The Nettles

The other morning at the market, I was kicking myself for not bringing my camera, but at the same time, feeling like maybe it was the right thing to do. The market, my market, on the quai St. Antoine, was simply clogged with people. Rightfully so. The more I cover all of the markets of Lyon, the more I come to adore my home base.

What was new at the market this weekend? Well, the herbs are coming out, and beginning to look absolutely gorgeous. New potatoes from the region were hot and moving, the fresh young green garlic shoots as well as the huge juicy odorous stacks of ail rose were stacked in fresh formations, making me look forward to our time down south with Loic's parents.

Since we have entered France's spring vacation season, it's a special time too because there are a whole lot of replacement vendors with interesting novelties to sell. Unfortunately many of them set their stands too close, not understanding Sunday, causing human traffic jams. But we can forgive them.

We look up to the wind blowing in the plane trees, the pollen wafting about. We enjoy the sun on our faces, and remember not long ago when it was positively cold along the riverside. We cherish a word with our regular vendors and producers as we wait patiently for a family with a stroller to rearrange their purchases and say hello to their neighbors. My volailler has been recently featured in the local paper, nearly 60 years on the quai St. Antoine. City strangers push through, pretending to be locals and exasperated by the crowd. Excuse me sir, to you have somewhere to be, a pressing appointment? What are you doing here? All in good time, we move along. Life is good.

The man who grows oregano (the only one in town, I think), sells very good eggs, and supplies me with verveine has a basket of nettles. Loic says "are you sure?" when I tell him I want some. Quick to bond with Loic, he ominously dons a suede glove and measures my portion. I ask if he has any fresh oregano yet, which goes very nicely with nettles, and he says: 'eleven days from now, madame. And how will you prepare the nettles? A soup?' I tell him I haven't decided.

oven crisped pork trotter with nettle sauce
nettle seasoned meat balls
red mullet with puréed nettles
a caramelized lamb pastilla with pine nuts and nettle infused jus,
little flans with nettle seasoned cream
creamy chestnut and wild nettle soup

I wash and remove the leaves and tender young ends, wearing gloves, of course. A bunch of fresh young green garlic is sliced and slowly sizzling in a mixture of olive oil and butter. I still haven't decided what to do with them, even as I begin to toss them with the hot garlic. That's the wonderful thing about nettles, you don't have to decide until late in the game. You can eat them simply sautéed, you can turn them into soup, a sauce, anything. One thing's for sure, you have to cook them or you'll get stung.



I ended up turning them wilted and richly scented with spring garlic into a pastry shell, adding fresh sausage, herbs, drizzling them with a couple of eggs, topping the lot with some grated Comté and baking it like that. Spring in a shell.