Heart of Palm Sunday (part 3)

All this shopping always gets me thirsty and it is near noon. The temperature right now must be about 33 degrees Celsius, that is 93,1 degrees Fahrenheit. To me, that means only one thing. It's time for my next refreshment. At times in these markets, you'd feel plagued by the continuous noise of a machine working non-stop. I've been hearing it near the last row of stalls and there's where I'm headed right now. But, lo behold! A delightful distraction catches my eye on the left. A man is skillfully cutting something up with a short blade. Why do I keep getting interested in men holding knives? A topic for my shrink, nevermind. Let's say it was the strange-looking small pile of logs beside him what kind of threw me. What were those?

This man is extracting the freshest heart of palm for his customers. Very interesting to watch, very fitting for Palm Sunday. And there's a reason why I didn't recognize the little buggers. In Turrialba, my hometown, I remember seeing these stems in the market being handled with extreme caution. They are usually covered with vicious thorns. 

I continue on my way with my roomy by my side and we come to the source of all the racket. It's the sugar cane press that roars on as it squeezes out the delicious juice. People are milling around the stall to get a dixie cup full of fruit juice. You can take your pick. There's freshly squeezed orange juice, pineapple juice, passion fruit, sour sop, sugar cane, horchata, carrot, you name it. A large cup of this nectar will run you 450 colones, about 50 cents of a dollar.

So, belly full and cart full, we head back to the car. One more indispensable stop before we leave. For us, no visit to the market would be complete without a quick look in the prepared food sector. Many treats are on offer here: home-made breads, baked corn goods such as tamal asado and tamal de maiz dulce, crunchy bread rings with that bright red sugar coating I love, fried plantain chips, potato chips, the works. Real nice but that's not what we're here for.

Tortillas de Queso Las Cervantenas are quite an institution in San Jose markets. They rotate between the Zapote and the Plaza Viquez market and today, as usual, the stall is packed with customers. The cheesy smell is intoxicating as you approach and the sizzling tortillas on the grill look always nice golden. The wisdom on these ladies' hands consistently creates flawlessly crunchy edges and soft corn dough, loaded with tender Turrialba cheese. These tortillas are just perfection. As the lady hands me the bag, I know one of these babies won't make it home.

And so ends our market day. The only thing I need to always remember is to wash my hands thoroughly before I dig into my warm tortilla goodness on my way home. Once again, the understated magic of the Zapote market has captured me. I am convinced it is one of the places where Ticos are ourselves, soft-spoken and easygoing. This is a place where we caress the essence of our identity in the products of the earth, where we don't pose. This is who we are. Just Ticos in our natural habitat.

Remember to wash your hands!

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!