food. according to me.

Interstate Farmers Market: Updated

Yesterday The Squeeze and I finally made it over to the Wednesday afternoon farmers market on N. Interstate Avenue, just across from the Kaiser Campus at the MAX Overlook Park stop. We didn't need anything from the market – we are still working on last week's Organics To You box and are headed out of town for the weekend – but I was just so desperate for that outdoor market thrill. The weather yesterday afternoon, just after three when we rolled out of the driveway on our basket-equipped bicycles, was just perfect. Perfect.

I hesitate to admit that yesterday's visit was my first ever but, indeed, that is the truth. We live so close to the Interstate Farmers Market that my not going every week is unforgivable.I do believe, however, that I will be making a regular habit of cruising down to the market on Wednesday evenings. Though the market is small – smaller than any other area market I've seen – there are some really, really great things to be had over here.

Since we're skipping town and since there really is enough food in the house, we had only planned to buy some fruit. More than anything, I just wanted to check the scene out. I should have prepared better for my own weaknesses when faced with gorgeous produce and aromatic prepared foods. I should have left my dollars at home. But then, you see, I would not have made the following discoveries:

• Sticking with our original plan, we did pick up some fruit – a pint basket of Hood strawberries and one of cherries from Leopold Farms. This morning, the strawberries are turning the syrup in my breakfast bowl. The cherries are blood-colored and taste nothing – nothing – like cough syrup. Since they're so ripe, the strawberries will need to be eaten today. I am preparing myself for a happy, satisfied stomachache.

• We probably made a full lap through the market before stopping again in front of the Serious Bread table. Yesterday they had pita breads, toasting breads, and BAGELS. Honest-to-goodness boiled deep golden brown bagels. My heart stopped. We bought half a dozen – two each poppyseed, everything, and cinnamon raisin. We took our berries and our bagels and our frozen lemonades from the Mocha 'Roma cart, and we sat in the grass and listened to a couple of old guys with guitars singing a truly horrible cover of "Brown-Eyed Girl."

Unable to wait until breakfast this morning, or even until we got back home, I insisted on splitting a poppyseed bagel and – oh good grief! – it was good. Aside from the cornmeal-free bottom, it was just perfect: really chewy and dense and flavorful on the inside; and the crust was dark and smooth and crisp. At last, I know where my bagels are coming from.

• Sun-warmed, quenched, and sated, we headed back towards our bikes, but our progress was arrested by the stand at the end of the lane, adjacent to the two old guys with guitars. The vinyl sign strung across the the canopy scaffolding, in front of which three women served the eager throngs, said "Micro-Mercantes," which suggested to me a lot of things – micro-credit, social welfare, independence for women – but nothing about what was attracting so much business. I noticed the jug of horchata on the table, then the two huge steamers on a propane stove, then the iced squeeze bottles of red and green sauces. Then I saw the sign that read, quite simply, Tamales. Chicken, pork, vegetable. $3.00.

We bought two each of the chicken and pork varieties and took them home for our supper. I wrapped them in a moist kitchen towel, microwaved them for six minutes, minced some fresh cilantro, and served them alongside the sauces that accompanied them home. These, friends, are the best tamales I have found in Oregon. The masa was moist and corny and totally made with lard. (As uncomfortable as that may be to think about, lard makes tamales so delicious.) The meat in both was shredded, and well soaked with sauce – spicy red for the chicken and mellow tomatillo green for the pork. They were so flavorful, so tender.

The only thing I would have done to make them better is to buy more – which I'll do, next week at the market. I recommend you check out the scene, and the Oregon Farmers' Markets Association, right here.

UPDATE:

So we went back to the market yesterday. We brought some folks with us, promising them these spectacular tamales. The Squeeze and I worried all day, in fact, that they'd run out at the Micro Mercantes stand. We rushed to get their early. We came hungry.

The tamales, friends, were totally different. The fillings were different (both puerco and pollo were in a smoky red sauce and there were no tomatillos to be seen), and the little bundles were much more masa than they were meat. We were disappointed. We'd never rave about the food we had yesterday.

There were different people working the stand than the folks we remember from our first visit, and I've reasoned that everyone under the Micro Mercantes banner does things a little bit differently. My advice to you: look for the squeeze bottle of tomatillo sauce, and give them a second chance if you're not instantly blown away.