Fresh Produce

Foodie’s Delight: Roadside Treasures and Unexpected Destinations

~ adriennecohen221 ~ Leave a comment

I am apt to brake quickly when driving along the byways of this country.

I’m always on the lookout for distinctive photo ops, and I can’t resist interesting signs (especially unique place names like Toad Suck and Smackover in Arkansas,) decaying fences, old churches and cemeteries, or American flags painted on the sides of old barns and brick buildings. As my husband notes, I am sometimes a pain in the neck, but I try not to be too demanding about those stops.

Most of the time, at least.

However, I also have been known to request, if not demand, a “slow down and turn around” when I spy a roadside vegetable stand or come upon a weekend farmers market. There’s something appealing about buying produce direct from the source. It’s gratifying to meet the people who grow our food. That food, whether just-ripened berries, plump tomatoes, or recently-picked apples and pears, always tastes better somehow.

At times, as I willingly admit, I can be insistent.

What’s better than cutting into a fresh peach and tasting it as its proud grower looks on approvingly? Typically, I don’t mind when the juice drips down my chin and onto my shirt! It’s all about the flavor, the freshness, and the fun.

Seasonal specialties like fresh melons and sweet corn, pumpkins and apples or the products made from a fresh harvest — pickles, preserves and jams, sauces, or homemade breads — often seem irresistible. In states where it’s possible to buy fresh pecans and freshly roasted peanuts, we brake for those too. And, occasionally, for just-picked bouquets of daffodils, tulips, or chrysanthemums.

On an impromptu weekend excursion with friends the last weekend of July — destination: the 41st Annual Grape Festival in Altus, Arkansas — we happened upon a farmstand, and it was the prospect of fresh peaches that clinched our decision to stop.

Farm Stands and Festivals

Luckily, everyone was willing, even though this became one of those turn-around-and-go-back moments. It didn’t take long. Nor did it take long to fill several plastic bags with juicy peaches, plump red tomatoes, and vine-ripened sweet grapes. We chatted a bit with the owners of the farm stand. Then, satisfied that we had made a good decision, we loaded our treasures into the back of the SUV and hastened on down the road, eager to get to the festival.

Truth be told, I’m a huge fan of quirky local festivals all across America. It helps to have a willing partner, and my husband and I have made special efforts to visit more than a few of them, including The Goat Festival in Perryville, AR, held annually on the first Saturday of October. We plan to be there again this year and have already ordered our t-shirts. Who can resist the prospect of a fashion show that features young kids in pajamas? The second weekend, on October 12, we plan to attend the 15th annual Sorghum Festival in nearby Mt. Ida, AR, sponsored by Heritage House Museum.

In Arkansas, it seems there are enough festivals and small town celebrations to keep me on the road all year long.

Following the grape festival, we planned to stop for a picnic on the way home. We opted for Paris.

Arkansas, not France.

Small Town Discoveries

The Olympic Games were slated to begin that very day in the “real” Paris across the pond. We had heard that the townspeople of Paris, Arkansas had decorated the 25-foot-tall replica Eiffel Tower that stands in the town square with iconic colored rings, symbol of the Games. It seemed only fitting that we stop there.

We had packed a picnic basket with bread, crackers and cheese, chicken salad, sliced ham, olives and pickles, cookies, fudge, and lemonade. And we had peaches from the farmstand, a bonus. Leaving Altus, we made a brief stop at Wiederkehr Village, which now also includes a tasting room and restaurant. Johann Andreas Wiederkehr, who arrived in the area in late 1880 from Switzerland, founded the family winery that is now the oldest continually operated winery in the state.

We planned to drink a small toast to the start of the Games. By the time we reached Paris, the air had cooled a bit and we found a picnic table in a city park. Large trees offered shade as we unpacked our picnic basket.

Small Town Delights

Traveling the back roads to Paris took us across rolling hills and along picturesque fields and pastures in this Ozark Mountain valley. It is rural, to be sure. Although I acknowledge that there are valid reasons to travel Interstate routes across the United States, country roads just seem more interesting.

That was the certainly the case for our drive to Paris, and I now have a full handful of reasons to return. In addition to finding the Eiffel Tower, we were intrigued by the adjacent Love Lock Fence, and spent a fair amount of time reading the names and dates on the locks.

There are well-maintained public buildings, stately old homes, towering shade trees, and flowers seemingly everywhere in Paris. I savored the sight of vintage automobiles resting aside old buildings as much as the flower-filled baskets hanging from the light posts.

I longed to visit the charming shops in the downtown area, and to walk through gardens filled with colorful flowers. I vowed I would return to visit the “Old Jail” Museum, the Coal Miners Museum, a wine museum, and Subiaco Abbey, a “working” Benedictine monastery founded in 1878. The monks there produce a hot sauce known as Monk Sauce, made from Habanero Peppers grown in the Abbey gardens.

And the murals! The street art and murals in this small town are exceptionally varied and striking, as unexpected as they are enchanting.

Paris is a small town with a population just slightly over 3,200 and a distinctive history. The city was incorporated in 1879, but a settlement had been established there five years earlier. Once the heart of an agricultural area, it has also been a railroad town and a coal mining center. We had too little time to explore fully, but I would like to learn more about life there, for it seems to “live larger” and have a more intriguing story than one would expect.

Good food is all about . . .

~ adriennecohen221 ~ Leave a comment

100_5366 (2)

I met a 10-year-old a couple of weeks ago who told me in all seriousness that if he were offered a choice between doughnuts and salad, he would have to go with salad. He volunteered that tidbit after telling me that he liked all vegetables, especially salad greens. I had asked about his favorite lettuce, and he answered “Romaine” with no hesitation.

We were standing in the demonstration greenhouse of DFW Aquaponics Farms in Burleson, Texas, where I was photographing lettuces, chives, kale, Swiss chard and tomatoes in various stages of development. I had heard the young boy talking with his dad about how delicious the produce looked, even though many of the plants weren’t yet mature and the tomatoes were still green.

I’m not sure that at age 10 I even realized that there were different varieties of lettuce. I ate salad, I think, because at that age I ate most of what was put in front of me. It was simple food. I grew up during the days of family meals served at home, punctuated by an occasional sandwich at the downtown drug store soda fountain as a Saturday treat.

I vividly remember the taste of those sandwiches, and the special delight of a fountain Coke! To this day I occasionally long for a real fountain drink, rich with syrup and bubbly from the seltzer.

I also remember that home-cooked food varied by the season. Winter brought soups and stews, spring and summer were filled with fresh salads, bright peas and juicy watermelon, and fall was full of crunchy apples, and tasty pumpkin, squash and spices.

Because I was a city girl, I knew little about growing food. But I knew that when the right season rolled around, there were ways to judge the ripeness of fruit and vegetables.

However, had I been given a choice, I am certain I would have opted for a chocolate chip cookie, a scoop of ice cream, or even a just-picked strawberry over a ripe carrot or a stalk of fresh romaine, no matter what the season.

Today, like that 10-year-old, I too prefer salad over doughnuts, although ice cream is still as tempting as that fountain Coke.

I have learned what I am sure my farm-raised grandparents knew: Freshly-picked and locally-harvested food tastes good. It’s that simple. It’s immensely satisfying to create a salad or an entire meal from what one has grown.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Today, because of greenhouses and modern technology, it’s possible to grow fresh food — including salad greens and seasonal produce, year-round in many different locales.

I am not still not committed to growing my own food, but I certainly understand the motivation. Luckily, at least in my area, farm stands, local markets and community-supported agriculture (CSAs) are increasingly popular. Fresh, seasonal, locally-grown, non-processed food is available. It’s a good time to experience the joy — and the flavor, texture, color and fun — of good, fresh produce any time of year. It’s simply better.

I am delighted when spring arrives and local farmers markets spring to life with colorful carrots, new potatoes, bulbous onions, butterhead lettuce and showy Swiss chard. Later I wait for the melons to ripen and still later I search out the most beautiful eggplant and squash — as much for their vibrant color as for their taste!

Food is always an adventure — whether picked from the garden and prepared at home, created by an award-winning chef at a renowned restaurant, or purchased from a trendy food truck at a community festival. I continue to learn new things about food and about people, no matter what the occasion or where in the world.

It was here at home that I learned another lesson about food. Kudos to my 10-year-old “teacher,” and to his dad for showing him the way.

Teach them young, they say . . .

Mainely good: Up country, Down East

~ adriennecohen221 ~ 1 Comment

Maine in the summer is full of good things: salt air, brisk nights, bright sun, wispy clouds, lobster, ice cream parlors seemingly on every corner, breathtaking scenery, a lazy way of taking one day at a time and putting aside the rush.

There’s also traffic; getting anywhere by car is apt to take twice as long as anyone thinks it should, with distances measured in time rather than in miles. And, yes, it’s easy to spend a lot of time in the car in order to see it all.

But Maine is the kind of place that gets under your skin. It’s hard to resist coming back — and the more one returns, the longer one wants to stay.

Yesterday’s excursion took us along the back roads of Midcoast Maine from Wiscasset, the self-proclaimed “prettiest village,” northeast to Belfast, another old seafaring village about 50 miles distant. 101_3156Then we clung to the seacoast to reach Camden, where Mount Battie stretches to the sky along one side of scenic Route 1 and the surf crashes against the rocks on the other side.101_3149

It was a leisurely drive, interspersed with frequent stops for photos, some “on purpose” wrong turns, and a drive up the bluff to view storied offshore islands from the heights at Point Lookout in Lincolnville.

Summer is alive with color — vibrant flowers, lobster buoys glistening in the sun, colorful sails silhouetted against the sky, canoes and kayaks forming their own artistic displays in their racks.101_3015

Farm stands and roadside booths abound — offering everything from fresh strawberries and blueberries to ever present lobster rolls, fried clams, and whoopie pies (definitely a Maine thing!) 101_3107We even found ice cold Moxie for sale by the bottle. Yes, it still has a medicinal taste, but apparently it has never lost its appeal.

We made a stop at Beth’s Farm Market in Warren, and were thunderstruck by the beauty of huge floral hanging baskets. Alas, it’s still a bit too early for Maine sweet corn. But that’s another story; instead we stocked up on fresh strawberries, tomatoes — both red and green, and on purple carrots!

Make no mistake: Eating your way through Maine is half the fun.

Our lunch destination, and one of the main reasons for the trip, is an unassuming eatery with a loyal following in Belfast. Behind bright yellow doors at 96 Main St. is a thriving vegetarian lunch spot (open for dinner one night a week) that also has an in-house produce market, bakery and flower shop. The owners are all family, and their history in Maine dates to 1969; Chase’s Daily opened its doors in 2000.

Good food and sustainability are hallmarks of the operation; the owners and operators are down to earth, realistic and nothing if not approachable. The food is good, with unexpected layers of flavor and unusual ingredients; the ambience is pleasant, the wait staff congenial and the history heartwarming.

Maine has changed over the years, but in important ways this state remains the same as it was decades ago when I first visited. It’s still a little foreign, perhaps a little provincial, and rough around the edges at times. Portland, the largest city, is a cosmopolitan 101_3181center today, full of fine restaurants, hotels, shops, museums and galleries.

But, get out to the country and there’s still a whole wide world to explore. That’s part of the delight, and that’s the reason for the traffic on the coastal highway. You need to get out of the city and away from the resorts to really experience Maine. As a state slogan proclaims: It is “the way life should be.”

Up country and Down East are not only destinations; they are states of mind.