Field Notes - The Sides of March

March 15th sits in that peculiar place in the French culinary calendar where winter has not quite finished and spring has not quite sprung. The markets still have a bit of an Irish feel to them - with much space still given over to leeks and potatoes. But you can sense that local market aficionados are sensing an arrival of sorts. The first crop of bright, green asparagus.

The French love their asparagus. They have been cultivating them since the 15th century and their popularity was forever boosted by Madame de Pompadour, mistress of Louis XV, due to her firm belief in their aphrodisiac properties (perhaps due to the intoxicating content of the 'libido' Vitamins A and E). But the arrival of the asparagus is not just about the vegetable itself. It's about what it represents to the Gauls.

I mean they are not inexpensive.. Not the first few bunches anyway. Perhaps because they are not cheap to grow and are associated with pricey, process-related, buzz-phrasing - hand-cut, same-sized, colour-coded... What seems true, is that no-one really cares how much they cost. The French will gladly part with money that buys "symbolism".

To the French, the arrival of "les asperges" carries several meanings at once - culinary, seasonal, and cultural. OK.. it's less of a symbol in the abstract sense and more a seasonal ritual that signals the beginning of spring and the return of fresh produce after winter. It's high price perhaps the symbol here of an entry ticket into Spring. Asparagus season is not overly short, as Vanessa and I see them in markets from March to June, but it started out with the sort of deilicacy designation that butts heads with classic economic theory - demand is high, despite a goodly supply.

What matters more than history or vitamins, however, is what happens once the asparagus actually reaches the table. Because if there is one thing the French understand instinctively, it is that the first vegetables of spring should not be bullied in the kitchen. Early asparagus are treated with a kind of quiet respect. No complex sauces fighting for attention. No pot watching or weighing, no elaborate, cheffy gymnastics.

Steam, butter, salt, serve.

They are a plural, un-dramatic vegetable, and very popular with restaurateurs, who prize their high, relative-cost margins. "Chez L'Ami Louis" a famed restaurant in Paris' 3rd, "Le Marais" arrondissement, happily charges €70 for a plate of 6 buttered asparagus served with a soft poached egg.. hello..?

But perhaps that is the quiet genius of the French market calendar. It reminds people, week by week, that food is not just stuff to buy and eat. It is something to wait for. Something that arrives when the soil decides it is ready, not when the shoppers demand it. The first asparagus is therefore less a vegetable than a small, seasonal advert for Spring.

Soon enough our markets here will fill with strawberries, peas, artichokes and tomatoes that actually taste like tomatoes. But for a few brief weeks in March, the asparagus holds the stage alone. Bright, upright, and reassuringly expensive. The opening act of a much larger, vegetable opera.

And the French, quite sensibly, do what they always do with the first good thing of the season.

They cook it simply. They eat it slowly. And they allow themselves the quiet pleasure of noticing that spring, once again, has decided to return in spades.