusive sour cherry this week. That was enough to motivate me to get to the market right when it opened, and it was a good thing that I did. The scene around the small yield of sour cherries was intense. "That woman just bought $50 worth of cherries!" my friend Jenn mentioned to me. I know that sour cherries are pretty rare here, and that they have a nearly cult following among some communities. The cherries were completely gone within about 45 minutes, and I brought home my precious two pounds to brandy for cocktails.

Fruit crops burst on to the scene for just a moment and are gone. My favorite Bing cherries are here, but only for about a month. I tasted Bings from many vendors this week before deciding that I would purchase my weekly ration from Johann at Hidden Star Orchards. Sierra Cascade Blueberries will be around for the next few weeks. I love Sierra Cascade's blueberries because they are small, full of flavor, and slightly tart. You can find them in the back of the building, right below the Gandhi statue. This morning, Sam mentioned CandyCot apricots which are only around for a couple of weeks a year as well. These apricots are extremely high on the Brix Scale for sweetness, and I see people carry them around the market like treasures.

If you know Nigel Walker, the proprietor of Eatwell Farm, you know that he is always working on new, fun projects and products. Word has it that he is working toward a grain CSA which would provide customers with a variety of grains and dried beans throughout the year -- much like his vegetable CSA does now. When I saw that he was selling large bunches of triticale (a wheat-like grain) this week, I knew that soon he would be providing us with fantastic local and organic grain.

This week, Fatted Calf debuted a new all-beef hot dog made with lamb casings. The beef is sourced from Marin Sun Farms, and I am really looking forward to tasting them. By the time I arrived at the Fatted Calf booth around 8:15 am, they were gone so I will be sure to pre-order by email next time.

The photo at the top of the post is of the lovely strawberries that Lucero Organic grows. Many of us are still missing our beloved Ella Bella Farm -- a great farm that closed up shop in California last year. But I've found that Lucero's strawberries almost make me forget how much I loved Ella Bella's. They are a great replacement from a farm that brings impeccably beautiful produce to the market.

Last Sunday, a brand-new farmers market opened in one of my favorite San Francisco neighborhoods: The Inner Sunset. The market, in the parking lot at Ninth and Irving streets, is run by the Pacific Coast Farmers Markets Association and will run from June through November. Walking into the market, you get a feeling of a true community event. Neighbors are greeting each other, and the general atmosphere was festive and fun. The market is mostly vegetable and fruit vendors, but shoppers can also purchase eggs, baked goods and prepared foods. There is even a tofu vendor, but I don't remember seeing any cheeses or meats.

By the time I arrived, the eggs were sold out, but the vendor -- Smart Eggs -- looks interesting. It's a student-run egg farm that is from Modesto Junior College.

There are quite a few farms from the coastal region and several from the Central Valley. I will be returning to this market. It's a fun, mellow option for a Sunday morning market.




The vendor list, as I noted it, is as follows:

Serendipity Farms
Far West Fungi
Berrylicious
De Palma Farms
Capay Organic
Wassum Ranch
Smart Eggs
Tofu Yu
Bakers of Paris
Her Farm
Arizmendi Bakery
Garcia Farm
Rodin Farm
Calolea
City Bees
Fifth Crow Farm
Kashiwase

Inner Sunset Farmers Market
9am - 1pm, Sundays
In the parking lot behind the Irving Street shops.
Enter from 9th or 8th Ave
Runs through November 22

It's an exciting time around the farmers market these days. I hadn't been to the market for about two weeks, and was amazed at how much the market changed in a short amount of time. There is a promise of summer fruit in the air, and the spring vegetables are in abundance. Here are some of the things I am looking forward to this month:

CHERRIES

Cherries are making their way to the market, and should be available for approximately a month. We usually see the Brooks variety cherry first which is a crisp, tart cherry. That will be followed by Bing cherries, Rainier and sour cherries among other varieties. I am partial to Bing cherries from Lagier Ranch -- Mr. Lagier brings them to the market when they're perfectly ripe and delicious. This year, I will be keeping an eye out for sour cherries, as they make for a delicious brandied fruit which can then be used throughout the year for cocktails and desserts.

POTATOES

A while back, I told you about new potatoes -- the beginning of the season potatoes that are spectacular in flavor and freshness. I'm happy to report that they are back and I spotted them at the Berkeley Farmers Market last week at the Full Belly Farm booth. They are expected at the Ferry Plaza Farmers Market in the next month or so.

PEAS

Denise told you about making a pea soup this week, and I am looking forward to trying out that recipe. The fact of the matter is that my peas rarely make it past the shelling stage as I usually eat them raw or slightly steamed. But if you have the willpower, now is an excellent time to shell and freeze peas. My favorite place to purchase them is the Swanton Berry Farm booth that is in many local farmers markets.

STRAWBERRIES

Northern California is very lucky: our strawberries have an extremely long fruit season, and we will have them around for a while. Still, this is the perfect time to buy strawberries and freeze them if you can. If you have room, I suggest hulling the berries and freezing on a large cookie tray before storing in a freezer bag. I buy mine from Lucero Farm and from Yerena Farm.

ALMOND BUTTER

This is not really a seasonal product, but I just wanted to give a shout-out for Greg Massa's excellent Almond Butter. You may know Massa Organics farm for selling really delicious brown rice at many Bay Area markets. If you check his booth carefully, you will notice an almond butter that he has been producing for a few months. I am addicted to this almond butter, and highly recommend trying it. It's pricey, but if you eat almond butter as slowly as I do, you'll only be making the investment every few months.

What are you looking forward to at the market this month?