-Thank you so much.
-Many years. If not, fucked.
The free market shakes hands with life among tons of garlic. The owner of a stall thanks a buyer who chooses his strings among the thousands accumulated on the street of Tres Cruces in Zamora. The plaintiff declines thanks and begs to continue aging, for which they say that garlic has magnificent properties, and to return like every San Pedro for teeth and heads to season stews and recipes. The scene is repeated by the 85 stalls in the center of Zamora where, with a few infiltrated onions, garlic has attracted thousands of people since 1889 seeking to fill the pantry. Agrarian decline reduces the quantities compared to times of glory, but the clientele remains faithful to the tradition between water and hats, which the heat squeezes.
The sun stoked the awnings and warmed up the star product on June 28 and 29 in the castle town of Leon. The scent would shock Victoria Beckham, but it rocked a saleswoman, drowsy in the shade on a beach chair anchored to the asphalt. The area was packed both days with locals and foreigners, with visitors from both the province and Portugal to stock up.
The public carried bags or pushed heavy carts and small old men hoisted kilos and kilos as if nothing, minutiae next to a lifetime in the countryside. The veteran buyers analyzed the strings, scrutinizing the chromatic range that starts from white to purple and commented on the origin of the material: La Bóveda de Toro, Sanzoles, Guarrate or Jambrina are just some of the 28 localities that produce the garlic dispensed. “The vampires are coming!” exclaimed an elderly man carrying this talisman against bloodsuckers or for grilled mackerel.
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The average age of Tres Cruces made Felisa Tejeda, 43, one of the newest merchants. “We bring 800 kilos from Fuentesaúco, my parents braid them and I help them with the sale because young people don’t know how to do it,” explained this worker from a pharmaceutical laboratory who worked in the primary sector for a day. Each string was around a kilo and a half and cost from four to 10 euros, although some stalls lowered the prices and presented unfair competition to the garlic sector. This 2023 had 85 stalls and Caja Rural, organizer of the fair, estimated that there would be about 300,000 kilos for sale. In the past they exceeded 400 stalls and a million kilos.
Some farmers woke up at four in the morning, after weeks of tying and pampering them, to place their merchandise and chant their properties and prices to seduce the passerby. Fanny packs and pockets were flinging open to reveal wads of bills and jingling coins that they hoped would exceed the cost of fertilizer, farming, gasoline, or care. Before, the strings were braided between residents of the town in exchange for some favor or payment in kind; now that knowledge has been forgotten and those who master it charge for their wisdom. The more expenses, the more signs of rural deterioration and how depopulation has entered the kitchen.
Those present on both sides of the stall evoked nostalgia when they overflowed this street and other nearby ones, although there was a catch: then a license was not required and the same producer could occupy several stalls. Many retired farmers took the opportunity to supplement their pension by selling these edible bulbs. Permits and self-employment registration are now required.
Post 59 brings together the buyer Pedro Blanco, 92 years old, with the merchant Leoncio Quintos (73 years old), from Fuentelapeña. The veteran purchaser attributes his longevity “to the fact that garlic gives life” and he carries about 10 kilos “for the whole year.” Before, he used to steal gifts for his relatives, but now he opts for self-consumption and unconsciously gives away a rhyme: “The steak or the salad without garlic says nothing.”
Quintos has harvested two tons and remembers that the same product “in the supermarket is very expensive” and urges them to stock up. “Young people no longer want the fields, they have a lot of work and we have been preparing garlic since September”, he sighed almost in July, remembering the good times. “This is over”, he laments himself.
Verónica Peña, 25 years old and perhaps the least old among the posts, lives from agriculture against the trend in her generation. “I hope young people are more encouraged because it is being lost,” she muses. The hands of her relatives reflect the demands of this plant, with strong fingers, calloused and withered from entangling the strings, 2,000 collected in Coreses. The Basque party of Begoña Barrutia and her mother, Natividad de la Iglesia, a migrant from Zamora to Bilbao and annoyed, at 92, that the press entertains her daughter while tempting the best garlic: “Let to speak and pay attention!”. Bartutia checks a list with names ranging from Gorka and Itsaso to Argimiro, orders that make them take out the bills to end up asking the seller to fill a cart and transfer the loot to the car.
Garlic gives a family plan to José and Noelia Canas, 64 and 31 years old. Both carry overflowing bags and charge at those who swarm the stalls and try to bargain with the producers. “We have to thank them, we know the work they have and bring them here,” says the man from Zamora. “You have to promote the local”, they stress, before leaving behind the intense smell of a tradition at risk.
#Garlic #water #Zamora