Perfect Pete

I met Pete today. Pete, who was shivering because he hadn’t bundled up enough against the chill this cloudy Seattle morning, makes Pete’s Perfect Butter Toffee. After careful analysis, I can attest that his toffee is indeed buttery and about as close to perfect as any toffee I’ve ever had.

I met Pete at the University District Farmer’s Market, one of three year-round open-air markets in the Seattle area. Since the cello run already takes me over the bridge, I’m only a few minutes away from this little slice of local heaven. More than a few hardy souls joined me this morning.

I went with every intention of coming away with armloads of healthy produce, really I did. In the end, the bag did contain some very lovely lumpy potatoes (blue and red, since I couldn’t decide), curly-edged kale, apples, and still-muddy scallions, but it also had things like fresh goat cheese and fromage blanc, a dense honey whole-wheat loaf and a bottle of hard cider, and even some chicken and duck eggs. Oh, and the toffee.

The other thing I took away from the market, which cost me nothing, was inspiration. Now, I fully expect to have to restrain myself at the market in September, when truckloads of fruits and vegetables scream, “Take me home!” “No, take me!” as I stroll through. On those occasions, I need helpers to carry the bounty, and then help me process it into jams and such for the winter. I tend to come home with enough to make eight meals for the week, and even growing boys can only eat so much. But this is barely March, and though the buds are plump on the fruit trees, they are not yet blossoms, let alone ripe fruit. I expected to find turnips and kale and not much more. The foods of winter were there in abundance, offering warmth to the chill: cheeses (aged and fresh, goat and cow), meat (beef, goat and oysters), bread, eggs, preserves, along with the buds of the season to come: little baby carrots (finger-sized because they grew that way, not because they’d been lathed down to that dimension), nearly translucent in the weak sunshine, and pencil-thin scallions, fragrant bundles with long root beards and mud still attached. My head races with the possibilities: steam and mash the red-skinned potatoes with heavy cream and some scallions; pan sear the kale with some carrots and orange juice; or maybe roast it with the blue potatoes and chicken. An omelette of duck eggs and fresh goat cheese and more of those scallions, or maybe quiche, with some smoky bacon. Wash it down with the cider, or use the golden liquid to deglaze some pork chops and apple slices sautéed in butter. For dessert, maybe mix fromage blanc with some apricot preserves; or use those fresh egg whites to make a light genoise and use up the last two Meyer lemons in the bowl.

By the time I got back to the car, my canvas bag was overflowing with ideas. I couldn’t wait until I’d bitten into the quintessential Washington fruit before I called Darling Husband to pull some steak out of the freezer to thaw. Jazzed, inspired, invigorated—and I hadn’t even had a chance to dig into the bag yet.

On the way back from the market to pick up Number One from rehearsal, I noted wryly that the parking lot in front of Northgate Mall was absolutely packed with cars, shoppers no doubt in search of the perfect fashion accessory. Me, I’ll stick with my old jeans (there’s a smudge where I wiped some mud from the scallions off my hands) and take perfect toffee.