Heart of Palm Sunday (part 1)

Us Ticos have a romantic relationship with produce. It's been barely two or three generations since we've traded our colorful "carretas" and machetes for mass transit and computers. Let's not forget that until recently Costa Rica was one big farm. Tourism, conservation, higher education available and foreign investment changed all that but, truly, it hasn't been long enough for most Ticos to forget their "roots", pun totally intended.

The place where I most often see evidence of this is in the Zapote farmer's market. The little farm girl in me gets all excited when I prep : I get my bags ready, put on my most comfortable shoes, stop by the ATM to have enough cash to get my fruit and vegetables and I skip all the way from the car to the stalls. I'm sure that most people, in their hearts, do too. I just do it literally.

The farmer's market in Zapote is probably the second largest in SJ, second only to the Municipal Market, which is frequented by restaurateurs at ungodly hours, it's like these guys enjoy conducting their business in the dark. That's another good feature in the Zapote Market. You don't need to get up obscenely early on Sunday morning to get your hands on some grade A food.

So. I got up at 9 last Sunday, had a very light breakfast, put on my most comfortable shoes, picked up my bags and I went out with my roommate. And, mind you, I said light breakfast because I always like to go to the market when I am slightly hungry. It makes everything look more appetizing. That's just the kind of indulgent kid I am I guess.

Going to the market in Costa Rica when you're hungry is not really a problem. In fact, I guarantee you won't be hungry for long. For instance, when my roommate and I were just entering the market site on our first reconnaissance (another useful tip: take quick walk around the market to check out what's on offer and to get ideas on what to make for lunch), and a loud bellow forced me to turn my head. It was a gentleman farmer promoting his goods: pineapples. He was carving one right on his hand, oblivious to the stream of juice dripping down to his sleeve. As I turned to look, he chopped a piece, picked it up with the end of the knife and help it up to my face, to my surprise. It was like he was making me try his fruit at knife point. A little scary, I know, but I had to take the bright yellow triangle and have a taste. Deliciously fresh, strong perfume invading your nostrils, juice dribbling down your chin. THIS is paradise.

And before I forget, if that happens to you, as it surely will, take the piece of fruit CAREFULLY.

 

Check out part 2 & 3!