IF SOMEONE WOULD PAY ME TO EAT STRAWBERRIES.....

...there is a mighty chance I would do little else.

And it may never change: the moment I spot a strawberry – those shiny, bright red, fleshy bearers of inimitable flavor – memories of my stay on an organic farm in Italy are conjured as much in my senses as they are in my mind.

I see a charcoal horizon receding to shades of sapphire, cerulean, and powder blue, ribbons of tangerine mingle gracefully with emerging fuchsia light. It is dawn in the town of Capriglio. We make our way to the dark, yet welcoming kitchen (which the host family refers to as “laboratorio”), housed in a repurposed barn just down the modest hill from our sparse accommodations above the family’s store. The exterior of the 19th century building is so darling – with its antique pine green shutter doors, their paint peeling beautifully, each adorned with a single red wooden shoe; the zealous, climbing vegetation that shades the matron’s potted plants; and the brick arcs accenting the windows, which despite their arrangement as a frown, evoke the impression that the quaint home is smiling. I feel as though I have fallen into the pages of a childhood fable. I’m certain I have.

I hear the small aluminum Bialetti espresso pot (one of at least four the family owns) whistling on the stove; Piero, the man of this house and head of the agriculture operation, has prepared the caffeinated ritual and we’ve learned what to expect – he likes it strong. I listen to the silence between the turning of his newspaper’s pages; he is remarkably quiet and subdued in the morning. We eat without an exchange of words, but the birds outside the always-ajar kitchen door are characteristically loquacious. After the quintessential Italian “breakfast” of a strong shot alongside cookies and homemade strawberry jam, we quickly make our way up the adjacent hill; fruits and lettuces must be picked before the rays of the sun emit scorching heat.

I smell the apple-like fragrance of chamomile, a flower that seems to know no bounds in the Piemonte region where we’ve chosen to sojourn. Not long enough. My nose senses the night’s dampness lingering in the air and can just make out the familiar odor of my morning flesh, something like saltines with butter and jelly. The center rows of the elevated, untidy field are dotted with the full spectrum of crimson, magenta, purple, and black. Despite the meticulous inspecting and harvesting of the previous morning, a multitude of bright berries are ready for their turn.

I feel the plant as I prune and pick, its foliage slightly irritating to my sensitive skin. I sense the solar energy radiating on the back of my neck and legs; it is already eight o’clock, and we must work swiftly. We begin with the fragile “fragole” and end with the blackberry-bearing bramble bushes that rise from the opposite end of the narrow plot. Each day I look forward to the relatively arduous work of ferreting out the tiny jewels; the air is hot, my body is sore, and the armored grey bugs that guard the plants look like something out of the Triassic period, but the reward is immense. The dainty strawberries glisten with dew and are just warm from the rising light. I locate a ripe specimen and pluck it by its vibrant calyx, which feels fresh and slightly wet. I cradle the fruit in my palm. The pleasurable process begins: one for the basket, one for my mouth; one for the basket, one for my mouth.

Ah, the taste. With each bite comes an explosion of their unique flavor, one I can only describe as strawberry. If I laser-focus on my tongue’s receptors, I can perceive the notes of pineapple and caramel chemistry tells us are there. Their juicy flesh is fire engine red to the core. They are quite small if measured by the plastic-caged grocery variety, yet deliver an intensity of flavor beyond comparison. They are perfect creations – and fuel for the back-busting work of weeding that never seems to end.

Though you may not be able to fly to Europe this season, “Pick Your Own” farms abound in this country. Asking your local farmers for recommendations is a surefire method for finding a gem, but this website is another great source: http://www.pickyourown.org/index.htm#states

Also, if working on an organic farm in the US or abroad is of interest, please look into The World Wide Organization of Organic Farming: http://www.wwoof.org/
My husband-to-be and I had wonderful experiences in Switzerland and Italy and are always eager to share our memories and to encourage others to join!

Not only is fruit-picking loads of fun (ok, perhaps the bending and sorting is a little tedious), the STRAWBERRY is nature’s prescription for spring!

From an Eastern health perspective, strawberries are calming, perfect for a season when the energy is so focused on growth and expansion, and is consequently prone to erratic bursts (think Springtime thunderstorms). Strawberries are cooling to the system, but I feel they verge on neutrality (not as cold as a banana, for instance). They also assist in the breakdown of toxins that have accumulated during the winter season, and are beneficial to the spleen-pancreas. They are moistening and lubricating (recall their juicy flesh) and boast antiviral properties. Their appearance is an indicator of their nutrition; as a general rule, the deeper the color of the fruit or vegetable, the more beneficial to health it is likely to be – and strawberries, well, they have about as deep a color as it gets.

Western medicine reports that strawberries contain as much vitamin C as oranges and provide significant amounts of vitamin A, B-complex vitamins, and potassium. Like all fruits, strawberries contain beneficial fiber. Moreover, they contain other compounds that improve blood lipid balance, thus slowing the development of heart disease (these are phenolic compounds known as anthocyanidins), and that inhibit the growth of cancer cells and tumors (ellagic acid).

Peak strawberry season is from late spring through early summer (approximately April until June); I do not recommend eating them at any other time of year – it is simply not worth the money or even the negligible calories. When purchasing strawberries from a store or farmers’ market, the best way to know what you’re getting is to taste before you buy. Strawberries (unlike, say, pears) do not improve once picked – they must be ripened on the vine. Their hulls should be intact (their calyx bright green) and they should be shiny and plump. They should be bursting with flavor and red (not white!) throughout. Also, it is widely known that conventional berries are the most pesticide-laden of all produce, so please seek out those grown organically. Purchase them from a local, trusted farmer and then cradle them the whole way home. According to Harold McGee, the estimable authority on food chemistry, strawberries are best eaten immediately after harvest (which I’ve tested and agree), but best stored at 32 degrees Fahrenheit (which I’ve also tested, and found to be true; if left at room temperature for longer than 12 hours, they begin to rot) – the moral of these facts is that you should shove as many strawberries down the gullet as possible before storing them on a refrigerator shelf. When they do finally make it to the ice box, make sure they are in a single layer in a towel-lined, tightly-sealed container; they should last for up to three days, depending on their ripeness.

Enjoy strawberry season – it is fleeting, but can, if we make the most of it, be the season during which lasting memories are made. One for the basket, one for the mouth.