Los Angeles: Santa Monica Farmer's Market, El Parian

The Santa Monica Farmer's Market in February is pretty impressive. Tables are piled high with heirloom tomatoes, plump strawberries, tight headed asparagus, citrus of all varieties, sun baked persimmons, beautiful salad greens and much more. I must say, however, that the mushrooms are pitiful compared to those found in Maine and after an oyster tasting at 9:00 AM, I can state with certainty that there is simply no comparison between a thick shelled, meaty Pemaquid oyster: perfectly balanced in every-way and a thin shelled, soft bodied, sour tasting California oyster. It made me miss the icy waters of the Atlantic.



It's hard to imagine having such a bounty of produce all year round. On one hand, it seems luxurious to put anything on a menu, in any season but on the other, I love the challenges imposed by the changing seasons, the way that you have to wait until summer to bake a blueberry pie, wait until fall to exhaust the root vegetable family and until February to eat sweet, succulent Maine shrimp. I'm not sold yet on the ease of living in this sunny place with all these beautiful vegetables. The New Englander in me feels that something is not quite right.
At the Santa Monica Fish Market, everything is tidy and well displayed. The air smells not of fish but of flowers, which makes me skeptical. Then I look at the fine print on the signs that mark the fish variety. There are fish from dozens of countries around the world but where are the fish from California? I think about the Port Clyde Co-Op and smile. Another point for Maine.


It's lunch time. Saveur's Taco Nirvana piece puts me on the 405 and over to El Parian, rumored to have the best carne asada in LA. The first thing I see when I walk in is a woman cupping dough from a mound with her hands, pressing corn tortillas and tossing them on the griddle. Although I am not of Mexican heritage, something about the smell and the process of making tortillas from scratch, comforts me deeply. Afterward, I go for a walk on Venice beach and watch the surfers tumbling through the white waves. I undo the button on my jeans and take a deep breath of warm, salt air. I might like it here.