Spring has (literally) sprung early in our apartment this year.

Meet Fergie, the wild asparagus plant that has been mesmerizing us for a few weeks now.

I had a good laugh when I walked in the door from work one evening and saw Sébastien holding a small terracotta pot sporting the most awkward, scrawny, spiky reincarnation of a Charlie Brown Christmas tree I’d ever seen.  I quickly learned  that a friend had given us a wild asparagus plant.

Back then, there wasn’t much sign of life, just the four sprite, rather nervous-looking “trees”  that spread haughtily into the air.  Sébastien warned, though, that asparagus would soon start sprouting up from the soil.

Judging from our endless misadventures with orchids (which never seem to make it through winter with us), I wasn’t so sure we’d be able to grow asparagus- it’s supposed to be difficult (three years before a seed will give way to friendly green stalks).

Despite our mild lack of confidence, we watered Fergie (who was named instantly by the way) and… just like that, two little white creatures pushed their way through the dirt.  What got us most was the stunning rate one of these asparagus stalks grew- as though it inched up by the minute.

In just a couple weeks, the innocent newborn in the photo turned into a lanky thread that now measures 13 inches!

Since I’ve never grown asparagus, I’m kind of curious about the whole thing.  As far as I know, this veggie’s been around for a while- records take it back to Ancient Rome- as both a delicacy and a medicinal plant.  Also, asparagus, apparently (like French nouns), can be either male or female.  Wonder what this one is?

Here’s one last post in my series on the Loire Valley.

Now that we’ve seen where we stayed and what we saw, this one’s about what we ate.

Part 4: Asparagus Invasion

A primeur is a young fruit or vegetable that starts off the season. This is what we were eating during our trip in April. March through June is asparagus season in France and the Loire Valley is known for its production of this favorite.

In France, you find asparagus in three different colors: green, purple or white. I grew up eating the green ones and was taught to search out the skinny tender stalks. I’ve noticed, however, that the fat white ones seem to be the most common here in Paris- I’ve actually been on many an excursion around town trying to find slender green asparagus without any luck. The white stalks are white because they have never been exposed to sunlight and are picked as soon as they start popping out of the ground. They are tougher than the green sprigs we tend to eat in the States and need to be peeled before cooking. Though I’ve tried, I still have a preference for the stronger taste of the green ones.

Thus my excitement when I saw slender green twigs continually coming out of the restaurant kitchens on our trip. Even without trying, I had fresh asparagus at almost every meal: on top of pizza, as a side dish, in sauces…

Our most memorable meal was in Langeais at a restaurant called Au Coin des Halles (9, rue Gambetta). Here, I had bar (European sea bass) with seared asparagus and asparagus/lime sauce. At first I was a bit skeptical when I saw the color of the sauce: bright green like sherbet; but I was in asparagus heaven as soon as I started eating.

Over the last couple of months, I’ve noticed that even Parisian grocers have been subject to the asparagus invasion.

Looking in the grocery store today though, I sadly had to admit that the season has come to an end- all I could find where bunches of white stumps from Belgium. Guess I’ll have to wait for the next primeurs in March.