Anyway, Steinke wondered aloud whether a "Festival of Vanishing Foods" might play at the market, to which Holahan said it sounded good to him - at first blush, at least.
The mind races. The buffet would start with soup, of course, a choice of pepper pot (perhaps the peppery West Indies-inspired broth they've re-created at City Tavern) or snapper - dark, earthy bowls of which have always been a sure sign here that, well, you weren't in Kansas anymore.
A hefty douse of sherry would be obligatory. But guests could be invited to weigh in on the eternal question: chopped egg garnish, or not?
This might also serve as a corrective. There is a misconception, among newcomers especially, that "snapper" refers to the red fish, not the brawling snapping turtle that substitutes for the original terrapin and green sea turtle.
Some oysters would be nice, maybe even before the soup. Oyster saloons were once as pervasive in Philadelphia as pizza joints are now: Delaware Bay's oysters never had the PR of the Chesapeake's. But before parasites and overharvesting thinned their ranks, they were mighty and prolific.
The comeback oyster? The Cape May Salt, a plump and meaty contender, making its wobbly stand in the saltier bay water north of Cape May.
A salad: The impossibly tender early-season "Jersey dandelions" found only at Petronglo Farms near Vineland toward the end of March. Maybe, as a grilled accompaniment, foraged ramps, a sort of wild garlic?
They don't match up seasonally, but in an autumn running of the festival, it might be nice to showcase the pawpaw - the largest native American fruit - which can still be found along local riverbanks, or at a patch in Langhorne. The flavor is a lush, custardy mix of banana and mango, with a hint of vanilla in the nose; one taste of a properly ripened pawpaw and no explanation is needed as to why it deserves to survive.
