And it does look very grown-up and elegant amid the messy lushness of the produce section, where most of us find it rubber-banded in orderly, green bundles standing at attention in their water bath. Whether or not you’re inclined to endow it with human qualities, there’s no doubt that hidden inside those buttoned-up stems is the power to bring about some interesting phenomena.
One of them is asparagus’ odd and very well known side effect, which Marcel Proust once described as transforming his chamber pot into “a vase of aromatic perfume.” (Think he was being perverse about a urinary byproduct that’s chemically akin to skunk spray? No—food science guru Harold McGee, who cites Proust’s quote in his book On Food and Cooking, notes that some people are genetically disposed to find the odor pleasant.) Another effect, which you’d think would be at odds with the first, is the mania asparagus can induce, even to the point of sweeping an entire nation: Each year throughout Germany, for a few springtime weeks known as Spargelzeit—“asparagus time”—the country is rife with asparagus-centered menus, contests, festivals, asparagus routes (much like Virginia’s wine tours). There’s even an asparagus museum.
But why get so excited about asparagus in spring when it’s available year-round? Because, hands down, spring is when asparagus is at its best, whether or not you’re drawn to the idea of buying locally. Dale Reitzer, chef and co-owner of Acacia Midtown restaurant in Richmond, talks about breaking off a stalk at the ground in an asparagus patch. “You pop one in your mouth and you go, ‘Wow, that’s just great,’” he says. “It’s night and day, the sweetness of it, the crispness of the stalk. Any time you get something that’s right out of the ground, it’s so much sweeter than something that’s well-traveled. Especially with asparagus, which is more on the bitter side.”
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