Where Possibility Lives

The trip across town early this morning for my swim workout was dark, of course, as the swimming begins predawn.  Street lights were still bright at that hour, and the air was cold.  Later when the sky faded from indigo to pale blue, it was evident that the day would be clear and promising.

I made a second trip later back to the college, where the farmer's market is located.  The sky, ocean and everything in between was glistening as if it had just been scrubbed and polished.  The workout had been good, and I was hungry afterwards.  Even a bowl of oatmeal and some fruit did not keep the hunger down for long.  The market, I hoped, would fill my shopping bag with more satisfying fare.  

The market, as it is in the "off months," was peaceful and calm, and vendors spent time in conversation with each other and passersby, and many basked in the sun as they wiled away the time between 10 and 2.  If you'd have heard a loudspeaker playing a gentle melody, it would have fit between the conversations and rounded them to a point of ripeness.

A covey of four-year-olds arrived, guided by patient teachers who had brought them on a field trip to see the market .  They gathered around the Zena Foods booth, eyes dancing, looking for free samples of what might be offered.  They had been coached to keep their hands off of things, but the table top was only four inches below their noses, far too tempting for anyone that age.  Ahmed, attentive and enthusiastic, kept busy giving small triangles of pita bread to the small extended hands.  He spotted us and exclaimed that "Egypt's president is finally going away."  Mubarak was leaving his office, he said, much to our surprise.  We had not heard the update of the news, so we talked about it for a few minutes.

The children, never still for a moment, lost interest in the food and began to drift away.  They all waved good-bye and moved away in a wriggling cluster of energy, and the market gradually quieted again.  They had been a surge of controlled chaos with no intention except to move into the future where they might change it simply by arriving en masse and knocking the usualness of the past aside.

"This is a very good day.  Very good for Egypt.  Good that the people have made their voices and can make their own minds."  He shook our hands and said "We will talk again next week, eh?"  

In the middle of the day when the sun was at its highest point over the southern hills bordering our bay, we met a dear friend in Carmel and were again dazzled by the sparkling splendor of the day.  This is no winter; it is something particularly fine.  Heaven perhaps or the place where possibility dwells.  She had not been to Dametra Cafe, she said, when we suggested it.  Nor had we for some time now, so it became our destination.  Faisal's brother (just as hospitable and about 6 inches taller) was host and the servers were our warm-hearted friends in a matter of just less than a minute.  They dispense hospitality as if it were on sale.

As we had hoped, the oud was pulled down from the wall and the cook pulled from the kitchen to sing a romantic and poignant song to everyone, which he loves to do.  The tall and swarthy host, a man from the Middle East with a warm and charming smile, played the instrument that looks so much like a large brother to a mandolin and walked slowly between the tables.  Everyone was prompted to sing and clap in time to the chorus, which we did with gusto.

On television this evening I saw that Egyptians were washing and cleaning the streets of Cairo, proud of their city, the city they claim as their very own, wrested from the hands of an authoritarian ruler.  Egypt, said one young Egyptian, has lived through a wrenching change that was the will of the citizens, and it will be felt for fifty years now.  The light in his eyes was a reflection of the city lights around him, which shone in the night air while voices sang in the distance.

Summer to Fall: Evident at the Farmers' Market

The gradual turn of the season is most deliciously evident at the farmers' markets, of which I enjoy the Friday market held at Monterey Peninsula College's lower parking lot the most.  It's large, varied and easy as pie to access by car or bicycle.  

Since the market moved from Thursdays at 3 PM to Fridays at 10 AM, we have been eager to make the trip to the market a weekly must-do trip.

Today, a day that signaled the beginning of a heat wave coming on, we took our bags and headed over.  Ahmed at the Zena Mediterranean Foods stall said hello with his big smile.  Ramadan is over now, his little son is the apple of his eye, and his booth is very busy with curious buyers.  I can't tell you how hooked I am on his basil hummus.  It's embarrassing.

Farmers are now selling the last of their crops of pluots, peaches, nectarines and plums.  Most of them offer small sample bites to help you select the exact variety you'd like.  My favorites this year are Flavor Grenades, an appropriately named pluot that starts a flavor riot in your mouth.  Wow.

I sampled almonds, walnuts, and dried apricots, which are tangy and dark orange. I promised the apricot lady my favorite recipe for Apricot Butter Bars, which she was thrilled about.  It's a killer recipe.

We've found a favorite vendor for tomatillos, tomatoes and squash, a little old couple who add up purchases with pencil and paper, carefully bagging your goods and charging very fair prices.  Although competition is keen between booths, and selection is wonderful, we do develop favorites.  One farmer offers crimini, white and porcini mushrooms.  Another has baskets of berries, but I wasn't in the mood for them; I felt more inclined to eat other fruit instead.  Stone fruit offer great flavor out of hand, tangy zest or quiet sweet flavor.  I will be sad to see the last of them, and the season is nearly ended.    

Apples are beginning to show up in greater numbers, a sure sign that fall is upon us.  Pumpkins and other winter squash are colorful and at least fun to photograph if not eat just yet.  Crops such as golden beets like those you see here are gradually replacing tender greens and short-season speciality vegetables.

Last of all, I bought some ultra fresh sea bass that we enjoyed for dinner tonight, probably the best I've ever eaten, caught the night before out on the bay.  That, plus Corralitos Meats' German sausages and a dozen eggs at a third booth, and our protein was ready to take home.

Sometimes I can't resist flowers, and other times baked goods halt me in my tracks, but the fact that I can shop all the way down the row and back and be forced to pick and choose is very encouraging.  The market has certainly grown.  People are embracing the opportunity to buy organic, locally grown, fresh and varied produce.  Farmers are able to make a go of it in the tough world of agriculture, meet their buyers face to face, and add a dimension of community and trust that's lacking in regular supermarkets.

I brought home a variety of kale I haven't tasted before.  Next week, who knows what new crop will arrive, what will be missing.  The point is, the market responds to the season, and it keeps me in touch with it, too.

Ramadan: Fasting, Renewal, and A Marketplace

This is market day, the day I go to my favorite farmers' market, a high point on my weekly calendar.  It is also the middle of Ramadan, a time of great importance to all of Islam, a time of self-purification through fasting, prayer and particular focus on self-restraint.  The month of Ramadan began about ten days ago.  

Usually, I drive across Monterey from Pacific Grove, traveling around the curve that borders The Defense Language Institute, passing through the tunnel underneath the Custom House Plaza, along Del Monte Avenue, then past El Estero Park to Monterey Peninsula College where the market is held every Friday from 10 to 2.  It is a very simple but beautiful route across town that showcases some of Monterey's best public areas including the wharf, the harbor, a pretty lake, avenues lined with leafy trees and distant views of oak- and pine-covered hills.  

Monterey is often a feast for the eyes, a lively town in certain ways, and has inspired exuberant expression in artists, writers, and visitors all through time.  Today, I took in the views as I drove to the market where I planned to fill my shopping bag with all sorts of delicious goods.  Quiet contemplation was not on my mind nor was I interested in subduing my impulse to savor and sample wares.  No, shopping at the market is all about taking tastes of fruits bursting with sweet juicy flavor and trying baked goods or seafood concoctions or condiments made from summer herbs and seasonings.  

As expected, the market was busy with buyers and sellers talking about the goods on display.  Flowers were appraised carefully by those hosting parties or dinners over the coming weekend.  A few women discussed the various ways gerber daisies, proteus, flox, statis, and other summer blooms could be combined in beautiful ways.  A fiddler played lively tunes next to his open fiddle case.  Everywhere I could turn I saw fresh flavorful things in stall after stall.   

At the far west end of the market, I came to Zena Foods, a stall new to this marketplace.  A man with a middle Eastern accent and wearing a blue shirt was busy handing out samples of Mediterranean foods.  A cluster of women leaned in, asking questions, intent on learning about his products.  His energy was high and his smile was quick.  He was selling hummus, pita chips, pita bread, tabhouli salad, carrot dip, olive spread and other delicacies I was hoping to try.  His prices were very good.  

"What do you recommend?  What is this?  What is your favorite?"  Were the questions from the curious shoppers.  

"Today I have no favorites. It's Ramadan, and I am fasting.  I am smelling all of it, and I cannot eat any."  He looked down at all of the food spread on his tables in stacks and rows.  "Everyone, take samples and try this.  It is very good, very pure food." 

"Fasting?  Not any of this?  What about water?" It seemed remarkable.  No one seemed remotely ready to fast, especially considering the bounty tempting them right under their noses.  The shift of interest from feast to fast was immediate, and the contrast was surprising to many.  Certainly one of the most difficult things to do is carry out a fasting meditation while selling piles of goodies to women waving money under your nose, asking for fragrant samples all day long.  

"Ramadan goes from dawn to dusk, every day for a month."  I had to stop and think about what might be similar in the Catholic tradition.  Lent, maybe, was vaguely similar.  Years ago I had to abstain from eating meat on Fridays as a young Catholic, but denying myself food and water every day for a month was impressive in comparison.  

I introduced myself.  He shook my hand warmly.  "My name is Ahmed.  I love this, to meet my customers, to talk with people here."  Then, just like that he was off to help the next customer waiting with hands full.  Clearly, he was a happy man, a good ambassador for his faith and his business.  His prices and fine quality were attracting steady customers and endless questions, all of which he answered one after another, far better than I would if I had been fasting.  

Ahmed, a newer citizen of our nation, was still busy with his work as I drove back home.  He had offered a glimpse into a belief system native to him but foreign to me.  Ramadan will continue on for three more weeks or so, and I probably will have little or no other contact with it that I will be aware of.  It's the way things go in life.  Whole communities within this community come and go, live and celebrate in discrete places and ways that do not require a spotlight or trumpeting to remain holy or significant.  

A marketplace brought hundreds of people from all parts of the Peninsula, a random mix of beliefs, interests, ideas, all as fascinating to try in different combinations as the flowers and vegetables that were displayed in their full splendor at every turn.