Alemany Farmer's Market

 Fog, Farmers, Compound Butter & Camaraderie

The weatherman called it Fog-ust instead of August. When we moved to San Francisco people kept talking about the fog in the summer and I thought it was hype. It was not hype when I woke up this morning and the fog lingered at our window, stalking me, laughing at my Southern California soul. My good friend Hank invited us to join him at a farmer's market after he drops his wife off at the airport. A little fog isn't going to stop us. Off we go, Chamaca in her baja hoodie and I'm wearing a jacket in mid summer as we drive towards Alemany Farmer’s Market. We get there at 9am, 3 hours past opening time and the market is bustling. I feel the Chef Gods shine down on me as I score a parking spot close to the entrance. 

I see my good friend Hank walking towards us with his 8-month old strapped to his chest in a BabyBjörn. He's eating a nectarine and his baby looks happy and carefree. I haven't known Hank my whole life, like our wives know each other. But Hank and I have had similar life experiences and we've swapped many stories over many pints, shots, and late night's before we became dads. Hank is my confidant, a fellow dad I can talk to about anything. He listens intently, nods his head in understanding, and asks thoughtful questions. He also spent some time in kitchens so we connect on that level too. Friends like these are rare, so when we get a chance to hang, we make it count. 

We begin to stroll down the many isles and I can immediately tell this is a farmers market with actual farmers. Chamaca is hypnotized by the hustle and bustle of people. This is not the kind of place that will sell elderflower honey in a cute glass jar to a late 20's hipster in a floppy hat. This is the kind of place that sells beautiful organic produce. According to the Alemany Farmer’s Market website, these vendors are not allowed to sell produce grown from genetically modified seed or waxed produce. Genetically modified organisms (GMOs) are grown from seeds that have their DNA genetically engineered to meet certain criteria. Waxed produce are vegetables and fruit that have a protective wax (beeswax, petroleum wax, etc.) applied to them to prevent moisture loss, slow the decaying process and have a glossy appearance. 

The prices here are equivalent and sometimes even cheaper than big supermarkets. So for me, eating unadulterated produce that costs the same or cheaper just makes sense, and it tastes better. 

We pass some pluot samples and I turn back to snag one for Chamaca and she spits it out. She loves plums and she loves apricots, so why not love them both together? As Chamaca develops, her independence level grows higher and higher. The foods she onced loved are now thrown to the ground angrily or smashed and smeared in her hair. I presume this is a frustration of her wanting to do things by herself, but not having fully developed those skills yet. I pour more cheese puff snacks into her tray and she smiles at me, we keep moving. 

Hank and I walk a few laps around the market and catch up on life. We call this “dad exercise” and agree to do a few more laps since the babies are being entertained. We stroll and chat, eyeing immaculate looking cucumbers and snap peas. Smelling strawberries that are so fragrant and perfect that your nose dances a little as you walk by. I buy 2lbs of shallots and Hank asks what my plans are. I respond that I don't know, but these shallots look great and are cheap, I'll find a use for them. He laughs and we continue. 

This market is timeless. If you think about it, the connection between farmers and city dwellers  is historic. Our ancestors were dependent on farmers, and it was in markets like this where money changed hands and produce found its way into people's kitchens, onto their dining table and into their mouths. We have been repeating this exact exchange for so many years without even noticing it's become a vital part of our existence. It's nice for us to live in a city where we can get quality produce at a reasonable price. A dilemma our generation faces now is we no longer have the need or desire to cook. Hungry? Order delivery. You don't even have to talk to anyone, the delivery person drops it on your doorstep and you come out in your socks to bring in a meal that is lukewarm and ready to eat. Sure, some people do this because they are too busy, but most people do this because they don’t want to pause whatever show they are binge watching. Generationally, our priorities have changed, and that is reflected in our diets and shopping habits. There was a shift from home cooked meals being something of value to home cooked meals being looked at as a waste of time, or a burden. I chew this over in my mind to find a way to one day explain this to Chamaca. I look at her through the mesh opening in the stroller and she has both her feet kicked up on the snack tray and she looks content. Must be nice. 

Hank comes back from buying peaches and other produce. I ask him what his plans are, and he mentions compound butter. My mind begins to spin with the flavors he is throwing at me and I am already wondering what goes well with the butters he will be making. I start thinking of cooking some pasta and tossing it in the compound butter for Chamaca. Hank reads my mind and says I will surely get some butter once he is finished. I begin to think about dropping some bagels off for his family next week as a thank you for the compound butter. With that, another ancestral exchange will take place. The exchange of food from one family to another.

Baby nap time is fast approaching and we decide to head out. As I sit in the slow creeping traffic to get out of the parking lot Chamaca begins to grumble in the back seat. To distract her I open and close the back window repeatedly, playing with the window switch like a DJ crossfading. I think about writing this article and how I want to intermingle the farmers market, friendship, camaraderie and being a father. I realize that they are all the same thing really, you have to show up for all of them in order to keep your sanity. If you’re a dad without a friend, find one, they are the best kind, and go to this farmers market.  

Alemany Farmer’s Market

100 Alemany Blvd, San Francisco, CA 94110 

Saturday, 6am to 2:30pm