Picture this. I’m standing on the main drag of Acapulco, way on the outskirts of town, across from the Princess Hotel waiting for a local bus (much to the dismay of the staff at the Princess Hotel) with my friend Dan Millman (yes, that Dan Millman, of Way of the Peaceful Warrior fame). Dan and I were attending the International Conference on Business and Consciousness, and he’d gotten wind that I’d been going into town, know Acapulco and speak fluent Spanish and expressed interest in joining me on one of my adventures. No problema. So we set a time to go into the large downtown mercado. Where else to experience the full color and flavor of Acapulco?

I would be remiss if I did not relay to you that as I am standing there with Dan waiting for the delapidated bus which will be strictly full of locals, and maybe a few chickens, I am looking over his shoulder at a man up in a tree, cutting off a large limb in which he is perched!

You never see him standing on the hay
He’s trying to lift, straining to lift himself.

Robert Frost, Death of the Hired Man

Sure enough, suddenly the man and the limb come crashing to the ground and Dan and I are swept into a moment’s drama in which we are trying desperately to figure out what the Acapulco version of 911 is! To no avail. Our plight is immediately remedied when we see the injured man drive past us in an old car, driven by a friend or bystander. Whew!

Back to the bus. It arrives; we are on our way. We are traversing the narrow streets of poorer neighborhoods up on the hills that run parallel to the ocean drive with big smiles on our faces. Thirty minutes later we disembark at the main entrance to the vast Mercado Municipal, which opens at an early 6:00AM and stays open until 9:00PM each evening. Imagine!

We enter into the noisy fray, excited to be exploring the many stalls and merchants we encounter. The Acapulco market is housed under a large ceiling, though open on all sides. It is a honeycomb of merchandise and not easily travailed. Within moments a local shopkeeper I’d met on a previous visit spots us and kindly offers his services to guide us through the rich tapestry that is at the base of all such markets. We heartily welcome his assistance.

Being a port city, Acapulco’s market overflows with counters of fresh fish; rows and piles of every conceiveable local vegetable and fruit one could wish for: coconuts, mangos, papayas, bananas; onions, peppers, tomatoes, and herbs galore. Shops with shoes and leathergoods, with shawls, with blankets, with miniature dresses for confirmation. Children selling Chiclets. It is alive, visceral, immediate and full of the collective energies of men, women and children bringing their wares from the Earth to its fortunate recipients. This was not a day Dan and I were likely to forget–the rich fragrances, splendid colors, and fascinating sights will be long with us.

Where do we find such venues in America? What is clearly rooted in indigenous cultures fortunately finds its cousin in our rich and varied cross-country local
Farmers Markets. Here in Northern California I am blessed to have one close to my home, where I can readily arrive each Saturday morning before noon from April until October. (Aw, yes, East Coasters. One of the great advantages of being a California girl gardener is our long growing season!) The mere entering of our Farmers Market puts me immediately in another world–a world in which I most definitely enjoy being!

The sweet melodies of the musicians of that day welcome and invite me into this transformed environment–what is normally a street I daily travel by car–now blocked off to traffic. It is flanked by a park and a very large open patio where tables and chairs await participants who opt for morning coffee and pastries from our local popular bakery. The treasures and wares of our local entre-preneurs await my view and purchase. Goat cheeses. Flavored olive oils. Bouquets of fresh flowers. Fresh-caught wild ocean salmon. A bevy of tomato choices; fresh cut basil (for making yummy pesto!); herbs, plants, wreathes; squashes, plums, apples, figs, and berries, all locally grown, primarily organically!

My very favorite special treat is the local honey, which I buy in large bottles and store. What a luxury!

Alas, this last weekend was marked by the first day of autumn, so soon I will have to forgo my weekly pleasure and be creative until spring.

Posted on September 26th, 2007 by Kathryn
Filed under: People at Work | Comments Off on Farmers Market

The truth is I just love to bake! Oh, I can do a lovely soup and a few lofty tricks on a stovetop, but my preference is to put something in the oven once I’ve mixed it up, and then open the oven door at the prescribed time and have it turn into something all together different. The transformation of it is irresistible. “”I’ve done my part; now, you, Fire, do yours!” It’s a miracle! Imagine!

I am always finding excuses to make something. This month I must find uses for the many delicious apples literally falling off my backyard tree, like apple crisp made with oats. And the freshly picked peaches from Jo Gowan’s orchards such as a yummy peach and blackberry cobbler. (And last year it was the bizillion pumpkins that took over the back yard completely.)

I have not tackled the quince bushes yet. They will fall to the wayside, once again, I fear. Next year. But third week is Dad’s birthday and I have promised him a pound cake with a sweet citrus drizzle and this morning I am making peanut butter cookies to place in a colorful fall basket and mail down to North Hollywood to my beautiful, darling daughter. A girl needs cookies, right?

Long ago, ages ago, decades ago, in fact, I was a baker. (I would scarce use the word professional, though I was paid, in fact. And I have fantasized about sitting in a little unobtrusive booth at the Farmer’s Market, utterly anonymously, selling slices of banana bread and cookies to the attendees. I’m sure the children would love it. And I once had an inspiration when I lived in Mill Valley to add to the coffers of my single motherhood by “starting a business” called Dial-a-Pie, whereby folks in Mill Valley could call me up at a moment’s notice and I would pop a delicious pie in the oven and deliver it to them an hour or so later. You can see the impracticality of that. But it was a good name, you must admit.)

Anyway, way long ago, in Amsterdam, I was one of the bakers at a vegetarian restaurant called The Garden, ironically, and I was there on occasion early early in the freezing mornings, making banana pies with whipped cream, vege pies, and Power Cake, a recipe from The Farm in Tennessee. If my daughter was not in school that day she would accompany me and would amuse herself, sometimes, with dough, and once even made her own cookies which we sold as Antonia’s Cookies that day. She was thrilled and this had a lasting impression upon her, I know.

Moms, and Dads, I do hope you allow your children to bake! It is ever so easy and fun. It is devastating to my heart and soul when I see ads on tv of “mothers” hacking away at some dreadful roll of suspect dough just come out of a plastic tube, full of who knows what (nothing good, I assure you), surrounded by unwitting “happy” children.

Teach them to measure! What better way should they learn the importance of quantity than if the end result be a yummy frosted cupcake made by their own hand? Give them the joy of making a mess, of being creative, of licking out the bowl. (Oh, please tell me you are not letting them lick from those cardboard containers of instant frosting from the market!) And what better place to learn the value of making a mistake if the recipe said one cup of flour and the result was too dry from adding more?

It is a sad truth that our children, as well as ourselves, are far too disconnected from the source of our sustenance.

But enough of that.

If the remedy might be found even in small part in clearing the kitchen table and digging out a few pots and pans, a bowl or two and a measuring cup and some spoons, how hard is that? Here is my Grandmother’s old recipe for snicker-doodles to get you started.

Snickerdoodles
Preheat oven to 400 degrees F.
Cream in a larger bowl:
2 sticks of real butter (must be softened to room temperature)
1 1/2 cups of sugar
2 eggs
2 teaspoons of real vanilla extract
Sift together in second, smaller bowl:
2 1/2 cups of all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons cream of tartar
1 teaspoon of baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
Blend dry ingredients to butter/sugar mixture.
(Now the fun bit!)
Scoop spoonfuls of dough and roll between the palms of your hands into 1″ balls. Then roll each ball around on a plate in which you have combined 2 tablespoons of sugar and 2 teaspoons of cinnamon. Place balls 2″ apart on an ungreased cookie sheet and bake 8-10 minutes. [Tip: place cookie dough in frig while you are awaiting ones in oven! Thanks, Mary!] Remove from oven. Remove cookies straightaway from cookie sheet with spatula and place on a cooling rack.

Enjoy!

Posted on September 13th, 2007 by Kathryn
Filed under: People at Play | 3 Comments »