Wed 1 Jul 2009 11:27 pm
Pies By Jenny always flew under the radar, so it’s fitting that my first news of them came through word of mouth. An acquaintance had seen Hsiao-Ching Chou buying a stunning looking huckleberry pie at the University District Farmers Market, made with two pounds of wild berries from Foraged and Found. If someone with Hsiao-Ching’s taste and savvy was investing $35 on a king-size pie, my friend said, she figured it might actually be worth it.
When I checked it out myself, I was too late for huckleberries, but found the most amazing deep-dish apple pie, made with 21 layers of heirloom Pirus apples from Wade at Rockridge Orchards, under an impeccably flaky crust. Jenny Christensen made smaller and less pricey pies as well, savory as well as sweet, buying up ingredients from her fellow market vendors to make poetry on a plate.
You probably know where this is going. Jenny sent me a note the other day to let me know she was closing down her stand, for “financial reasons.” While she looks for another food-related job, she’ll be working on a different sort of poetry; haikus and poems that include her impressions of the farmers market community and the abundance it provides. I’ve seen a few of her haiku tributes to the farmers, and I’ll be glad to see them preserved in a form more permanent than dinner or dessert.
Still, it’s a loss for the community’s food chain, and it makes me think of the piece Jonathan Kauffman just wrote on whether the local food movement can ever broaden past where it is now. Every vendor like Jenny — I’m thinking my beloved lost Bruschettina lady, or Devra at Patty Pan, or the folks at Empire Ice Cream — reminds us how glorious the market foods can be, inspires us to enjoy these ingredients even more in our own kitchens — and, on a dead practical level, provides a reliable source of business for the farmers. I’m part of the problem too: As much as I loved Jenny’s pies, I don’t make it to the big U-District market as much as I visit the smaller markets, and, in the wake of the P-I’s demise, I’ve been rationing the amount I spend on such treats, even when I know how much the raw ingredients cost, and know the price is fair.
While we think about that, here’s a poem Jenny just sent to the market’s Chris Curtis, to say goodbye. I’ve asked Jenny if patrons will be able to order her pies from any other source now. If we can, I’ll let you know.
Oh no! That is sad to hear. Her beautiful pies will be missed at the market! Hopefully she’ll find another avenue for them. I love the idea of market-related poetry though, in the meantime!
How terribly sad. Is there time for one last pie from the market this weekend, or is she already gone for good? Do let us know if there will be another source. We would love to support her beautiful and tasty work!
I am sorry to hear that there will be no more pies from Jenny. I bought one once, a curried goat pie. I winced as I paid for it, but I understood: this is the cost of food, the real cost. It was worth every penny, one small pie feeding one single girl for two nights, and I wish I had gone back more, bought more pies. There was always something else - another jar of honey, another jug of cider, another pound or two of bacon, and an empty wallet at the end of a circuit around the market. Now there is only a happy memory, and regret.
With the loss of so many restaurants in the lower Queen Ann area, these pies had become a regular treat before the Seattle opera on Friday evenings. Sadly, we will miss them.