Every April, the Cowichan Valley puts on a short, quiet show — and a good part of it is asparagus. The farms that grow it here aren't industrial. They're small, scattered between Cobble Hill and Duncan, and the harvest window is narrow. If you blink, you miss the peak.
Three farms, one morning
A typical run starts at Makaria Farm just after sunrise. The early spears are thinner than what you'd see in a grocery store, and that's the point — they're tender enough to eat whole. By mid-morning I'm at Silverside, then across the valley to Kildara. Each farm grows a slightly different variety, and the difference shows up on the plate: Makaria's are grassy and bright, Silverside's have a deeper mineral note, and Kildara tends toward the sweet side.
By the time we're back in the kitchen, the asparagus is still cool from the morning air. That's the window. Vegetable sugars start converting the moment the spears leave the field, and the difference between two-hour-old and six-hour-old asparagus is real and noticeable.
Why bias-cut, and the woody ends
On the spring menu the asparagus course is built around how the spears are cut. We slice on the bias at roughly an eighth of an inch — thin enough that the heat moves through them in seconds, thick enough that you still get a bite. The woody ends never go in the bin; they go straight into a stock pot with the trimmings from whatever else is on the menu that night. Three days later, that stock becomes the base for the risotto on the spring menu — closed loop, zero waste.
It's not glamorous work. It's the kind of detail that only matters if you care about the dish — and to me it matters because the asparagus only shows up once a year. The whole course is built around making the most of that small window while it's open.
“The asparagus only shows up once a year — the whole course is built around making the most of that small window while it's open.”
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