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.

Firefly Restaurant, Noe Valley, SF

Past the genteel bustle of Noe Valley's main drag, nestled in the quiet calm of the more residential part of the neighborhood, a gem of a restaurant glows in the night. Firefly Restaurant has been a local darling since 1993, and for good reason.

Warm and homey, walking into Firefly is like entering an enchanted cocoon of good energy. The lighting is soft, the décor eclectic yet elegant, and the staff is genuinely welcoming and knowledgeable.

A labor of love for 17 years running, Firefly was originally opened by Brad Levy and Veva Edelson. As their story goes,

"Both shared the dream of opening a restaurant where the food was great, the service attentive, and the atmosphere magical, where the employees were interesting and kind people, who were encouraged to be themselves and honestly offer a great dining experience. They dreamed of a restaurant where the customers felt like they were at a friend’s house for dinner and that friend just happened to be a great cook."

Firefly whimsy and enchantment

With this idealistic vision in mind, Firefly set out to become just that. Brad resuscitated the ancient cooking equipment they inherited from the space's previous owners, and Veva put her artist's eye to work, decorating the walls with her whimsical paintings, and hanging billowing panels of white cloth from the ceiling. Between the golden lighting and the elegantly draped ceiling, I felt for a second like I was a guest at an opulent feast, in some exotic desert locale where camels awaited outside in the still night. My Arabian Nights reverie broke just in time for our first course.

Cured Sardines with Zucchini Pickles, Tiny Salad, Butter Bean Purée and Toasted Baguette

Firefly's menu is wonderfully inventive and changes frequently according to what's in season. Chef de cuisine Lucian Prellwitz succeeds in elevating comforting and familiar dishes with vibrant flavors and gourmet finesse.

Fried Asparagus and Spring Onions with Nasturtiums and Sorrel Pesto

The crostini of Cured Sardines Butter Bean Purée was fresh and well-composed, and our colorful fritto misto of Fried Asparagus and Spring Onions with Naturtiums was light and crispy, with the sweet flavor of the veggies shining through.

Braised Lamb Paprikash with Spaetzle, Turnips and Their Greens and Crème Fraîche

Our favorite dish of the evening was the Braised Lamb Paprikash with Spaetzle, which featured the most luxurious, swoon-worthy sauce ever. Buttery, rich, and savory, my mouth is watering even thinking about it. So good, we requested another basket of bread just to sop it all up. A traditional Hungarian stew made with paprika-seasoned lamb, the dish was hearty and flavorful. The lamb was braised until the meat was juicy, tender, and without any gaminess, and the spaetzle did its job of soaking up all that amazing sauce.

La Caudrina Moscato d’Asti, Romano Dogliotti

Unfortunately, we were too stuffed with spaetzle sauce to have room for any of pastry chef Debbie Hughes's lovely desserts. However, we were able to find some room in the nooks and crannies to end on a sweet note with some dessert wine.

We lingered over our glasses of La Caudrina Moscato d’Asti (a new favorite now, floral but too sweet), reluctant to break the spell that Firefly had cast upon us. I'm already looking forward to our next visit to this glowing gem of a restaurant.

On my list to try next time are the signature Shrimp and Sea Scallop Potstickers with Sesame Soy Dipping Sauce (on the menu since Day 1), and the Rustic Wild Mushroom and Chard Lasagna with Tomato and Béchamel Sauces, Smoked Gouda and Herb Salad, which had me ogling our neighbor's table with envy. Oh, and a mental note to save some room for dessert, which sounded really seasonal and spectacular. I'm starting to see why the regulars keep coming back again and again…

Firefly Restaurant

*****
Read more about Firefly on KQED's Check, Please! Bay Area; see Chef/Owner Brad Levy's recipe for Sweet Potato Pancakes; or check out more photos.

Firefly Restaurant
4288 24th Street
(between Diamond St & Douglass St)
San Francisco, CA 94114
415-821-7652
Prix Fix Menu Sun-Thurs ($36): Any Appetizer, Entrée, and Dessert

Today's post is short and sweet, but I do mean sweet.

Two weeks ago, Omnivore Books on Food quietly opened its doors in Noe Valley. When I found out about it from a friend of mine who is much hipper than I am, I nearly wet myself with joy. I have been known to lose myself in used bookstores for hours, but I have never been to one dealing exclusively in cookbooks.

Housed, appropriately enough, in a former butcher shop, Omnivore is the dream child of Celia Sack, an antiquarian book dealer with a special passion for cookbooks. Even her name sounds as though it came straight from a novel. Celia Sack. It is, to me, a name that should be attached to a book store.
Omnivore's fare reaches beyond new, antiquarian, and collectible cookbooks. As its website states, "Omnivore connects the past to the present by offering centuries of knowledge on growing, raising, and cooking food." There are books on animal husbandry, nut growing, even a whole shelf devoted to organic farming-- from the 1940's and 1950's. It's a fascinating browse-- a kind of hog heaven for book lovers.

Among my favorite curiosities on the store were a collection of miniature liqueur bottles once owned by Hal B. Wallis, Oscar-winning producer of a little-known film entitled Casablanca. They were rescued by Sack (a friend of the family) when Wallis' gold-digging last wife was stealing him, well, blind, as his eyesight began to fail.

Omnivore will soon be hosting book-related events. In December, the store will host such guests as Cindy Mushet, author of The Art and Soul of Baking, and Clark Wolf, author of American Cheeses. To find out about more events, visit Omnivore's event calendar online. Or, hell, go into the store and pick one up yourself.

In an era where books are gradually losing ground to the likes of the Internet and Kindle, and in a global economy that is causing people to curtail their expenditures, Omnivore's debut is a brave one. But a necessary one, I think. There is a certain comfort in reading about food, certainly, but that comfort is often served cold when reading about it on a computer screen. It cannot compare to the heft of a good book in one's hands, the smell of its musty pages, or the knowledge that it has been loved and used and read by others. Beyond what's written in its pages, there is a story behind every book. And I think Celia and Omnivore understand that. Perfectly.

Omnivore is located at:

3885a Cesar Chavez Street

San Francisco, CA 94131

Tel: 415-282-4712

omnivorebooks.com