Green Bean

Manorbier Asparagus - Merllys Maenorbŷr

OPEN DAY 

Guided Walk - Cook & Taste

Sunday April 29^th 5.30pm

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Mum, and other stall holders had warned me that selling at Riverside Market in Cardiff on a match-day is not much fun. On the river, opposite the Millenium Stadium, the usual sunday morning city centre calm becomes a scrum-down as the roads are closed, buses diverted and upto 70000 fans head down the embankment to the game. The commited regular customers who come to the market faithfully week in week out either come early on these rare days to avoid the crowds or they stay away and wait until next week.

I thought it would be a good idea to be positive and try to turn a problem into an opportunity. Make something of the occasion, take the chance to show off the market we are proud of, extend the conversation that already exists between the consumer and producer, but also marginalised community; the homeless, the developing world producer, the immigrant and refugee ethnic community. Many - most of those rugby fans are a new community, new actors, new audience to the market, lets show 'em what we've got.

It wasn't even hard to dream up a terretorial, national, pride in your country, heritage, team kind of line. floating in the rafters at the theatre we have a dragon ex sea monster rucksack-worn giant that could be borrowed. The  Draig Goch --- Red Dragon of Wales... stretching it's wings, light and bright swooped along the river capturing in a view the market, thousands of people, the stadium, and something to be proud of and give joy. That's not to mention the tremendous,  gourmendous treats on offer..

And a table full of daffodils. That was at the core of it all. I wanted to sell daffodils, and if my regulars wernt all coming... though many (including readers here) did... then how about some "big fat yellow ones" to take to the game, along with flags and hats and all the regalia?? Regalia that included.. to my bemusement.. yard long plastic inflatable daffs. Thousands and thousands of them!!

Bemused... to miffed, as fans turned down my generous offer of real Welsh daffs.. "well iss gay innit.. you can't hit the Irish man in front over the head with 'em... an besides these are really welsh ennay?" and depression sets in as i realise these automatic plastic worst of chinese tat inflatable daffs are sponsored by Really Welsh, Emmit's brand new hope.

And here the story takes a twist as we see a little inside  the "buy local"  game.

The multiple retailers are falling over themselves at the moment to garner a share of the now mainstreaming enviro market. Amongst initiatives to reduce packaging, erect wind-turbines on top of stores and carbon neutralising comitments are the endorsements for local... or at least locality-ised procurement. This is a big story and greenbean looks on wide-eyed as it plays out before us. But Sunday, yesterday, I found myself in the thick of it's inflations.

Bursting with green goodness, the big juicy leaves and succulent stems all cook together to a delicious vegetable.. never before seen in the United Kingdom. They're peppery and rich with a bitterish tang. The name comes from an old word for "frying" and typically in Naples they'll be sweated down in a pan with some sausages; they comliment a strong meaty taste fantastically well. In fact, one of Naples favourite pizza toppings is sausage and friarielli! That comes from the top, as they invented the pizza!

We've been eating them at home for weeks now. Dad chucked the seed in when he reseeded the bulb ground, as an experiment really. In just a few weeks they were up and thriving in the Pembrokeshire milds.

Mum says they've got a real "crave-factor", one of those things thats giving you just what you need as the winter draws in.  Yummy in  packets of  pasta.. like ravioli,  with a  strongish cheese. It would be nice in a lasagne and would be wonderful in risotto.. but just as good on its own, boiled or steamed..

The first crop is still going, but will end in a week or so. If the rain dies a bit some more will be sown for an early spring harvest.

Up for review... i'd love any comments/feedback

oh and a totally vacuous profile of Adria.. 

And i love this: "molecular gastronomy does not exist" 

Catalonia is not Spain

PIC: Gastrognome

Although this region sports a donkey logo on its cars rather than the Spanish bull, It's no stubborn mule. Catalonia just recently passed a referendum to make this Mediterranean, Pyrenean North East corner of Spain independent. Its a vibrant, dynamic, multicultural, hard-working place. In seeking it's own identity Catalonia embraces a globalising world with flair, and looks ambitiously to the future.

Barcelona celebrated the referendum vote in style on the night of San Juan, an all-night midsummers beach-party. 100's of thousands of revellers danced under a firework sky until dawn on the spectacular seafront, welcoming a new season and a new freedom. The city, extensively redeveloped around the time of the 1992 Olympics is one of Europe's most popular destinations. Visitors attracted to the fine architecture, fabulous beaches and cultural vibe also enjoy a tremendous food experience. The streets and walkways of Barcelona are packed with bars and restaurants offering a phenomenal gastronomic adventure. Through the eyes of a gastronomer, exploring the region, looking into the products, finding out about and tasting dishes, the true spirit of Catalonia is revealed.

The food producers here are not hanging around, this is where you'll find state of the art olive groves and marketing initiatives that build on the cultural capital behind local cured meat products. Something about the spirit of success here combines beautifully the best of the old with that of the new. The municipal markets have been the most recent target for progressive post-modernisation. Rather than left to crumble and be re-valued and gentrified by the property market, they are the focus for local economic development. Barcelona's 39 municipal produce market buildings are systematically being transformed into dynamic artisinal yet highly competitive spaces. It seems as though the discussion that has led to the regions autonomy and development has embodied the activities of the 21^st century. Embedded in what it feels and knows from the past but playfully, confidently inviting new perspectives: be they cultural or technological. Real markets bursting with colourful fresh produce combined with innovation and creativity bring an exciting dimension to the Catalan menu.

Typical of busy, historical Mediterranean port towns, a diversity of flavours and recipes has for ever arrived with migrants and traders and invaders, established themselves and mutated into particular specialities. Look out for familiar flavours and compare the salt-cod bunyols with Venetian baccalau, the coca to the Neapolitan pizza and the picados against Genovese pesto. Not to simplify: arguably Catalan cuisine, when it sticks to its roots, has maintained into modernity perhaps most accurately its medieval use of nuts, spices and combinations of sweet and savoury. While orthodoxy has it's place, post-modern Catalonia is forging into new territory by working with its heritage and re-interpreting the ingredients and dishes to meet the needs of a new society. Tapas is a super example. It's origins simply a piece of bread to “top” an evening glass of wine; stop the flies, stave off hunger. It's complications and varieties come from all over Spain; in a particular dish, a set of flavours; meat, cheese, olives, fruit, vegetables, with or without bread. Now, it's the perfect vehicle for a chef to show off and grab the tourists in the evening into one of the thousands of tapas bars and restaurants. Tapas is a format.. a medium for culinary creativity. And neither is it frowned upon to be using thoroughly exotic ingredients and combinations so the boundary between tapas and sushi, for example, becomes blurred. For the consumer you take it as far as you want, one can be a snack with a drink, or a dozen-shared: a full degustatory menu, and typically in the same establishment.

Contemporary Catalan cuisine is not an idea without its drivers. The historical pedigree for cultural absorbency is reflected in an emergent avant guard cuisine. Chefs like Ferran Adria are “de-constructing” the language and practice of cuisine. His workspace is as much chemistry laboratory and media studio as kitchen. The motives though, for boiling local products in liquid nitrogen and de-stabilising our sense of familiarity and comfort, recognise that gastronomy belongs to everybody and a new language is required that doesn't exclude the ordinary person. Adria's polemic creates a reference point, the discourse is established as we write. But most importantly, and this is the cunning, is that it sets a practical example. “Cooking isn't art, it's cooking, “ he says, “the complicity of eating.. a food creation... engaging all the senses and the body... makes it closer to us than the arts.” What the avant gard do and say is resonating with the vibe. It's talking to the middle class plaza tables and the socialist garage-band student bars and gives the ubiquitous patatas bravas experience an irresistible vibrancy.

Innovation is one thing, but what's it all for? This is not novelty for the sake of it, it's at the core of Catalonia's uniqueness. The voice of ordinary and infinitely various people is institutionalised in Catalonia. Barcelona's redevelopment, with its magnificent buildings and public spaces values the individual as much as it gives incentive for economic investment. Celebrating and giving space to marginalised people is a way of life. As well as the living street-food culture seen with tapas, the region's sparkling wine, Cava, is a great example of this modern food culture being people-centred and lively. Elsewhere in Europe, fizzy pop producers might well construct protective legends of status and tradition around their products. Here wine-makers showing you around the disgorgement cellars won't forget the legacy and knowledge that goes into the bottle, but will sooner toast your happy visit rather than linger self-consciously on the rim of the glass. The important thing is to load the crates on the bus and get down to that beach party... That's where the life is.

I couldn't imagine what I'd find at the market to represent the season. 2 1/2 months is a long time for crops to come and go at the end of summer.  When I left in July, A dozen types of peaches had taken the place of strawberries that had replaced cherries. Watermelons the size of planets, cheaper than bottled water and dripping ripe tomatoes  filled the market. 

But at Italy's  markets there's always something new. 

(Photo by Lensenvy)                                                                                                                          Stepping now into the  twice a week Colorno market, held in the Piazza in front of the Reggia, I am met by  the smell of  mushrooms... somewhere... i never do find them.  The colours are different, green, yellow and orange pumkins adorn displays of serious autumn vegetables; cauliflowers, cabbage and metre high bitter chicory greens. Golden Delicious from the Alpine valleys, patently sunblushed but sweet and fresh sit alongside a basket of gnarly kanker-split irregulars and a dozen varieties of pear.. so distinct and stylish they assume another name.

And out front, in rustic baskets, are chestnuts.

Wonderful, rich definitive colour... the solid deep hue of  a season sinking into winter. I thought chestnuts were chestnuts. The ladies of Colonata, many moons ago, harvesting chestnuts showed me that only some of the trees give the right type of chestnuts for making flour. Now i'm scratching my head, because the two baskets, with almost identical nuts have two different prices; 2.50 a kilo for the "castagne".. and 4.50 for the "marroni". I puzzle too long, and the stall holder comes forward... "no,no,no.. very very different!". The marroni don't have a skin that sticks to the soft yellow flesh inside. mmm, I ponder too long... "I'm looking for someone to make me this cake" she thrusts a kids comic page with a recipe for "Ciambella di Castagne" into my hands.. followed by a sack of rattle-clacking chestnuts. "you can have the chestnuts.. I just don't have time to bake, you see". The crowd is giggling... I'm being duped! "Come back on Friday, we'll be waiting to taste the Torta!"

Welcome home to Italy... something I wasn't sure I'd feel last week.

On past the autumn fruit; piles of muscat grapes, crates of cotton-downy quinces  and trays of translucent persimmons.  And... oh! this stall has an exclusive! Citrus! the first of the year, a mixed bin of clementines and mandarins. Again I'm puzzled and stare at the lime-green fruit, leaves as fresh as lettuce. The frantic bustle of the market leaves me behind... "but are they ripe?"  The young woman behind the stall stretches back to take a cut fruit from a colleague.. "yes, yes.. they're rose inside... look", and I'm stunned as she says "It's their quality".

For the first time in a year I'm not wearied by the Q word.

She's saying that these early varieties are ok to eat green... they're ripe inside.. it's their particular characteristic  to be green.  I'm refreshed by the completely direct and clear way that she uses the word quality. It's a word overused, abused and made meaningless as the giants of the food world take their stances in the war over what is good food. Exercised as a type of propaganda; high quality, quality control, quality control... da da da none of it means a great deal without the specifics... and then we can make our own minds up.

I buy a kilo and relish the first spray of citric oil to spray out as i peel back the paper-thin skin. They are just sweet, crisp and juicy, the segments snapping apart. Wonderful!