Joy and the Green Stalk

Like most people who are not originally from California (and maybe most who are), I never tasted fresh asparagus until I was grown. I had no idea it even existed. I thought it came from cans, like the nauseating little Le Sueur peas we were served at my grandmother’s house at Thanksgiving.

Tinned asparagus was, if anything, even more revolting to my exceedingly cautious palate. The texture alone, an arresting combination of slime and stringiness, was enough to eliminate it from my short list of edible vegetables. Fortunately, it was seldom served at our house--not because my brother and I detested it but because it was expensive and exotic. For this reason, my father considered it a real treat. He would carefully pour the briny ocherous asparagus liquid from the can into a glass and drink it slowly, savoring it like nectar and smacking his lips.

Well, that was then. I don’t recall when I discovered fresh asparagus, steamed lightly and napped with butter and lemon juice. But there was no click of recognition--nothing to remind me of the pallid, limp stalks that passed for asparagus in my youth. This was a whole other species, different in texture, odor, appearance and, most important, taste, with a crisp, oddly pleasant acridity.

Tentatively, I began to buy asparagus when it appeared in grocery stores in the spring. I was entranced by whisper-thin stalks that you cooked in an instant and munched like grass. Then I learned the best spears were about the diameter of my ring finger, with tight, smooth buds. Sturdy enough so that when cooked to perfection and held by their bottom ends, they bent slightly in the middle--not too much! Soon I was surreptitiously taking apart bunches of asparagus to get the best ones.

I’ve tried asparagus as an ingredient in all sorts of dishes--quiche, risotto, pasta primavera--but I think it works best as a star in its own right. The simplest preparation aside, my favorite way to cook it is a glorious study in excess: lightly cooked asparagus with sliced avocado and a lemony vinaigrette, scattered with bits of crisp bacon. It looks fabulous on a serving platter, and guests invariably love it. I used to pair it with roast chicken and take it to weary new mothers who were in retreat from the kitchen; such an elegant surprise supper was always greeted with delight.

After my husband and I moved from Texas to the West Coast, I realized we had landed in asparagus heaven. Instead of a few miserly weeks, the season stretched out for months, as the asparagus harvest marched north from Mexico to Canada. Instead of picking among bundles that languished too long in refrigerated trucks, I could paw over boxes of perfect asparagus so fresh that it was still dusted with dirt from the fields. And talk about cheap!

In the years that followed, my kids gauged the onset of spring by the presence of asparagus du jour on their plates. “Again?” they whined as it kept showing up. Maybe asparagus will always be an adult vegetable. Maybe my children, with no memory of the horrid canned variety, will never experience that frisson of pleasure at the season’s first crop. Or properly savor, as my father did, our good fortune at having the exotic brought to the table.

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ASPARAGUS WITH AVOCADO AND BACON

Makes 8 servings

2 pounds fresh asparagus, trimmed

1 to 2 avocados, peeled and sliced

4 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

1 tablespoon Dijon mustard

1/2 cup oil, half extra-virgin olive and half canola

salt and pepper to taste

4 slices bacon

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Marcella Hazan and Julia Child peel the bottom half of each asparagus stalk so as not to waste any of the lower, tough portion. But I say life is too short and asparagus too plentiful for that. Snap off the bottoms (they’ll break at the tender point) and trim with a knife. Steam asparagus 2 to 3 minutes until it turns bright green. Arrange asparagus on platter, top with avocado slices and set aside.

To make vinaigrette, whisk together lemon juice, mustard, oil, salt and pepper. (Add tablespoon of mayonnaise for creamier dressing.) Fry the bacon in skillet, drain on paper towel and break into little pieces. Discard grease and stir vinaigrette in warm pan, scraping up any browned bits. Sprinkle bacon pieces and pour warm vinaigrette over asparagus and avocado just before serving.

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Food stylist: Norman Stewart