Eating Out The Food Gestapo

Ohhh, here we go boys and girls. It’s time for the mixed message post. This morning, I done got me an urge to ask the people of the Vineyard Farmer’s Market the burning questions that I made up in hopes that you too, my beloved public, would want to know. And the day started off in the most lovely fashion.

First we stopped off with our friends at Fabiano’s to ask our silly questions. Fun and hilariousness ensued. Next up, we went over to Perfect Edge Sharpening for his take on things. I must say, I was happy to be schooled in some of the subjects I was asking about. For a dude who works with metal, he knows his stuff about the things that it cuts. And so we jumped around. Sun Smiling Farms, Moa’s Farm, VT Iwo Ranches (the Kumquat Lord), the awesome preserves lady and the nursery dudes, all understood that we were there to have a goof and happily played along in the spirit of stupid bloggery, answering what they wished, ignoring what they thought was dumb.

Then the vibe changed. As I sidled over to the KMK Farm’s table and asked if I could give a goofball interview, suddenly things got cold. Like frost burn your Peter Peppers cold. At first I figured, “Hey, folks can be busy and not want to fart around with a jackass.”. I *AM* a jackass afterall. But it slowly got weirder and weirder. Like an outlander in Children of the Cornville. I was waiting for a giant ginger kid to call me out while he was dragging my woman through the market in chains.  Outlander!  We have your woman Outlander!!

So it’s in the midst of my interview with the lovely ladies of Moa’s when the owner/manager/organizer/Lady Master of the Vineyard, Felix happens to pop in with a “So what the hell are you doin’ in my backyard?” vibe. Like somehow I’m a NARC or something. Apparently it was a terrifying debacle when I asked folks how many people they had working their acreage. Like I was somehow a drunken reprobate representative of Child Protective Services hunting for abusers of child labor. KISS MY ASS! I *WAS* child labor. Totally legally to boot. Your folks own the land, it’s part of your chores. City kids take out the garbage, country kids tend the farm.  That's country living.

And the worst part about this sudden, ugly change in attitude is how terribly misperceived my intentions were, by the Organic Powers That Be. I love local produce. I love local farmers. I love that I can meet them personally, develop a passive customer to farmer friendship. That these lovely people recognize me and are happy that I want to wake up early to buy the bounty of their lands and labor. And I want to highlight that the FARMERS themselves were nothing but open and kind. The only ugliness came when the Vineyard owner decided to drop into the middle of the interview and sniff us out just in case we were Dept. of Agriculture/Labor/CIA/FBI/NSA/CSI/NCIS, and when the watercolor lady decided to point out that we appeared to be rabble rousers out to cause strife and trouble in their little community.

Quite the opposite! My intentions this morning were to ask some fun, funny and a couple poignant questions of the grand people who get up at 5am to provide we lucky Fresnans with their goods and services. I myself, beyond being a lame ass food blogger, attend the market to frequently blow between $50 and $100 per visit. In the course of today’s blogging jackassery, I still managed to spend about $85 spread amongst my favorite vendors. And to be honest, I left with $5 still in my pocket that I fully intended to spend as well, leaving me with empty pockets and too many good things to logistically eat before time and biology render them inedible. Why waste so much cash? I’d rather waste my money on local farmers than have grocery store veg going bad just as readily in my crisper.

But this…this is a hard crux for me. You see, short of the cold shoulder threeway, each and every vendor at the Vineyard Farmer’s Market is still my friend. I still want to buy their delicious goods. But. And it’s a BIG but now. A huge part of me doesn’t want to be paying into the “club” or “clique” society that attempted to close ranks with me on the outside. It boggles my mind that there would be such a hostile vibe towards someone who only wants to say good things about the market. It created in me an instant opposing sentiment towards something that I had cherished only minutes before. And strangely, the thing that turned the vibe was someone asking questions in a light hearted and friendly way, so as to be able to further promote their goods and maybe be able to add in some interesting tidbits and conversational topics to better help the Fresno food buyer make the decision to wake up early on Saturday and go get some excellent, local, produce.

To everyone that gave us an interview, I pledge that I personally and Eating Out Fresno as a whole shall not say anything defamatory or mean about you or your products. I very much meant what I said at the outset of the interviews. It’s for a goof. I like food. I like you guys and girls. This is for fun. Hell, I don’t even merchandise the site, since I could care two shits less about the half nickel a month I’d get from Gooble. And I will follow through and put together a fun and uplifting post based around your answers. I might even try to highlight some of the stronger points made about issues that are very important to Valley farmers, such as my convoluted and poorly worded question about the uses of the Central California watershed. But I’m sorry to say, that the people you pay for spaces at said market did a bang up job of making me and my wife feel very unwelcome. It wasn’t my intention to write an angry piece. But they put forth a superlative effort to direct me towards being the person they perceived me to be.

Ladies and gentlemen. Business owners and growers. I am but a simple blogger. I have no cause for which I fight, except maybe decent customer service and quality of product. And the growers at the market fight on the same side that I do. They’re outright wonderful. But, you should be aware that some people, by way of their perceived authority can reflect poorly on everyone when they decide to be reactionary and unfriendly. I carry no press card, and I have no authority over anything except this sad little blog. I dress like a scumbag to highlight the fact. I’m a nice, if goofy guy. If you were really terrified that I was there as an undercover sting operation for underage labor…well, I guess I must have that secret government agent look about me. Poor choice in judgment and poor eyesight in spotting a Fed. It’s not like drug enforcement, where they let the undercovers grow their hair long and “imbibe” to gain people’s trust.

Were we an actual news publication, we’d be ethically bound to contact our detractors and get their input on the situation before we go to press. But, I haven’t slept, haven’t had enough beer to make a difference and got piss poor customer service from what serves as the manager of the market. So, as concrete proof that we are neither undercover Bee reporters or agents of any governmental office, we’ll go to press half assed, with the short, but powerful impressions that ruined an otherwise lovely morning.


-Pook

P.S. For reference, these are the horribly invasive and dangerous questions I was asking.  All answers were optional, and alot of folks felt free to use "No Comment" without any further digging by myself.

1: How many acres do you farm?

2: How many people do you employ?

3: Do you farm organic? Why/why not?

4: What is your favorite produce that you grow? And the Least?

5: What is your most profitable produce?

6: How do you feel about heirlooms vs hybrids vs proprietary Monsanto style copyrights (Frankenfood)?

7: What do you think the best item to eat every day is? And the worst?

8: If you could make beer out of any plant you grow, what beer would it be. What would you name it?

9: Peter peppers…whats your standpoint on pornographic vegetables?

10: Do you think vegans are the new wave of diet fads? Or do you they they’d be delicious to eat, since they’re free range organic long pig?

11: Can I touch your squash?

12: Is it ok if your squash touches me?

13: As a farmer, what is your general stance on the California water situations, vis a vis the projected new dam construction, water being pumped hundreds of miles to other municipalities and 100 year old family trust contracts with the state that give a tiny minority of the state a vast access to it’s yearly watershed?

14: If you had to name 12 people for a Pin Up girls of Fresno Organic Gardening, who would you nominate and how many would be from Sun Smiling?


Terribly dangerous questions aren’t they? Ah well, back to undermining 3rd world regimes for The Man.

Eat Me Out In The Vineyard for 20 Bucks

Whaaat the hell? No, my blog hasn’t turned into Craigslist and I’m not soliciting anyone to meet me in a dark grape alley for some hardcore bad-touch. No, I’m talking about the wonderful Vineyard Farmer’s Market. The best reason to go 100 yards north of Shaw.

I love the place TOO much. Without thinking hard, I can drop close to a hundred bucks there. And that’s not getting any flowers, plants, cheeses, or grass fed beef. Just bags and bags of fruit and veg. Always too much for me to cook in the short week between the next trip. But can you blame me? Sunchokes and meyer lemons and chocolate truffles oh my!

So, I’ve given myself a challenge (as I stand in the parking lot, sorting through the change in my pockets). Pillage the market for good and tasty things that I love, pull together enough to make a hearty green supplement to our beeftastic existence. And, keep the whole affair within $20. Don’t think I can do it? I’ll totally bet you’re wrong, because $20 is all I gotses in it’s pocketses. Precious.

So, a-shoppin we shall go!

Any wise Farmers Marketarian knows, first round of shopping you always hit the honest to jeebus locals first. Those cats who’ve got MOUNDS of green stuff around them, dirt still on the roots, everything generously portioned and not a damn price or label in sight. Why? Because these farmers are moving greenery as fast and as cheap as it can be done. This ain’t your Whole Foods manicured bunches of coddled greens, lightly pee’d on by electronically controlled angels at 15 and 45 past the hour. They were yanked or cut, howling in pain and rage from the earth at 3am this morning. If you listen carefully you can hear the sound of a vegetable Gettysburg, the freshly wounded, still screaming with strained chlorophyll lungs. Here you get your parsley, lettuce and greens, fat bunches of herbs you have to either dry half of or open up a fresh herb restaurant. Go nuts here. You’ll have fresh and crispy fiber up to your eyeballs. And when in season, an embarrassment of strawberries. Now take a trip back to the car, drop all this off and we’ll move on.

Dang it’s early ain’t it? Well, it better damn well be! You want to get the best pick don’t you? Not to say that I’ve ever been unhappy when I woke up late at 11am and dashed out for the last hour of the market. There is still plenty to love and buy. But I’m a snob and I likes to pick out the best when it’s freshest and when I can steal all of the morels and Kona coffee. Coffee? Thirsty! Need shopping thinking juice. To the Fabiano’s trailer! Beyond their fabulously local roasted, ground to order coffee beans, these lovely people also open up a table side café offering 2 caffeinated and 1 decaf coffee to keep you amped up as you do three laps of the market eyeball shopping.

Yup, that’s the next step. After you nail your basics, take a couple laps and take it all in. Watch what the vendors are fussing over, maybe peep past the table to the bed of their pickup and see what all is goin on in there. Ask some questions, find out what that weird thing on the table is and maybe find out how you cook it. Get some ideas for how you’d like to experience the bounty of the particular season.

Market stalking over, move in for the kill. Or the purchase. Just doesn’t sound as predatory though. First off, I always like to buy something strange or new. I wasn’t crazy about the asian broccoli I got that one time, but I learned about it and no longer fear it as an ingredient. This time I sorta punked out due to the cost self constraint. But baby pattypan squash and kumquats (say it slowly, out loud. Someone came in the room didn’t they? Fun word!) count enough for the experiment. We’ll get to the squash merchants in a moment, but first a kind word about our Kumquat Lord. The citrus prince. The man, who for one week, left me in meyer lemon heaven. I don’t know how one farm can turn out so many fabulous citrus fruits. Blood oranges, navels, valencias, clementines, mission lemons. Too much good orange and yellow stuff. Must learn to make marmalade.

Next vendor! And my favorite vendor. Sun Smiling Farms. The shroom girls. The Ladies (in the British sense) of the market. Not only do they grow their own assortment of mushrooms, but they done got the hookup for the beloved morels. And as much as I hate the idea of you grubby unwashed masses muscling in on my beloved wild fungi, so too would I be enraged if but 1 tiny cap went to waste because there wasn’t an eager mouth to stuff it into. And as we jostle and jockey for position on their conical cappy goodness, there are other great finds like daikon, taro and a big handful of traditional Japanese ingredient I am still learning how to use. Like shiso leaves. Love these girls.

Ding! Change seats! Next we head over to the folks with the BIIIIG table. These folks rule the world of root veg. Taters, turnips, beets, OMG BEETS! And a hearty backup of a rainbow of greens, with a random sprinkling of nuts and fruits. Missing my beloved sunchokes, I do see a sweet little tender bunch of fresh cut asparagus. And there are some nice looking young fat leeks and some skinny little baby sweet onions. Yes, onions are the food-devil, but even a seasoned curmudgeon like myself can’t hate on babies. Onion souls are condemned to food hell after their first onion communion. Next!

Now it’s browsey time. I like to try to spend a little of my remaining cash at each of the vendors that I can afford to. They all have good stuff and are good folks. I want to help make sure they all come back each week. So, first I dash over to the organic greenery folks and splurge on a pound of their tiny wee baby pattypans, then across the way to my beloved tomater and garlic purveyors to grab a half pound of maters (2 in total) and a bunch of their super red-ass radishes. Then scooting over to the best damn sproutinista ever for a wee mixed bag. Which, along with the carrots, peas, basil and lettuce round out our $20 challenge.

Did I cheat? Hell yes I did! I totally bought morels on the side, as well as a habanero plant, a Cherokee purple tomato plant, 4 peter peppers (they grow into penis shaped peppers!!!) and a pot o’ cat grass for the pusses. But! The actual items, minus morels and plants, all really did come to a final total of $20. My choices might not get a household of 2 through the entire week, but that’s why there’s the Wednesday afternoon market there as well to supplement anything you forgot or are craving since the weekend.

Were people nice? Amazingly so. And charmingly enough, most folks mistook me for a proper photographer, rather than a smelly blogger rooting around for some flash to tart up my tawdry views of masticatory ecstasy. And dare I say, in a few instances I might well have mistaken myself for a paparazzo. Now show me sassy. I SAID SASSY YOU DIRTY ENGLISH CUCUMBER! Good thing security showed up late to work this morning. But everyone was equally as kind to me with a camera today as they have been in the past when I simply showed up with cash. It really is a lovely place and a fun experience. There is even an amazing purveyor of chocolate truffles, an on-site knife sharpener, fresh bread and pastries from La Boulangerie and the single most intimidating bee-guy/honey merchant I have ever seen in my life. It’s not like he’s mean or anything. Just looks like he can kick some serious ass. Bee or otherwise.

So concludes our twenty(fifty) dollar trip to the Vineyard Farmer’s Market. So I have no self control? Where better to lose one’s dignity than amongst those with the gumption to wake up ass early every day to tend to the wee groundly green things. I’d rather a foolishly spent dollar burn a hole in their pocket rather than some shareholder vacationing on Martha’s Vineyard. Our Vineyard, just a scant 100 yards north of Shaw, with morels and sunchokes and fine Kona coffee is far more precious to me.

Check out the remaining pics on our Facebook page here.

-Pook