This Isn't Your Farmer's Market

Way back when, I visited an old friend in Boston only to discover she had turned a sickly shade of yellow. "Holy cow," I said. "Do you have jaundice?"

"No," she replied. "I just eat a lot of carrots."

Erica had discovered Boston's Haymarket: not a riot, more than just a T stop, Haymarket is a nearly 200-year-old tradition in the heart of Boston's downtown. I think I lived in Boston (meaning Cambridge) for eight years without ever going to the Haymarket. This was probably because, back then, the Haymarket lived in the shadow of Boston's central artery, the elevated freeway that used to divide downtown Boston from its harbor. Everything around the central artery was super-sketch and generally unpleasant.

No more. Whatever else one might think of Boston's infamous Big Dig, it did succeed in opening up this core slice of central Boston. In place of the looming concrete jungle of pollution and noise, we now have a human-scaled park and a sense of openness in the midst of the city. This makes the Haymarket rather more appealing as a Saturday morning field trip. 

The Rose Kennedy Parkway: Much more pleasant than a freeway.

I don't know what the Haymarket was back in the 1800s, but today it is Boston's discount outdoor produce market. This ain't no farmer's market: you will find no organic produce or $3 doughnuts here (a staple of Harvard's farmer's market, the $3 doughnut stand always has a line). No, Haymarket is the landing place for the produce the grocery stores don't want any more, those still-edible fruits and vegetables that need a good home, stat. And if you do get hungry while shopping, hole-in-the-wall pizza and falafel joints line one side of Blackstone Street (I can't recommend any of them, but at least you can get a full meal for your $3).

I love an outdoor produce market. With surly vendors, mounds of bright vegetables, and a cross-section of Boston's diverse population, Haymarket reminds me of a scaled-down version of the Hague's Turkish Market. The Haymarket isn't nearly as impressive, but the food is at least as cheap. On a recent Saturday, we were buying 8 apples for a dollar, a pound of pickling cucumbers for just over a dollar, healthy bunches of parsley and cilantro for 25 cents each. Of course, none of it would last past Monday.

So what do you do with ample, cheap produce that isn't going to keep - at least, if you don't have ten mouths to feed that night? You can pickle it, like Jeff, who recently made quarts of refrigerator pickles out of mini-cucumbers. You can jam it, like a colleague of mine who decorates his living room with different colored jars of preserves. You can bake it, like I did with those twelve-cent apples. (OK, so maybe I intended far more baking and sauce-making than actually occurred - best of intentions...) And then there's stock-making, stew-freezing, and good ol' massive stir-frys. 

I recognize that cheap, hit-or-miss, nonorganic produce is not everyone's cup of tea. Toto, we're not in Whole Foods anymore. But here's a couple things to consider: First, while this produce is in no ways "sustainable," the Haymarket does help save it from total waste. If we're going to fly in planes full of peppers from Chile, we might as well use them. Second, not all of us can afford to shop at Whole Foods. Third, a bit of savvy shopping will get you a long way. Bring small bills (this is a cash-only world) and browse the stalls and prices before you buy; insist on picking out your own produce (let me reiterate: insist on picking out your own produce); don't do business with vendors who are rude to you; and keep in mind the Dirty Dozen and Clean Fifteen - those fruits and vegetables you should always buy organic vs. those that  carry the least amount of harmful pesticides. We never buy the former at the Haymarket, but we'll stock up on the latter.

Still, your mileage may vary. If nothing else, the Haymarket is a scene worth seeing before moving on to the Rose Kennedy Parkway (a.k.a., the Big Dig's final legacy) and fresh cannoli in the North End.

Haymarket runs pretty much every Friday and Saturday. The closest T-stop is, unsurprisingly, Haymarket - but it's also walking distance from most points of interest in Boston's compact downtown. 

Fall in(to) Cambridge

Cambridge is made for fall. From the university campuses to the tree-lined streets, fall in Cambridge means two months of bright blue skies and flaming leaves set off against the red bricks of school buildings and sidewalks. I first came to Cambridge fifteen years ago as a freshman in college, only to find that fall in New England was a fundamentally different concept than fall in Portland.

First, a New England fall is sunny. In Portland, on the other hand, the rain starts around October 1 and doesn't let up until sometime in May. 

Second, thanks to the clear skies, the leaves in Cambridge crunch. If you grew up outside the Pacific Northwest, I assure you - you underestimate the miracle of crunchy leaves. All through my childhood, fall just meant decomposing piles of sodden brown leaves beaten down by weeks of rain. You didn't rake leaves as much as push them into sad little piles that vaguely resembled something scatological. 

Third, because fall is a true shoulder season here - a distinct change from what came before, but not so sudden that you just want to hide indoors - there are super-special fall festivities, annual traditions keyed to the gradual shift in season. These traditions make the fall for me. After the difficulty of moving back across the country and starting a new job this summer, fall in Cambridge was like a warm and fuzzy welcome mat. Year after year, these are my favorite (free) fall traditions: