The Kitchen Imp Gets Spicy

Are you a serious locavore, but love to cook with flavors from around the world?  Then there's two pieces of good news for you:

One of many Kitchen Imp spice mixes

1.  Chef Laura Stec, author of Cool Cuisine: Taking the Bite Out of Global Warming, understands just how you feel. She suggests a pragmatic approach - buy your meat, grains, and produce as locally as you can, and save your long-distance purchases for spices and flavorings not available nearby.

2.  The Kitchen Imp, a locavore cook based in Seattle, stands ready to help you spice up your culinary adventures with hand-ground and custom-blended flavorings.  When you order from her Etsy store, she'll even include a recipe to fit your selection. And the photos and descriptions alone are worth the visit.

If you want a glimpse into the Kitchen Imp's magic, pre- or post-order, you can Like the Imp on Facebook.

Dahlias!

Dahlias may not be edible, but they do brighten a table.  At dahlia farms (free range, every one) outside of Seattle, one can stroll through aisle after aisle of these flowers, and never see the same variety twice.  Some specialty growers have over 300 types in one several-acre garden; and you would hardly guess that all of them belong to the same category of flower.

At the West Seattle farmers market, a hint of this diversity was represented in the bouquets for sale.  In my head I heard the voice of Ann Lovejoy, the first time I ever met her.  As I put fresh-cut dahlias into coffee cans of water on dinner tables in a rustic cafeteria, I heard a woman exclaim happily, "Dahlias! Nothing subtle about them."

And indeed, they nearly shout, "Look at me!" from any venue - field, florist's stand, or even a coffee can vase. They never whisper seductively, like a rose or scented vine. And they never ever attempt to be overlooked, like a few of the shy edible flowers.

Their brilliance attracts pollinators, to whom all of us who like to eat are deeply indebted. So perhaps in their own outspoken way, dahlias are tied to the table as more than just decoration.

Season Lengths

Finding strawberries in the local farmers markets from April (sometimes even February) through October (sometimes November) shocked me the first year I lived in San Francisco Bay Area.  The next few years, it still seemed odd but marvelous, a gift from a stranger too enticing to be trusted entirely.

At the West Seattle Farmer's market over the Labor Day weekend, the paucity of berries reminded me just how fortunate we are.  A half-flat of organic strawberries will probably not hit $10 here, even at the end of the season.  And the vendor in Seattle made it quite clear that the following week would be the last for his area's season.

On the other hand, he offered an item I have never seen down here - fresh blackberries. They do grow wild in the Northwest, in alleys and yards and public parks.  Anyone willing to get scratched and sweaty can easily fill up buckets in August, and make pies into the winter.  Perhaps I should have picked some of those up . . .

West Seattle Farmer's Market

Americans abroad make a big deal of visiting the markets in European towns - they seem exotic to us, with their open-air stalls of fresh produce, artisanal products, and actual growers staffing them. After visiting dozens of farmer's markets in the States, I still sometimes feel like a traveller to the modern Old World. In Seattle this weekend, I experienced that sensation again.

The West Seattle Farmer's market may the most upscale one I have shopped to date, in any city. Geographically it is unassuming, filling a not-so-large parking lot. But the offerings - oh my! Perhaps not having a kitchen I planned to cook in made me overlook the gorgeous produce (except the fiddlehead ferns and the wild mushrooms). Or perhaps I am just not accustomed to seeing Mangalista pork, fresh pasta, jams from unheard of berries, artisanal cheeses, free range eggs from ducks as well as chickens, and so much more all in one small space. Not to mention the fresh organic breads, the fresh pastries, and the asparagus and goat cheese strata. It was like wandering the aisles of the best gourmet store ever.

Would I shop this market every weekend, as I do the one in my own neighborhood? Actually, no. My tastes run more to the pedestrian. I go to stock up on as much produce in as great a variety as I think I can creatively use without wasting any. And sometimes I'll add in a jar of local honey, or a pastry, or a small container of that amazing artichoke parmesan dip that mercifully bears no nutrition label. If I had so much bounty available in the meats and dairy and hand-crafted condiments, eventually I would splurge. It must be a testament to the food culture of West Seattle that so many recherchez goods can be sold week after week to the same core group from this neighborhood.