Rite of Spring.

Some may count the blooming of jonquils and dogwoods as the first sign of spring.

For others, it's children playing in the Easter sunshine, searching out eggs.

Some even note the vernal arrival through the dusting of pollen that sends them fleeing to a car wash.

And there are those who don't count spring as having sprung until the farmers have migrated back to their perpetual roost at the River Market.

These vendors and produce growers and distributors and just general folks return year after year to participate in the Farmers Market... specifically, the Little Rock Farmers Market, which is celebrating its 35th year of operation.

They come bearing all manner of produce, both local and non-local. Some bring local products such as jarred honey and salsa.

Others offer shucked peas and beans, okra, the first tomatoes of the season and the first dug sweet potatoes.

Still more offer spindly new plants to take home for you to raise -- tomato vines, bean sproutings, and any number of fresh herbs.

There are also those who bring in fruits whose time has yet to dawn here -- watermelons from hothouses, mushrooms from Pennsylvania, bananas from South America.

What makes these many items attractive are their prices -- and their freshness, and their not-picked-over-ness, whatever the word for that is.

It all creates such a colorful melange, a backdrop to the starting of the day.

Maybe not so convenient... I mean, you do have to go downtown and find a spot to park... but certainly lovely.

I didn't have a lick of trouble finding a spot at 7 a.m. along President Clinton Avenue. In fact, I parked mere yards away from St. Vincent Plaza, one of the streets that lies next to the River Market Pavilion.

The street is closed to all but foot traffic most of the time, and on market days it's lined with vendors of crafts such as patchwork pants, shopping bags, bible covers and knitted hats. In fact, the hats were a bit too much of a distraction for me, and I wasn't calmed until one ended up on my head, my wallet a shy bit lighter.

My companion had asked for cauliflower and cucumber, and while I saw none of the former there I did see many perky examples of the latter.

I walked westward from one end of the covered area to the other, snapping all sorts of photos as I went.

Being the first day of this season, I suppose I expected more bustle, perhaps live shots from the local TV stations or the bobbing sight of another photographer among the masses.

But there were no masses, just a handful of fellow gawkers and a few serious shoppers, buzzing about like fat bumblebees around an azalea.

The soft conch-shell echo of traffic over the I-30 river bridge didn't seem so loud here, though we were a mere block and a half away from its convergence over the River Market.

Orange hues graced the far-off sky over the blue and white peaks of the Riverfest Amphitheater stage.

I snapped away, asking a few questions but generally taking in a bit here and there.

Strawberries were everywhere -- being one of the few Arkansas crops that's all ready to go. They come from Cabot now, and in a few weeks Bald Knob berries should also arrive. The fat red berries lay flat after flat after flat across tables all along the way.

Some items seemed art-inspired, or maybe the other way around. I enjoyed the colors of young green onions and scallions and more, vibrant and far more colorful than any kitchen art could duplicate.

I saw bunches of carrots, parsnips, and radishes bound together with their roots out, like some wild sort of Dale Chihuly glasswork.

There were also flowers, loads of flowers in glorious combinations in hanging baskets, individually potted, and all still rooted in fine soil. The bursts of color amongst the green were yet another reminder that the long nights of winter are over for another several months.

After my little sojourn, my whetted appetite lead me over to the Old Mill Bakery truck. I'd crawled out of bed earlier than the rest of the family this morning and high-tailed it on down, and had missed my morning snack. A Lemon Raspberry Walnut scone was just the thing, along with a little Snickerdoodle Cafe au Lait from Coast Cafe.

It seems weird, Shaka Smoke Lodge being gone. Many of the other businesses inside forgo the morning breakfast rush. I was surprised to see that Casa Manana was not ready for breakfast -- which was a change, since I was craving a good Huervos con Machaca to warm me up a little.

As I savored the scone and coffee, I took down a few notes. There's a bakery operating in here, the Brown Sugar Bakery, and the selections looked mighty fine. But while there's plenty of bustle behind that counter, the lines tend to form further down the way at Boulevard Bread Company and at Coast Cafe. Perhaps it's the coffee. Perhaps it's the avoidance of calories. Who knows?

A group of men sat sharing a newspaper, talking little. A few work-bound suits hustled through, grabbing up orders and hustling right back out, barely noticing the near-perfect temperature or the market outside.

I finished my scone and my notes and took what remained of my coffee out with me, ready to knock out a bit of dinner shopping. First stop, of course, was the cucumbers, procured from a Little Rock based company. The glossy tubular orbs slipped into my handbag, to shortly be joined by other delights.

I was especially pleased to be able to pick up a couple of green tomatoes. My companion had seen them on TV the other day and had told me straight out he hadn't had fried green tomatoes in years. I had to correct him on that -- they appeared on his plate last summer, dusted with cornmeal and brown from a

cast iron skillet. But his short memory simply means they must be replicated rather soon.

I also picked up sweet potatoes to mash for my daughter, who's starting solids already and who can't get enough of the orange tubers. At 80 cents a pound and with all sorts of sizes available, I can easily grab several smaller specimen and pay out of my pocket change.

Adding in a whole quart basket of half-dollar sized wax potatoes, and I was off to head home before the rest of the family got about for the day.

It's the start of the half-year run of the Little Rock Farmers Market -- an April-October affair that meets from 7 a.m. to 3 p.m., Tuesdays and Saturdays. If you need more information, check out the website.

What a Deal! Chicken Mart.

I offer this new segment of Tie Dye Travels for those who have asked me over the years, "where do you get all those great deals?" I hope it comes of good use to you.

When I first travelled to Russellville in the summer of 1990 (for band camp, in case you were wondering), I was told two things: I had to go to Feltner's Whatta-Burger, and if I could get to Chicken Mart I could get anywhere in town. It was a bit of a joke, but it also was a bit true.

Not that it's all that hard to get to Chicken Mart. You just take exit 81 off Interstate 40 and head south on Arkansas (also known as Scenic Highway Seven), go through the heart of town, and about 19 blocks further along. If you get to the lumberyards, you've gone too far -- though it's hard to miss the bright red and yellow signs announcing the place.

Chicken Mart has been there longer than I've known Russellville -- and almost longer than my husband (who grew up in Russellville) has known it. He can remember back when the building housed a grocery store, back when he was a kid. But long before he could drive, it was Chicken Mart. And it still is.

Other than being a fun name to say (with the accompanying licking of the knuckles and smacking of said knuckles against the ceiling of the vehicle you're riding in, if you're, say, 17), Chicken Mart is also a pretty cool deal... something to look for during these rough times. I make it a habit to stop in any time I am in the area -- which is usually around once a month, since Paul still has family in said parts.

Which brings to mind the old chicken commercial and "parts is parts" I remember from my youth -- but that's neither here nor there.

Anyway... it's a small store, with just the cases along three walls. And what you'll find in those cases changes from week to week, depending on what the proprietors have happened to pick up. With four different Tyson operations in the area (back in my pizza delivery years I used to deliver to all four, including TVDC, almost as much fun to say as Chicken Mart) and with the extraordinarily large ConAgra complex in town, Chicken Mart gets more than its share of good deals to distribute.

But what sort of deals? Well, I'll tell ya... they do change a lot. The right-hand case usually carries a variety of products that range from bready-things to potatoes of different sorts (JoJos and seasoned fries and shoestring potatoes and hashbrowns) to breaded squash and okra to sausage links to bacon. The left-hand case is usually variety after variety of flash frozen chicken -- buffalo wings, pecan-encrusted chicken breasts, chicken-Os, country style, fully cooked, Southern style, extra spicy, BBQ, you name it. The back case usually has a selection of less chicken-y things such as pork chops or lunchmeat. And there's a case in the back right hand corner that
carries things like five-pound bags of chicken breasts and chicken gizzards -- and my favorite, the shattered chicken.

Ah yes, shattered chicken -- chicken breasts that shattered upon flash-freezing, thereby rendering them un-perfect. Well, imperfect for cosmetic reasons -- and because smaller pieces cook at different times from the rest. So these shattered bits are bagged in five pound increments and sold for the fantastic price of $5.99 each. I personally use the little bits for stir-fry and the somewhat larger bits for curry -- but that's just me.

I don't do the whole pork thing for allergy reasons -- but I do notice the specials and have seen 15 pound boxes of bacon recently for $15.99 and Jimmy Dean sausage for $3.99 for a two pound chub. I'm currently curious to see how the eight-pack of cheese-garlic biscuits I just picked up for three bucks come out -- I'm wondering if they're similar to those Cheddar Bay Biscuits that keep people going back to places like Red Lobster.

And that's just the thing -- when something sells out at Chicken Mart -- it's gone. Which is why I check back in every time I come through town. Sometimes it's just a five pound bag of seasoned fries for five bucks. Other times I have wobbled out under significant chicken weight from a rather good deal or two I couldn't resist. And if I plan to cook for a crowd, I have to drop by first.

I could rhapsodize on for hours about the joys of a great place to pick up bargains like Chicken Mart, but I'll let you find out the rest for yourself. You'll find Chicken Mart at 1808 South Arkansas. I suppose you could call (479) 968-3185 for more information, but that would ruin the surprise of a good food bargain find. Chicken Mart is open 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. Monday through Friday and 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. on Saturday. Don't go on Sunday -- it's closed then.

From the Brink of Extinction Comes a Flash of Hope.

The flash of white darting in among the trees was something I treasured from my youth. The rustle of leaves with that little plip-plop of blumbering grace would alert me to the presence of the creature, and I would scan the woods, looking for the round head somewhere between chest and waist level. Sometimes I’d catch the scent on the breeze, and I’d lean into it, hoping to hear the almost magical sing-song call. I’d grasp my hand a little tighter on the handle, and start to salivate.

Of course, we all grow older, and when I was of age I left home and went on to college. I didn’t hunt as much then, but I’d still try to make a yearly pilgrimage to the valley, my equipment primed and greased for action. And even in those lean years when I could barely scrape two pennies together, there were nights of great feasts.

But times changed, and the forests grew silent in the valley, up there in Northwest Arkansas. Well, if you don’t count the elk, bear, rabbit, deer, various forms of fowl and reptile, cars, motorcycles, tourists… but I digress. That musical call, those plip-plop steps? A thing of my past.

Until recently. After years of wondering what became of my favorite prey, I decided to take a journey up Highway Seven to see if I might be able to find some good eating. I hadn’t seen the creature on the endangered species list -- and who was going to know, anyway? I took everything I needed with me for a lengthy sojourn -- bug spray, knee socks, good walking shoes, cast iron pan, toothbrush. I didn’t know when I’d be back or if I would be able to feed myself out in the wild, but I was sure gonna give it a shot.

The first few days were fruitless. I got nothing more than bug bites and a nifty sunburn in the part on my head, and a bunch of cockleburs and other critters and hangers on. At night I’d roll into Jasper nearby, spend a few hours nursing a deep fried burger and a basket of zucchini fries at the Ozark Café, and either crash in the back of the vehicle or poke up a small tent in a dark restless little campground.

But then… one afternoon I was finding my way through the ruins of an old town along the way. All was quiet, save the birds squawking in the trees and the babble of a nearby brook. Oh, and the highway traffic from Scenic Seven. I was sure -- dead certain sure! -- that I had heard a sing-song cry on the wind. Ah! Alark! Is Alark a word? I don’t know -- haven’t a clue! -- but was that not the cry of the beast I was hunting? Surely it was, and not the rumble of one of the many motorcycles that had passed through that day.

I reached into my backpack and pulled out my trusty sidearm. I wasn’t going to be caught without the essentials this time out. I craved that childhood favorite, and I was not going to be denied this time!

Further into the ghost town I stumbled, quietly padding along behind a row of shanties. There! I know that had to be what I was looking for! I heard that plip-plop scuttle grow faster, and for a moment it started to coast away from me.

I could stand it no longer. “Hey!” I cried. “Hey!” The drool ran down from the corner of my mouth, and I started to hyperventilate a little. This was the moment of truth.

I gazed hungrily in its direction, and brought up my frying pan.

At first, I thought maybe I’d been mistaken, maybe what I’d glimpsed was the white of a fading ad sign out in the weeds, the musical tinkle of long abandoned wind chimes. But then, they were upon me -- not one, not six, but something like 27 Shmoon, all flipping and

flopping excitedly like an overturned box of puppies. The first to reach me happily landed in the frying pan and quickly started to turn into steak. Others bounced off of him in their efforts, and I momentarily regretted not bringing a larger pan. But once the first rush had calmed down, a few popped out more vittles in the form of fresh eggs, butter, and Shmoo milk. They lapped at me and around me happily, an unlikely crowd of white softness that took the edge off the day.

I found I didn’t even need to heat the pan, the Shmoo that had immolated himself there was almost done and looking up at me with adoration in its shoe button eye. I pulled out the prerequisite oversized bib and tied it around my neck in anticipation of such fine dining.

And indeed, it was such. No sauce, no spice could ever tune up a steak finer than that I had that day on the rolling grounds of the former town of Dogpatch, now deserted. Creamy Shmoo milk and savory steak, and even a Shmoo souffle I managed to whip up on quick notice. Splendid eats, though I must admit it was odd being watched by my dinner’s fellows as I dined.

No matter. They even washed my skillet in the creek before I left. And two of them happily hopped into my cooler, ready for me to take them home to bake or grill or whatever I liked. I can really dig game that likes a ride in the car.

It's a wonderful life...

A lot of people have asked me recently what I've been up to. And while it's not a journey of miles (for the most part), it is a journey of life. And I don't mind sharing a bit.

I recently traveled to Jasper, to collect some information for an upcoming travelogue for Let's Go magazine and a review of the Boardwalk Cafe for a future Tie Dye Travels article. It was absolutely gorgeous up there at the birth of spring... but also a little disturbing down the road a bit, where the trees are stripped and splintered from the ice storm this spring.


I also went to the 1st Ever Sixth Annual World's Shortest St. Patrick's Day Parade and Pub Crawl in Hot Springs, where thousands turned out to catch a glimpse of former Cheers star John Ratzenberger and, more importantly, the San Diego Chicken.
I was quite delighted by the attitude of these paradegoers, who waited patiently for hours to catch a glimpse of the 98' route's worth of fun. And Elvis gave me a Ding Dong, but I'll explain more about that later.

I was also lucky enough to attend Empty Bowls, a big fundraiser for the Arkansas Foodbank Network. Each year, artists create bowls and other artworks which are auctioned off to benefit this worthy cause.
It was also a great chance to catch up with some of my former Today's THV co-workers and find out how things are going at the station.


And... well, it's been life. I just returned from MidSouthCon, a venerable sci-fi convention that now also hosts a writer's convention as well. I've knocked out a few reviews for the Arkansas Times' Eat Arkansas blog, and picked up more information for Tie Dye Travels. Most of all, I've been spending time with my husband and my daughter Hunter... who has recently learned how to giggle.



And she's beginning to teethe -- I guess I can handle that, too.

Life is good. The journey continues.

How 'Bout Them Apples?

The sign has been passed year after year on Highway 65... the sign that reads "Arkansas Black Apples."

For many years, I didn't give it much thought. Of course, those were childhood years and not those of later times. These past cycles of fall to winter to spring, I've passed the sign and started wondering... just what are Arkansas Black Apples? And why am I only seeing them here?

On a lazy March morning with traveling companion in tow, I stopped at this roadside space near Leslie. There was much evidence of the recent ice storm -- with trees split around and piles of sawdust here and there where felled timber had crossed the road. But the day was perfect, sunny, and in the sixties.

The little nondescript building was quiet when we drove up. A gentleman was out in the yard of the place, but he came up to greet me when I stepped out of the van. We walked inside and I had a look around.

Yes, there were baskets of Arkansas Black Apples here -- dark maroon-colored fruit that shone darkly in their baskets. There were also Galas, Fujis, Granny Smiths, and more. I asked about the apples, and was told they came from Alabama.

Alabama?

Well, most of the apples. The Arkansas Blacks were grown nearby, just outside of Leslie. Without further ado, I ordered up a basket to take home. Baskets, by the way, are $7 for any type of apple.

The little shop also had Amish-style jams (from London, TN) and locally dug quartz crystals.

When I got home, I checked out more about Arkansas Black Apples. Turns out, they were once incredibly popular here, a native-grown species that's a variety of the Winesap. It's harvested in the winter months. You can learn a lot more about it here.

The apples had fragranced-up the van, and I couldn't wait to try onr. I discovered it's a sweet, starchy fruit, untart, with a hint of a red wine taste. As a former colleague of mine would have said, "mighty fne, mighty fine."

You'll fine the stand about a mile south of Leslie on US 65.

Chain of (Fancy) Foods, Mexicanesque-Style.

I know it's a chain. I know, I am not much on chain food. Really, I'm not. I'd much rather experience local eateries and support local restauranteurs.

But I can't help but liking Cantina Laredo. Even with the prices.

Our location here is pretty new. It opened in Midtown Mall last fall and, well, I pretty much ignored it. In fact, I was pretty determined not to go because of a review from a friend who said it was pricey to the extreme.

But on a Wednesday afternoon in March my traveling companion and I found ourselves with a limited time to grab a bite and right in the area. And rather than try the old standby of Pei Wei again (which I like, don't get me wrong, but you can have too much of it) we decided to pop in to Cantina Laredo.

And first thing that struck me was the fact that this just doesn't look like a Mexican restaurant. More American Lodge meets IKEA. Which isn't bad, but it's the sort of decor that 30 years from now will be considered the "decor of the oughts." Still, it's all right.

We were shown to a cozy corner table and presented with menus of utter urban delights -- the sort of menu that would make one exclaim with delight and hope over and over again, things like Mexico City Chile Relleno (Picadillo filling with ground beef, pork, almonds, and raisins topped with ranchera sauce for 13.29) and Camarones Escondidos (Grilled chicken breast stuffed with shrimp, topped with sauteed spinach and chipotle-wine sauce for 18.99). Many of the items sounded way too incredible to be true.

Our waiter came by and delivered the standard bowl of tortilla chips (apparently prepackaged) and two very different salsas. One was a fresh tomato salsa, very chunky, very sweet, served cold. The other -- a tomatillo salsa with tons of cumin
and pepper and a hint of something reminiscent of garam masala, served hot. He also suggested the "house special" guacamole made fresh at the table. I passed, since my traveling companion loathes guacamole... found out later on it would have cost us $9.49.

We placed our orders and made pleasant conversation -- and were startled when our entrees arrived at what felt like a very rushed speed. The plates were hot -- in that "yeah, you're at a Mexican restaurant" sort of way, but hotter -- and the servings large. And very, very pretty.

My companion had gone for the Enchilades de Camarones ($16.99), enchiladas packed with shrimp, Monteray Jack, and peppers on a bed of spinach and veggies topped with a sour cream poblano sauce. I have to say, I wasn't really thrilled with the semi-cooked red onion in the dish -- but that's the only thing I can say about it. It was very, very rich and served with this perfect soft Spanish rice to go with it. My companion told me the cheese made everything just feel "melty soft" in his mouth.

I went for the Camaron Poblano Asada ($21.49), an overwhelming dish reminiscent of Medieval dishes where one thing is stuffed inside another inside another (or Turducken, one or the other). The 10 ounce carne asada flatiron steak was wrapped around a poblano pepper stuffed with shrimp, mushrooms, sauteed onions, and Monteray Jack on a puddle of Chimichurri sauce. The waiter had asked how I'd like the steak, and while it wasn't quite the medium rare I had hoped for,
it was still lovely nonetheless. It too came with Spanish rice and with a melange of lovely roasted veggies -- green beans, zucchini, mushrooms, carrots, skin-on red potatoes -- lovely and not soaked with butter or any strange substance, just sprinkled with almonds. I quite enjoyed it but had to take some home with me.

Of course, what is dinner without dessert? We decided to give the crepes a test drive. The piping hot apple filled crepes came out draped in caramel and flecked with almond slivers, with two round lumps of vanilla ice cream on the side. For $5.99, it was pretty darn good.

But of course, there is the check. Before the tip, it still came out to nearly $55 -- a bit much for two folks on a budget. And that's without touching the margaritas -- which were inviting and tempting.

So, the verdict? Decent and good for a restaurant, but yes indeed a bit pricier than just about every other Mexican restaurant in Little Rock. And that might kill it here. But if you have a couple extra bucks and want to go for something extravagant, knock yourself out.

You'll find Cantina Laredo at Midtowne (the shopping center at the northeast corner of Markham and University). They have a website or you can call (501) 280-0407.

A Preference for a Favorite - Little Rock's Casa Manana Restaurants.

This article has been updated.

Over the past couple of decades, Greater Little Rock has been inundated with lots of new Mexican offerings. But there’s one restaurant I keep coming back to.

It is human nature to choose favorites… and while I have endeavored to keep a clear mind about the places I have been over this journey, there are places that when I am home I return to, like a homing pigeon to its coop.

And when it comes to Mexican fare, I tend to return to Casa Mañana.

Home Cooking, Capitol View at Madea's Delicious Home Cookin'.

This restaurant has closed.

The Arkansas Legislature is in session. Lawmakers are coming in from all over the place to make the policies and decisions that will continue to affect us for years to come. Certainly not the sort of thing you want to tackle on an empty stomach.