(Today’s article is by contributing writer Matt Hollingsworth)
It’s a bright, warm Saturday on Market Square, and the street is overflowing with more people than I’ve ever seen at West Town Mall or Turkey Creek. Recently, I’ve been on a mission to discover more of downtown Knoxville, and while I’ve visited Market Square before, I’ve never been to its farmers market. Or any farmers market for that matter. What can I say? I’m a nerd who prefers books to people most of the time.
Today, I’m visiting with my fiancée, Annette, to shop for ingredients for a nice dinner. We drive separately, and while I wait for her to arrive, I begin to explore the market. Rows of booths line either side of the path. I step underneath the arch where an older woman in a wheelchair plays a beautiful song on her melodica, a kind of mouth-powered keyboard held in one hand and played with the other. I give her a small tip, and she wishes me a blessed day.
At the front, a plaque on the ground quotes a Cormac McCarthy novel describing Market Square. He mentions the smell of rotting produce, but taking a deep breath, all I can smell is fresh food, coffee from a nearby stand, and the chlorinated water from the fountain down the street. Maybe sanitation standards have improved a bit since McCarthy’s day.
As I walk down the street, I pass the Baboon Powder booth I’d seen at First Friday. I smile, thinking the owner must be a regular at these events. However, the crowd here blows First Friday out of the water. Whenever I take out my phone to write notes for my article, I’m worried I’ll bump into someone. I continue looking through all the booths which are selling not just produce but kombucha bottled drinks, flowers, paintings, decorative broomsticks, fancy pens, and much more.
I pass by the fountain where some young kids are playing. I smile as a young boy joyfully slaps the water. I’ve walked about halfway through the square when Annette calls me. She’s finally found a parking space and is ready to meet me. Being from Lenoir City, she’s not overly fond of the parking situation.
I return to the arch where the melodica player has been joined by a fiddler to play “What a Wonderful World.” Somehow, their instruments turn every song they play into a melancholic dirge in the best way possible. I finish reading the Cormac McCarthy quote and wonder how many of the buildings on the square from his time remain—probably most if not all as Market Square is on the National Register of Historic Places.
I smile when I see Annette, wondering how I’ve landed such a great fiancée. Soon, we’re looking through the different tents, trying to decide what we want to make for our meal. We decide on the desert first—apple pie. The Aztec Fuji apples we buy here somehow look more natural than ones from the grocery store. At another stand, we pick up some free samples of delicious (and crunchy) muscadine grapes.
Annette has been wanting me to try spaghetti squash, so we get one. She also convinces me to buy some green beans—a hard sell for me, but she promises she knows a recipe I’ll like. While checking out, we start a conversation with one of the farmers who explains that they operate on a shoestring budget. He motions to the old church van that they use to deliver their produce.
Next, we grab a zucchini (possibly my favorite vegetable), followed by peppers, onion, and purple basil for seasoning. We make sure to check out every booth before returning to our cars, bags overflowing with our haul.
Back at my house, we start cooking. Or more accurately, Annette cooks, and I follow orders. She tells me to peel the apples while she prepares the vegetables and sauces. She’s definitely the chef in our relationship, and I’m perhaps not the best assistant in the kitchen because, eventually, she tells me to, “Sit there and look pretty.”
She cooks the green beans in a garlic and soy glaze. The onions and zucchini are prepared with soy sauce and about a quarter inch of a pepper—still a bit too hot for my liking. She also prepares zucchini slices roasted with olive oil, garlic, salt, pepper, and minced onions. They taste absolutely incredible. The apple pie needs to cool for an agonizing four hours; it already smells so delicious.
When everything is done, we dig in while watching an episode of Star Trek. It’s a huge meal, and from the start, we know we’ll have a lot of leftovers. Also, she was right about the green beans, and she’s officially won me over. It’s been a wonderful date with wonderful food. It’s good to know that our meal has come from local farmers who we’ve actually met. This was my first farmers market, but I don’t think it’ll be my last.