Ramps! Love 'em or...

Be glad the friggin' season is over, like I am. About time. Wednesday, at the Union Square green market, I finally spotted the sign I've been waiting for all season...ramp season, that is. Yes kids, they're done. Through for the year. Gone. Kaputski. Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out. And so on. So here's what caused my brief happiness at all things seasonal...

Whew. Now, don't get me wrong, I love it when things (i.e. fruits and vegetables) come into season. There's certainly nothing wrong with a delicious, fresh from the garden tomato or a nice, ripe and juicy peach picked earlier that morning and not taken off a truck fresh from a week-long journey from California's Central Valley.

But hasn't the whole ramp-craze just gotten out of hand? I mean, the damn things are on every menu in town. From the farm-to-table places that we've all come to love (or else!), to places we hardly expect, chefs and home-cooks alike shove ramps down the throats of diners, whether you like them or not. I half expect to see them on tacos at some truck parked on lower Broadway, or being served with hand-pulled noodles on Eldridge Street.

Let's face it - taste wise, are ramps really all that different from tiny scallions? Or a mince of maybe garlic and scallions? Or shallots and garlic. Or onions that still have their greens attached? Those are all sure to be in the farmer's market in a month's time. I mean, I know they're cute and all, otherwise why would the food kids be doing stuff like this...

Yep, the ramp tattoo, and you have no idea what it took to get that chef to show me that ramp.

Anyway, ramp season isn't all that bad. Because, y'know, if it's ramp season then this isn't too far behind...

Oh, and bring on the scapes - I can hardly wait.