I should have guessed that Burlington, VT is a serious food town when I went to the first day of the Farmers' Market (located smack in the center of town) in April 2004.

It was a freezing cold day, and most of the summer crops were still huddled underground. However, a few brave farmers and foragers were there, including this hearty woman, shivering under her ski jacket, selling ramps (wild leeks), wild mushrooms, fiddlehead ferns, and rhubarb- all foraged from nearby elysian fields.

I guess that was all the earth was prepared to give up at that moment. It sounded as if someone were trying to proclaim, sotto voce, "Let the feast begin."

I returned to Burlington in July, when the food feast was cranking like a Tilt-A-Whirl. The Farmers' Market was vibrant. Vegetables were just begging me to turn them into something resembling a symphony. I had all my gear with me, and I was ready to oblige.

The first thing I bought was a bouquet of flowers. There's an artist among the farmers, someone with Japanese heritage (I imagine) who loves flowers as much as I love food. The bouquet was like a work of art, and I was truly saddened to witness its decay and demise a week later. But then I went back and bought another, almost as spectacular.

Did I mention a friend in New York City whose passion for orchids (I love only food more than orchids) made him transform the upper floors of his townhouse into a tropical forest full of orchids, every one of which he knew by name. My God!

In no particular order, I started my journey (I call it a journey whereas others may refer to it as shopping for dinner.) at the goat cheese booth. (Where am I? Oh yes, in Roanne, France, on a day off from Troisgros, up in the mountains with Troisgros's goat cheese makers. I'm watching Monsieur and Madame- that's the whole company, not counting the 24 goats- milk 8 goats by hand at a time.

They call each one by name, and each one comes running at the sound of her name. The milk smells like goat's milk, a lovely aroma. It's my favorite-ist of milks. After the milking, I sit down with them- in an old fashioned farmhouse in the mountains above Roanne, home of Michelin 3-star Troisgros- and, unless I dreamed the whole thing, we sampled about 15 cheeses, all identical in 3 dimensions but varying in dimension #4- time- from 1 day to 6 months.)

Feet firmly planted on the ground, in Burlington (so I don't slip off to another location), I taste goat cheeses that are young, medium, and old. I already know what I want to make, and it requires the young stuff. And then it's off to get some tomatoes and fresh thyme. I need some bread. Shall I make some? OK. I will. Then it will have the flavor and texture I want.

I remember talking to Andre Allard of Restaurant Allard, a very old and famous Burgundian bistro in Paris, about how foods have less taste than in the old days (probably the 1800's for him). I am marveling at the heirloom tomatoes but also remembering differences between foods of my youth and now.

The sauce I want to make- beurre blanc with tomatoes. Lime, and parsley- is a fish sauce; and I can't seen to find any great fish in town, If I could just slip over to Tsukiji, Tokyo's main fish market, but I can't. Dinner has to be on the table in about 6 hours. Let's see what else I can do.

During my apprenticeship at L'Archestrate in Paris, the chef, Alain Senderens, made a pheasant tourte with sautéed spinach and pears. I never understood how he dreamed up the combination of spinach and pears, but it was sensational. There's beautiful spinach at the market. Any ripe pears? Oh yes, I can make sautéed spinach and pears. I'm looking for game birds now, but you can't find them hanging in markets as in France. On the other hand, someone is selling all-natural lamb, which is the gamiest of our domestic meats.

By the way, this is what's normally running through my mind when I go to the market, although I'm giving you the condensed version. It's a miracle that I'm able to do what I need to do with the equivalent of a feature film playing inside my head.

I really want to drink my 1961 Chateau Lafite Rothchild, one of the greatest Bordeaux of all time, so I buy lamb (ribs and loin) which I will grill over natural charcoal and oak after I season it with salt, pepper, rosemary, and thyme. It's rare, and it has a smoky and gamey edge; the spinach and pears are the perfect accompaniment; and the wine is the greatest red I've ever tasted.

Prior to the main course, I combined fresh goat cheese with chopped tomatoes and thyme and served it on lightly toasted pieces of my homemade white rolls. I also sautéed zucchini blossoms in butter and seasoned them with salt and pepper. (I grow zucchini only for the blossoms.) And a few tiny clams that I found at the last minute- I poached them in butter.

After the main course, I made salad with a romaine whose leaves were thick and chewy and made a vinaigrette of aged Sherry vinegar and fragrant very green olive oil.

Dessert was spectacular and simple- the second time around. That's because I overwhipped this incredible, all natural, very thick cream from Strafford Farm, evidently a star product in Burlington. The second time, I merely stirred it with a whisk, after adding fragrant raspberries and a little sugar. Dare I mention that I served a rose Champagne, and might I also mention that this particular rose Champagne was an Alain Senderens wine, purchased at Sherry Lehman in New York City.

What really took a lot of time to prepare was this final little bite: chocolate pralines made with caramelized roasted almonds, pulverized between 2 cast iron frying pans, mixed with a little dark chocolate to hold everything together, then dipped into melted chocolate to give it the thinnest of coatings.

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