A marathon doesn’t begin at the starting line. It begins with dinner the night before…  a starter,

and a strong finish with carbo-loading-nara and grocery-freezer garlic bread:

The morning of the marathon, at the recommendation of Ed Kohler of “The Deets,” I dropped Tom in downtown Minneapolis and headed to the Rose Garden at Lake Harriet. Here I first saw Tom: mile 7 (viewing point 1). He was looking great:

Does it look trashy? It’s supposed to look trashy. Marathon lit explained that runners are meant to throw their watercups to the ground rather than seek out a trashcan. You can’t handle the trashcan when you’ve got 26.2 miles ahead of you. That’s what volunteers are for.

Next, we met just before Lake Nokomis (viewing point 2) where Tom decided to remove his gloves:

We saw each other again as Tom came off Lake Nokomis (viewing point 3). I have not included a second picture, because you can imagine for yourself all of the people in the picture above, still miraculously on pace and running together—only they have their backs turned toward you and they are running away from rather than to the lake.

I missed Tom on the West River Parkway (viewing point 4), which is, by the way, a lovely spot to watch the marathon. My tardiness was due to a coffee stop at the Caribou on Lake Nokomis Ed kindly mentioned in his spectator’s guide. I don’t even like Caribou, but it was there, I had a coupon, and I had my mug with me for the purpose.

Once I figured I’d missed Tom, I trotted over to the other side of the Lake Street Bridge where I caught Tom on the East River Parkway (viewing point 5), still going strong. Here he is envisioning himself crossing the finish line:

If you’re following along with the spectator’s guide, you’d realize this was the last time I saw Tom before I raced to the finish line (viewing point 6) in my Volkswagen Golf to watch him run up and down to the Capitol in St. Paul.

Just after crossing the finish line (you can watch a video of the very moment with the “results feature” here), I caught up with Tom and was able to hand him the phone so he could speak to his mom and dad and confirm that he was still in fact breathing:

And that was the 2010 Twin Cities Marathon, just nine days after we were married, and one day before Tom turned twenty-six.

There’s been a lot of talk about asparagus and the lack thereof on our part this spring. With Monday marking the first day of summer, we’re officially past the peak season. Last year we were fortunate to discover asparagus at Midtown in only week four of the market season. We were hopeful for similar this year, but asparagus stalks never came. So hungry we were for this spring treat, we visited the St. Paul Farmers Market as Tom revealed in his prayerful post to the green goddess. As you can see, we found a little more than just (perfect) asparagus that Sunday after a light shopping day at Midtown the day before:

On another occasion, we resorted to buying our asparagus at the Wedge, which Tom was careful to note here. Now, on the verge of July, we’ve officially called off the search. As we learned from a fellow market-goer, the frosts that followed the unusual warm weather we were treated with in early spring dashed any hopes Midtown Farmers Market had for an asparagus vendor.

We did, however, miss sharing with you what we brought home from the market’s fifth Saturday. Thanks to a new crop of t-shirts from new-to-Minneapolis vendors PlantWorn, Tom took home the Asparagus Clump t-shirt at left below:

PlantWorn’s asparagus t-shirt is part of a series the duo is developing around vegetables. Kohlrabi preceded the asparagus and continues to be a part of the many designs PlantWorn brings along to Saturday markets in Midtown and Northeast Minneapolis.

I’m curious to see if the series continues and what market produce might inspire future designs. In the mean time, we’re enjoying our asparagus—and wearing it too.

All the time she spends away from our land — with what seems like most of the year seized by Old Man Winter’s cold, dead hands — makes the return of the Green Goddess to our fields and forests so much more sweet; an unrivaled cause for celebration.

The objects of her cult are easily obtained this time of year at one of her many temples. We chose the Saint Paul Farmers Market, well stocked with her tender pea shoots, her verdant watercress, her crisp lettuces, and, of course, her mighty royal standard: asparagus. Indulging in an orgy of her fruitful abundance, the watercress’s bitterness reminded us of our Goddess’s never-distant departure. This only served to increase our zeal, as we sang songs praising Her name.

Prayer to the Green Goddess

• One large bunch pea shoots
• One head baby romaine lettuce, torn into bite-sized pieces
• One bunch watercress, leaves and tender stems only
• One bunch thin asparagus spears, cut into one-inch pieces
• Green Goddess dressing (see below)

Wash and dry all greens. Combine first four ingredients in a large bowl and toss to combine. Top with dressing, or toss dressing together with greens before serving.

Green Goddess Dressing
From Deborah Madison’s Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone

• ½ cup mayonnaise
• ½ cup sour cream
• 1 T tarragon vinegar
• 2 T water
• ½ cup parsley, chopped
• 3 T chives, chopped
• 1 ½ T tarragon, chopped
• ¼ t salt

Blend all ingredients in blender or food processor until smooth and pale green. Adjust consistency with additional water and season with salt to taste.

Loving garlic as much as I do — and I love garlic — I was briefly in heaven when I discovered at a Lebanese restaurant in Cairo a dip called thoumiya. The name presumably derives from the Arabic thoum (ثوم), which means garlic, and this dip was all about garlic — almost pure garlic, touched with lemon juice and beaten into a fluffy cloud of ecstasy.

As you can tell, I departed the Middle East with no small amount of enthusiasm for this dish. Imagine my dismay when I found no mention of it in any Middle Eastern cookbooks, and could find no information on the Internet (perhaps owing to transliteration difficulties). It was as if I had imagined the whole thing, or perhaps been tricked by a djinn.

Or so I thought, until today, when on routine provisioning trip to Kowalski’s I saw glowing out from the shelf like a red and white beacon the words “Garlic Supreme”. One look at the texture and color and I knew I had finally found that magical sauce from of my memories, courtesy of the St. Paul Flatbread Co. The first thing I did upon returning home — before even putting the groceries away — was crack this open and I was immediately transported; it was perfect, lemony, light, and above all garlicky.

It would be more in the spirit of this blog for me to post a recipe for a homemade version — and I suppose I will probably do that one day — but for the moment I am happy that I can have a small piece of heaven for just $3.99.

Click the image to see this photo set on Flickr.