WE ALL HAVE OUR FARMERS’ MARKET FAVORITES. FOR MORE THAN 25 YEARS I’VE BEEN BUYING ORANGES FROM VICKY AT BERNARD RANCHES; POTATOES AND MELONS FROM WEISER FARMS; TOMATOES FROM BARBARA AT TUTTI FRUTTI FARMS; MORE RECENTLY, PORK FROM PEADS&BARNETT AND ALL MANNER OF LETTUCES FROM ROOTS ORGANIC.
WHEN IT COMES TO EGGS, HOWEVER, I’VE SHOPPED AROUND, SO I’M A RECENT CONVERT TO SZ RANCHES.
STEVE ZARITSKY WITH HIS BORDER COLLIES GABBY AND APPLE HAS BEEN PARKING HIS TRUCK ON THE NORTHERMOST CORNER OF HOLLYWOOD AND IVAR SINCE 2017. STEVE SELLS LARGE BROWN EGGS FROM RHODE ISLAND REDS AND WHITE EGGS FROM WHITE LEGHORNS. “IS THERE ANY DIFFERENCE IN TASTE,” I ASK HIM. “NO,” SAYS STEVE, “THEY’RE ALL CERTIFIED ORGANIC, WHICH MEANS THEY HAVE ACCESS TO THE OUTSIDE AND THEY ALL EAT MY SECRET FEED FORMULA. AND I ONLY BRING SATURDAY’S EGGS TO THE SUNDAY MARKET, WHICH IS WHY THEY TASTE SO DAMN GOOD.” AND THEY DO. AS SOON AS WE RETURN FROM THE MARKET WE THROW SLICES OF PEADS&BARNETT BACON IN A CAST IRON PAN AND FRY SZ EGGS IN THE FAT. FRESH-SQUEEZED BERNARD RANCH ORANGE JUICE, BUB AND GRANDMA TOAST, L.A. MILL COFFEE.
STEVE IS A FEISTY AND LOQUACIOUS 61-YEAR-OLD, WHO IS DESCENDED FROM THREE GENERATIONS OF EGG FARMERS. FLEEING THE POGROMS IN RUSSIA AT THE TURN OF THE CENTURY, STEVE’S GREAT GRANDFATHER SETTLED IN MONTREAL. HIS GRANDPARENTS HARRY AND ANNETTE, ALONG WITH 2500 MOSTLY JEWISH REFUGEES WERE LURED TO FONTANA IN SAN BERNARDINO BY THE JEWISH FAMILY SERVICES WHO HELPED THEM START THEIR EGG BUSINESS. STEVE’S FATHER JOE ZARITSY AND STEVE’S OLDER BROTHER MARTY EXPANDED INTO EGG DISTRIBUTION, BUILDING COUNTRY EGGS, LOCATED OUTSIDE THE L.A. WHOLESALE MARKET. IN 1996, STEVE LEFT COUNTRY EGGS TO PURCHASE ROSEMARY FARMS IN SANTA MARIA, WHICH, AT ITS HEIGHT, OWNED 1.8 MILLION BIRDS. IN 2009, STEVE SOLD ROSEMARY FARMS AND “RETIRED” TO CAYUMA, SOME 60 MILES EAST, WHERE HE PURCHASED 720 ACRES IN THE FOOTHILLS OF THE SIERRA MADRES. HERE HE LIVES WITH HIS WIFE CONNIE, WHOM HE MET IN 2011.
WHEN HE ISN’T TENDING TO HIS CHICKENS, STEVE, WHO TOOK FOUR YEARS AWAY FROM HIS DAD AND THE EGG BUSINESS TO STUDY AUTOMOTIVE REPAIR, RESTORES VINTAGE (‘57-’72) CHEVYS. “I STILL HAVE ABOUT 30 OF ‘EM.”
AS HARD AS HE WORKS, STEVE IS CONTENTED. “I STOPPED GOING TO TEMPLE WHEN I MOVED HERE,” HE CONFESSES. “BECAUSE GOD IS EVERYWHERE I LOOK.” GOD’S CREATURES, HOWEVER, INCLUDE BOBCATS, COYOTES, BADGERS, HAWKS, AND OWLS. STEVE PROTECTS HIS BIRDS WITH NETTING, FENCES AND THE EVER-VIGILANT GABBY AND APPLE. HE RISES BEFORE DAWN, HIS FAVORITE HOUR, FEEDS AND WATERS THE CHICKENS, SIPS COFFEE WITH CONNIE, THEN LOADS HIS TRUCK AND HITS THE ROAD FOR HOLLYWOOD, SOME THREE AND A HALF OURS AWAY. WITH THE HELP OF BERNARD, HIS ASSISTANT, HE SETS UP HIS EGG STAND, FIRES UP ONE LAST MARLBORO RED BEFORE THE CROWDS.
WHEN YOU CRACK OPEN ONE OF STEVE’S EGGS, THE YOLKS STAND HIGH, A SURE SIGN OF FRESHNESS. NO EGG TASTES BETTER, FRIED IN BACON FAT, PLATED WITH A SLICE OF CLARK STREET SEEDED SOURDOUGH TOAST AND A GLASS OF FRESH-SQUEEZED JUICE. ESN, ESN, MEYN KIND!
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