Asparagus on Toast

The asparagus season lasts about six weeks, if you're lucky. It arrives in May, quietly, at the market stall where it wasn't last Saturday. Fat bundles tied with string, the cut ends still damp. By the end of June it's gone, and you won't see it again for eleven months. This is important. It means that when it's here, you pay attention.

Asparagus on toast is not a recipe. It's barely even cooking. But it's one of the things I look forward to more than almost anything else I eat all year, and I've written it in the notebook every spring since I can remember. The entry never changes much. "Asparagus. Toast. Butter. First of the season. Tuesday." That's all it needs.

The whole thing takes ten minutes. Good asparagus, steamed until it bends just slightly, laid across proper toast spread thick with butter, more warm butter poured over the top. The butter pools at the base and soaks into the bread. You eat it with your fingers. The kitchen smells green and sweet and like the year has finally turned a corner.

There is nothing to improve here. No poached egg, no hollandaise, no parmesan shavings. The asparagus is the thing. If it's good, it doesn't need company. If it isn't good, it isn't in season yet, and you should wait. The market decides.