Still Eating Apples

The daffodils have arrived in small pots at the Greenmarket, cheery little markers of Spring. They sit in front of the wooden crates still filled with the seemingly endless supply of coldstorage apples we've been eating all winter. So many apple pies, apple muffins, baked apples, applesauce. So much tart/sweet crunching, with Pennsylvania cheddar or Berkshire Blue. So many savory apple slices, sauteed in butter and salt and ladled over chops.

I have to admit, that, along with my favorite pair of jeans, last Autumn's taste sensation is wearing a little thin.

In a moment of weakness earlier this week, with the sun bearing down like a counterfeit July, I was tempted, sorely tempted at the outdoor bins of Garden of Eden. I reached for ... asparagus, a small grouping wrapped in rubber bands. Seconds later, I noticed the wrinkles, the dry looking tips, the off-color green. These asparagus were weary travelers, far from their California home; depleted, stressed out, jet-lagged. I'm going to wait for the first local crop at the farmers market; no doubt, it will be a surprise and a delight. Until then, just a few more apples.