Our ancestors would have been shocked at the way we transport food around.  For our supermarkets, there is no longer “in season” produce.  I gratefully eat leafy greens in January, knowing they’ve been imported from sunnier climes. I slice tomatoes for sandwiches in February, their colour foreshadowing their anemic taste.  I eat the occasional avocado and pineapple year-round, despite our inability to grow them in Ontario.

Two years ago, friends of mine bought an acreage on the Niagara Peninsula. One a lawyer, one an entrepreneur, these two women decided to give market-gardening a whirl, knowing they can rely on the lawyering as need be.  Their exodus from Toronto coincided with the beginning of COVID but was not, unlike many, prompted by it. They were, quite simply, fed up with city life. From a farm myself, a piece of me was skeptical - how would two urban women make a go of country life?  Their property is on highway 3, the road that hugs the north edge of Lake Erie from Talbotville to Port Colborne. They’re on a great stretch near Wainfleet, perfect for catching holidayers eager to spend money on something beyond just the wine which is plentiful in this region.  Their land had an existing asparagus patch, along with some rhubarb and other stuff - but it’s the asparagus I go for. 

My late May 2021 trip to visit my friends and buy asparagus was an end-of-third wave lark - something to do as COVID measures started to lift but before I was ready to enter homes or restaurants. We sat on their deck and I was delighted to see them already so enmeshed in their new world.  They looked physically tired in a way few of us ever look, from long days of cutting and processing the harvest.   I left with 15 pounds of stalks for me and my neighbours. I was in heaven, eating asparagus at every meal for the next week. 

You see, asparagus is one of those few things I will eat only in spring.  And damn, do I eat it! 

This week I went again, a culinary pilgrimage during my week off work.  I loved the rush of hopping onto the highway towards Niagara, the first time in a year.  I know the road-trip as we know it must end as the climate crisis escalates with every passing storm, but I assuaged my guilt with the knowledge my plug-in hybrid is pretty energy efficient.   I meandered through backroads past farmers’ fields planted, but not quite sprouting.  The spring sunshine beat down on the car making it toasty inside. I had Sirius XM “First Wave” pumping through the car audio system, only just resisting the urge to pull over on the backroad and dance to Close to Me, by the Cure, as I might have (OK, did) 35 years ago.   Just perfect. 

I arrived 90 minutes later and was met an asparagus galette with a side of slaw, just the right teaser for the bounty I was taking with me.  The lawyer was lawyering, but I caught up with the principal farmer over lunch and my friend’s stories reminded me how community-oriented rural living can be.  I have a taste of that in Weston but I thought of how I grew up - people helping people because it’s the right thing to do and for no other reason.

 I stayed only a couple of hours, knowing farmers don’t have time to knock off longer during the high season. I took the slow route back to Toronto via Lakeshore Boulevard, enjoying the opulence of south Burlington, Oakville, and Mississauga. I stopped in Port Credit, drinking in the late afternoon rays along with Starbucks’ best latté while I thought of asparagus. I arrived home and immediately pulled my asparagus pot from the rack, blanched a pound, and served half over a bed of Israeli couscous with cucumber, tomato, feta, and chicken salad. I was excited to think about how to serve up the remaining 3 1/2 pounds of asparagus that couldn’t be fresher unless I grew it myself.  

Wednesday morning I leapt out of bed, anticipating asparagus. I began with breakfast of the good greenness poking out of an omelette with a little duck sausage and homemade bread.  Spontaneous gazebo lunch with a friend was made tastier with chopped asparagus in the spinach salad with bocconcini, tomato, and porcini mushroom dressing alongside a Korean duck pizza from King Cole Ducks.  (indeed I do eat well on a staycation!) Dinner involved more duck - this time, the pre-cooked wings that are truly to-die-for with a side of sautéed asparagus and a curried lentil rice. (I am so happy to have my kitchen back from the renovations!)

Thursday morning I again threw some cooked asparagus with my egg and a slice of bacon into a freshly made sourdough bagel (staycation means more baking). Truly heaven. I had lunch out with my mother at the Elmhurst Inn in Ingersoll and personally took a break from asparagus but watched as mom relished hers in a crèpe with ham and cheese, recounting to me how the cook in her retirement home prefers to serve it so “it drapes over the fork like a worm.” And we’ve all had them ruined like that.

I wasn’t surprised to see mom with her lunch order - I come from a family of asparagus fans. I took Jack once to the farm where I grew up and found him knee-deep in the grass in front of the house triumphantly brandishing stalks, a legacy from our patch thirty years before. On their post-farm property outside London (Ontario), my parents developed a large plot of the stuff, much more than any couple could consume; for three weeks each year, every car leaving their place was weighed down with this green gold.  I drove home from my mother’s planning my evening meal - shaved raw asparagus on a bed of sesame-dressed romaine with some duck wing meat and a little of the lentil salad.  Cooked or raw, asparagus is not losing its lustre yet this week!

Friday breakfast - more eggs, bacon, and asparagus with a bagel.  Lunch out meant a lost opportunity, but dinner was stir fried rice with leeks, duck meat, and asparagus.  Still not tired it! 

Saturday I cooked up the remaining pound and a half and turned it into the best soup ever - Asparagus Vichyssoise. And when that’s eaten up, well, I’ll be asparagus-free for another 51 weeks.  Well worth the wait.  

I raise a stalk in your direction