Note that if you purchase something via one of our links, including Amazon, we may earn a small commission.
Fresh produce from the Somerville Winter Market brightened up my Tufts dorm room meal.
Snow dustings grayed by boot prints and salt, gaunt tree limbs stripped of leaves, and the dry bite of blustery winds can make winter in New England dreary and disagreeable, all the vibrancy of the previous seasons having disappeared when the sun departed for the winter. On a particularly uninviting Saturday in January, I serendipitously discovered where all the light had gone.
A lively jazz trio’s music spilled out the doors of the Somerville Center for Arts at the Armory and permeated the harsh conditions of the morning, inviting me inside. Every week, the Winter Farmers market transforms this castle-like performance hall and community gathering space into a bustling hotspot for all things fresh, local, and bright. With over 70 vendors selling everything from fresh produce to organic skincare products to hand-made chocolate to tamales served hot with salsa, this indoor market was just the balm I needed for my winter blahs.
When I came through the arched doorway, volunteers escorted me up to a balcony where shoppers packed themselves shoulder to shoulder in order to get a whiff of the fresh baked goods, honey, and empanadas sold by local vendors. I made my way to the perimeter, where, peering down at the lower level, I found my gaze drawn to a beet: tie-dyed with pink and white circular stripes, it called to me. Downstairs, I was elated to find baskets and stalls overflowing with fresh produce in vibrant greens, reds, oranges, and purples.
Rachel Wood, a farmers market representative and farmer for Heron Pond Farm, was excited about the buzz of the market. “Business really doesn’t slow down when we move inside for the winter season. People are just as delighted about our root vegetables and our other cool-weather crops” she told me.
After buying some sweet potatoes and onions, as well as one of those striped beets, I milled around some more and grabbed a pack of lion's mane mushrooms, a Tetsukabuto squash, and a rutabaga (all of which were unfamiliar to me, especially the squash). I had no idea how to cook any of the latter three items, but they all seemed unusual enough that the friends I was having over for dinner likely wouldn’t have tried them either.
When it came time to cook, I began with the ingredients I knew. I thinly sliced the onions, roughly chopped the sweet potatoes, and, after overcoming my disappointment at learning that my apartment didn’t have a peeler, I used a sharp knife to remove the skin of the beet before cutting it up. I had no idea how to handle the rutabaga, but its skin felt similar to the beet’s, so I prepared it the same way.
The Tetsukabuto squash intimidated me the most. Its shape and size were similar to those of an heirloom pumpkin, but it had a much tougher skin. After a quick but informative Google search, I put the whole thing into the microwave for a few minutes in order to soften the skin. After that, I was able to get a knife through the skin and cut the thing in half. The flesh inside had a similar texture to that of a pumpkin, and, having for years been responsible for the pie at Thanksgiving, I now knew what to do with this Tetsukabuto. I peeled, deseeded, and chopped it, then tossed it and the other veggies into a big bowl along with some minced garlic I’d also picked up at the market.
If I’d had the foresight to plan out my evening, I would have had time to let the veggies sit in some sort of marinade to allow them to soak up some yummy flavors. But I’m a college student, which means that I have very little foresight about anything ever, so I just tossed the veggies with dijon mustard, olive oil, a little lemon juice, and some salt and pepper. I spread them out on a greased cookie sheet and blew them kisses, and into the oven they went.
When I informed my friends of the 30 minute wait time before the veggies would be ready, it became clear that the potato chips I gave them as appetizers weren’t going to hold them over. I knew what I had to do — cook the Lion’s mane mushroom — but its fibrous yet fluffy texture unnerved me; I’ve cooked mushrooms before, but never one like this. As I began cutting up the amorphous white blob, the soft yet firm texture reminded me of scallops, so I decided to pan fry them. (When in doubt…pan fry….right?)
One of my friends suggested I add some soy-sauce to the pan, and doing so helped the weird mushrooms crisp up quite nicely, the starchy white outside caramelizing to provide a mildly sweet yet crunchy bite. I served these little nuggets over some white quinoa, topped with a little chopped parsley borrowed from a roommate’s supply in the fridge. One friend described the mushrooms as “meaty,” the other as “fatty in a good way”. We all agreed that the dish was an elegant first course.
Once the veggies in the oven finally crisped up, I served them — again — over quinoa, because my mom told me that there should always be some sort of starch in a meal (and because quinoa had been on sale at the market near my house). The sweet potatoes, beets, onions, Tetsukabuto squash, and rutabaga had all turned a similar orangey-brown color in the oven, and my guests were apprehensive about what exactly I was feeding them. Thankfully, they were mostly too hungry to care, though they did occasionally hold up a bite on a fork and ask me to identify it.
The rutabaga tasted a lot like a turnip, the Tetsukabuto like a regular winter squash. The dijon and lemon juice dressing gave the veggies a pop of flavor that punctuated the heartiness of the meal. Throughout this day and when cooking this meal, I was reminded that brightness doesn’t go away in the winter, it just changes form and sometimes moves inside. The Somerville Farmers market gifted me not only beautiful, fresh vegetables, but also a revitalized vision of what winter warmth can look like — and the ability to cultivate that warmth within my own home.
