I can hear Etta James singing as I slice my spring onions in half and lay them reverently in the melted butter at the bottom of my widest pan, douse them with a little water and white wine, sprinkle them with fresh thyme leaves from the garden and cover them to braise oh-so-slowly toward tenderness.
Our own little farmer's market here in Point Richmond has started up again for the season and our street is filled with white tents sheltering smiling vendors selling fresh fruits and veggies, plus handcrafts and prepared dinners.
A trio of musicians adds to the festive air, their coffee can out prominently in front is slowly filling with appreciative donations. Neighbors are milling among the tents, greeting each other and carrying heavy sacks of produce or small children. Older children flit around the little park uner the watchful eye of our Indian statue and dance to the music. Some people bring their dogs, who sniff and wag with enthusiasm.
My berry guy is back so strawberries are now on the menu; I resisted all berries until he returned. His are so sweet, shiny and ripe, they were worth the wait. Green garlic can be found weekly just down the street. Spring onions are plentiful and so beautifully colored. Freshly baked breads and pastries, plentiful bags of nuts - in short, it's a mini cornucopia just two blocks down the hill.
We are hoping for a fishmonger and a cheese vendor to round out the offerings. In the meantime, we are reveling in the return of the market and the warmer weather. At last.