Asparagus: Fairytales and contraband
Once upon a time, in a faraway ancient land, there lived two happy lovers. Nestled deep in a luxuriant forest, their small cabin and its bountiful garden was all they needed. The woman was of astounding beauty. She had pale, luminous white skin, blond hair like the sun’s first morning rays and green eyes so light they rivaled the first buds of spring. He was a forester, dark, tough and burly but kind and gentle. Every day he set off to hunt and gather wood, leaving his loving wife a kiss that promised his nightly safe return. Every night she would wait on the porch staring out into the green watching for every rustling leaf, waiting for his return. For years it went on like this blissfully.
The day started out just like always and yet that one fateful winter’s night it was unusually cold. The light had turned an eerie orange and the dead silence was ominous. Her heart was still. He would not be home. The capricious forest had taken him. She had no tears to shed because her grief had grown inside her like a stone. She was hardened in despair and loneliness. She sat on the porch throughout winter staring at the forest and when spring came along no blooms nor buds came from her garden. It was if her grief had spilled over to the ground around her.
On an especially bright spring morning, an old lady came out of nowhere. Her face looked like it was carved out of tree trunks and her fingers like little branches. Her smile was friendly and all knowing as she approached the cabin where our saddened heroine sat. “My dear,” she said “do not fret, he is still here with you. The forest does not only take but she also gives back. We needed his kind spirit, he has become one with the forest. It is a cycle of giving.” The young woman stared blankly back. It was hard to understand. Why was she left alone? The forest she had cared for all her life had taken from her. The old lady continued almost reading her thoughts. “Venture out of your cabin, grief shall be transformed, he has been waiting for you to follow.” And with that she walked off, becoming smaller and smaller in the distance till all the branches engulfed her.
More of the white yummy stuff: White asparagus in the market in Hamburg She had to leave her world. She understood. All this time she needed to let go. That very morning a light grew inside her. As she stepped off the porch and walked towards the forest the light grew. Her skin glowing from the inside, her hair radiant and those green eyes bright with joy. She embraced her destiny and once again she was with her love.
The next spring, a few villagers came to forage, passing by the old cabin, now moss-covered and overgrown with wild flowers. They wondered what happened to the huntsman and his beautiful wife. As they entered the forest, underneath a canopy of lacelike leaves they found a grassy clearing where little shoots of pale white, tinged with a luminous yellow and green dotted the surface like stars in a twilight sky. They discovered that when cooked, these shoots were of a sweetness unparalleled by any fruit. Somehow it reminded them of her. They declared that every spring would be the season of love feted by this rare gift from the earth.
The white asparagus. Yes, it is only a vegetable but when cooked to perfection, picked only that morning, it is worthy of all the folklores and fairytales possible. Unusual in shape and color it merits much more than simple description but is a true fantasy as you eat it.
The right white: White asparagus at The Georges Hotel Hamburg I was in Germany a few weeks ago, right when asparagus season started. We had arrived from a long, arduous voyage taking us from Manila to Abu Dhabi to Frankfurt for a four-hour layover, then to Hamburg, where we found out they forgot our suitcase somewhere along the way. Exhausted and smelly, we moseyed on down to our hotel only to find out the room wouldn’t be ready for another three hours. We sighed and decided to drown our sorrows in food. The Georges Hotel having a pretty decent Italian restaurant did the trick. We did not want to travel any further. Our starter arrived. It was all we needed to forget where we came from and live for that precious moment. A large, heaping plate of fresh steamed white asparagus, doused in some lemon and olive oil, covered in languidly melting pieces of Taleggio and beside some fantastic smoked ham. A bottle of rosé for lunch at first seemed excessive but the fete that went on in our mouths deserved the generous toastings. Succulent yet grassy, sweet and a tinge of wood, soft yet with a bite — the tender complexities of a perfectly cooked vegetable.
I’ll never forget the day my mother and I visited Jonathan’s mother in Germany. We lunched on steamed asparagus freshly picked from the ground washed with a glass of fine champagne. I sneer on those who adorn them with all kinds of accessories. For such a thing of beauty only two or three ingredients are necessary. Its cousin, the green asparagus is just as wonderful. The trick is all in the cooking. It should wobble but snap when you break it in two. The taste of the green must be appreciated. In the Alsterhaus in Hamburg, Jonathan and I had regaled ourselves to a lunch of fresh oysters followed by steamed green asparagus with jamon Iberico and fresh shaved truffles. The intensity of the color just screamed, “Spring!” The herbaceous flavor and happy crunch served as a perfect foil to the smoky and salty ham and heady truffle. It rather set the tone for the vacation, feasting on asparagus whenever we could.
Back in a flash in Manila, I had come home with a suitcase full of goodies: chocolate, candies, liquor and a secret stash smuggled for my family’s pleasure of one kilo of asparagus. As we ate each precious piece, I couldn’t help but remember the smell of the woods, the rustling of the leaves and the sound of twigs below our boots. A little bit of spring in a tropical country. The evidence was immediately destroyed happily in our bellies. The best-tasting contraband ever.
