Back in February, as we drove north up Hwy 101, Lady and I passed through a particularly pungent province. Gilroy, California is a self-proclaimed garlic capital of the world, that member of the onion family being a large part of the local farming product. Even in the chilly damp air of California's "winter" we could smell the garlic in the air. Lady mentioned that every summer they held a festival celebrating the tangy condiment. I was in.
You think I'm kidding, but for months I've been sporadically checking the dates, and this past weekend was it. I popped into Genie (the Prius) and drove south for the annual Gilroy Garlic Festival (32 years and counting). It was an amazing array of garlic bread, garlic fries, garlic sausage, pasta con garlic pesto, garlic shrimp scampi, garlic pepper steak sandwiches, garlic stuffed mushrooms, garlic calamari, garlic kettle corn, and ...
Garlic. Ice. Cream.
I won't hold you in suspense, I didn't try it. If you know me, you know I meant to. I was in such a tizzy about the impending spicy smorgasbord that I skipped breakfast in order to maximize my appetite. And I was hungry. I had a garlic sausage with peppers sauteed in garlic for brunch in the sunshine, and it was delicious. And then I thought about garlic fries... and realized I was stuffed. OK, ok, I thought, let's wander the vendor stalls, pop into the wine garden, try some local wines, wait for the hunger to return.
I wandered. The wine garden promised shade, and - was that a breeze? I was in. I tried a mediocre champagne, a decent syrah, and then I made a friend, who recognized my final ticket punch and indecision. He poured a sip of zinfandel and told me to down it so he could pour a sip of the cabernet. Both were lovely, but I opted for the light and spicy zin, talked about where the grapes were grown, and by the time I left booth had a card and a plan to visit the tasting room in San Jose. Soon.
I got in line for the garlic ice cream. It was a long line. I moved forwards the space of a few people, and my stomach whispered to me, "I'm still stuffed, and it's hot out - overeating in the heat isn't fun. Or pretty." Word.
The vendors were the usual faire fare - some interesting, some gaudy, some downright bizarre. For the record, I don't understand the appeal of flat bottles. I bought the ceramic garlic grater that I'd seen earlier this summer (at another festival, this time of the Sunset magazine variety) - I tried it this evening and it works a treat. It ought to, because Giada De Laurentiis says so. Seriously, go google it. I listened to the blues rock band, and the country band on the other stage - I love watching people lose themselves in live music. I picked bulbs of free garlic to fill a small sack, and received instructions on growing garlic myself (oh yes, I'm going to).
Again I got in line for the garlic ice cream - still long. It was pretty hot out, and by now I was tired of the crush of people, and starting to ponder the longevity of my sunscreen. I realized that more than garlic ice cream, which my stomach was still not convinced we had room for, I wanted water, and that hat I'd tried on a few rows back, because it looked more whimsical and fun than then hat I'd worn for solar protection.
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| Contemplating the glory of the spicy bulb, while wearing the hat I came with. My head is blocking the giant oven shaped like a bulb of garlic. I'm not entirely sure what the message was meant to be, but it was some big garlic. |
I got out of line. Again. I bought the hat. I bought the $3 water. I headed for the shuttle back to the parking lot. It was a good day, even without the garlic ice cream. And if it makes you feel better, I did come away with garlic-roasted pistachios, and they were wonderful.
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| The new hat. I'm a fickle girl. |
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