Ramps, the surest signs of spring’s reluctant arrival, finally made their debut this weekend at the Union Square Greenmarket. I’ll leave it to others to wax rhapsodic on the all too brief appearance of these tender wild leeks which herald the start of the growing season in the Northeast. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan; but the advent of ramps has a deeper, much more spiritual meaning to me: fiddleheads aren’t far behind.
rampage
new amsterdam market
I’m a bit late to Peck Slip but New Amsterdam Market at the site of the former Fulton Fish Market is an exciting addition to the burgeoning convergence of small-scale purveyors, growers and foragers scattered about the tri-state region. It doesn’t compare to the sprawling, wholesale-oriented Greenmarket in Union Square, but then it has no designs on filling a niche that’s already been filled. Instead it’s a reinvention of the Public Market, once a prevalent city institution: a lively assembly of both the raw and the cooked. Producers and (barely processed) products. Brought together under a single roof, a public square – or in this case an ignominious parking lot – it’s tantamount to the great English food halls. Or think of Madrid’s Mercado San Miguel and the Marche d’Aligre in Paris – the kind of market you visit with a list, as well as with the anticipation of bumping into friends and neighbors. It’s a convivial place where you can get your weekly stash of kimchi beef jerky, varietal cider and Brooklyn-made tempeh, watch April Bloomfield demonstrate how to filet a fish, then catch up over popcorn-topped ceviche and drinking vinegar. Writers and foodies will plug New Amsterdam as the city’s next great foodie destination but don’t believe the hype. It’s better than that. As soon as the tourist crowds disperse I suspect it will come into its own as the local we’ve been waiting for.
farm-to-table foraging
I went to the woods because I wished to eat deliberately – apologies, Thoreau – and see if I could not learn what it had to teach. Let it be known: Central Park is as instructive as Walden Pond. Instead of spending a week’s wages at the Greenmarket, or worse, Whole Foods, I thought, it might be fun to see if I could make it home with a few bits ‘n’ pieces to compose an artful salad. After a few hours wandering the North Meadow, however, I came home with all the makings of dinner. Yes, there was salad involved: a pleasing mix of spinach-like Lamb’s Quarter, sweet Red Clover, peppery Garlic Mustard, and Chickweed, which tastes like corn of all things and costs a fortune when you can find it in Union Square. More substantial was the discovery of a Burdock patch, the roots of which are all the rage in certain circles. Similar to Lotus Root, Burdock Root has a sweet flavor and a meaty texture. Popular in Japanese cooking it’s added to soups, and stews (and pickled, too) but I think it really reveals itself when roasted, like a sweet potato. To go with my haul of roots, leafy Bitter Dock, which as the name implies is about as bitter as can be – until you cook it. Sauteed in olive oil with a pinch of red pepper it takes on a clean taste and texture that’s similar to chard. In the underbrush I even found a patch of field garlic to complete my provisioning: salad, roots, side of veg, and spice. All I needed to add was a bit of brown rice from my local Chinese and I had the ultimate farm-to-table dinner for less than a dollar. After the next rain, the park should be bursting with mushrooms. Things could get interesting.
amuse bouche
At the suggestion of a friend who also happens to double as a local San Francisco restaurant critic, I made it a point to visit Bouche in the gastronomic wasteland of Union Square. I’m very glad I did. Convenient to an evening’s theatre plans, Guillaume Issaverdens’ unassuming hidden California-French bistro proved a welcome surprise of seasonal food amid charming surroundings. Tucked into an upstairs corner with views through mullioned windows the restaurant has all the rustic allure of a Loire farmhouse. A bottle of one of those wines you almost never find on a domestic wine list only reinforces the illusion. (Domaine Auchere Sancerre Rouge, as refreshing a spring red as you’re likely to ever find) Expectations henceforth were felicitously met: a deliriously good duck confit with beet puree and walnuts arrived under a bouquet of radish and spring greens. Sauteed calamari lightly dressed with mushrooms and citrus made a refreshing, less intense companion and foil. Lamb shoulder balanced the difficult task of tasting earthy without being too fatty or filling an entrée. (chickpea puree instead of potato was a clever deception) And a Proustian nod to the marinated salmon; one of those dishes I will be able to recall years hence. Delicately smoked slices of ruby red salmon come coiled atop a bird’s nest of crispy egg noodle, floating on a bed of creme fraiche. Nestled inside the nest: a perfectly poached egg. Creamy, crunchy, salty, smoky, the liaison of flavors and textures is heady, if not downright erotic. After this, dessert seems altogether unnecessary – what I really want is a cigarette.
