If you spend enough Saturdays in Old Town Clovis, you learn to walk the market with your senses first. The sharp snap of a just-picked green bean, the sweet hay smell rolling off flats of Albion strawberries, the citrus oils clinging to your fingers after testing a Satsuma. The farmers start recognizing you, and that’s when the good advice comes: which heirloom tomato looks ugly but tastes like summer, which nectarines travel better if you’re heading to Shaver Lake, which vendor is spot-on about when the first Armenian cucumbers hit. Clovis, CA sits in the heart of the Central Valley, so the market isn’t a display case so much as a pulse check on what’s growing within a short drive. Season to season, the rhythm changes, and that’s half the fun.
Below is a seasoned shopper’s guide to what to look for as the calendar turns, along with tips for storing, cooking, and picking the best. I’ve tucked in small comparisons and a couple of short checklists where they help, but the real goal is to get you filling your basket with the right things at the right time.
How the Clovis market moves through the year
Farmers chase the heat and the cool. https://www.blogger.com/profile/17080137338383534876 Winter mornings bring greens and roots. Spring steps in with tender stems and the first soft stone fruit. Summer goes full orchestra: melons, peppers, tomatoes, sweet corn. Fall slows the tempo and builds depth with persimmons, pomegranates, and hardy squash. Weather always nudges the schedule a week or three. A wet March can push strawberries into late spring. A hot September will candy the grapes but tire the lettuces. Vendors in Clovis will tell you straight if a crop came from the west side fields near Kerman, the east side foothills, or down Fresno way, and that context helps with flavor and shelf life.
Winter: cool mornings, concentrated flavor
Market mornings in January or February feel quiet compared to July, but the flavor is anything but. Cold nights push sugars into roots and citrus. If you like cooking, this is your season.
Citrus leads. Look for Satsuma mandarins with loose skin and that squishy feel that says the segments are bursting, not drying. Cara Cara oranges come next, with salmon-colored flesh that tastes like an orange snuck off with a grapefruit and a strawberry. Blood oranges usually show up mid to late winter, deepening from brick to burgundy. Ask for fruit that feels heavy for its size. That weight means juice.
Alongside, you’ll see pyramids of Meyer lemons. Thin-skinned, floral, less acidic than Eurekas, they’re perfect for vinaigrettes and quick preserved lemon projects. I keep a jar of quartered Meyers packed in salt and their own juice in the fridge. Two weeks and they brighten roast chicken and bean salads without the bite.
Greens grow sweet now. Kale varieties like Lacinato and Red Russian get tender after a frost. Collards, mustard greens, and chard are everywhere, bunches big enough to feed a family for a few dollars. Vendors sometimes clip the ends on-site if you ask, which helps with freshness. Walk past the stall with spinach as big as your hand and find the baby leaves from a cooler. Small spinach avoids grit and melts into omelets.
Roots look humble but reward patience. Carrots with feathery tops still attached keep longer if you remove those greens at home. Try a blind taste test: orange Nantes for classic sweetness, purple varieties for peppery depth. Turnips, especially the white Hakurei type, eat like apples raw and steam to a buttery finish. Beets sell by size, and I go for golf-ball to baseball sized bulbs with smooth skin. Larger beets can be woody unless they’re a tender variety. Don’t skip the beet greens. A quick sauté with garlic is all they need.
Crucifers thrive in the chill. Romanesco, with its fractal chartreuse spirals, looks like a sculpture and tastes like a cross between cauliflower and broccoli. Broccolini and sprouting broccoli are often sweeter than full heads. Cauliflowers now come in purple and orange, and the color stays better if you steam rather than boil.
If you see crates of walnuts and almonds, they’re likely last fall’s harvest, now fully dried and ready for baking or snacking. Buy in-shell if you want the longest shelf life. One Clovis vendor sets out a simple cracker and lets you taste before you commit to a bag. Another selling point now is local raw honey. Cold weather crystallizes honey, which is a sign of minimal processing. Warm it gently to re-liquefy, but don’t boil unless you want to lose the varietal nuances.
Winter cooking leans into oven heat. Roasted carrots hit new heights with a glaze of reduced blood orange juice and a pinch of cumin. Swiss chard becomes the base for creamy polenta topped with a saucy egg. Citrus segments, shaved fennel, and toasted almonds make a salad that wakes up a heavy meal.
A quick storage note: citrus is happiest at cool room temperature if you’ll eat it in a week, otherwise the fridge drawer is your friend. Roots belong bagged and unwashed in the crisper, greens in a towel-lined container with the air squeezed out. Clovis produce is close to the source, so even minimal handling goes a long way.
Spring: tender, green, and briefly here
Spring in Clovis flips a switch. By late March, the stands start smelling like rain and cut grass. The first strawberries show up, sometimes small and tucked into flats with a story, sometimes glossy and begging for shortcake. The earliest berries can be tart. Don’t be shy about asking for a sample. Vendors often point you to the ripest flat, usually the one from the edge of the field that gets a little more sun.
Asparagus is the season’s signature. The best spears squeak when rubbed together and snap cleanly, not fibrously. Thickness is not a quality marker, just a style choice. Thick spears roast beautifully and stay juicy inside, thin spears sear quickly and take well to a lemony pan sauce. If the cut ends look dry and shriveled, the bunch has been sitting too long in dry air.
English peas arrive next. You’ll feel like a kid again, popping pods and pretending you’re checking for quality as you snack. Aim for plump pods that feel heavy. The small peas inside have the highest sugar content. Fava beans show up about the same time. They take commitment: slit the pods, pop out the beans, blanch, then slip them from their jackets. The payoff is bright green butter. Mash them with olive oil and lemon zest for a crostini that crowns a spring party.
Tender lettuces return by the armful. Butter, red leaf, speckled heirlooms with soft, pliable leaves. These are not the sturdy Romaine hearts of midsummer. Keep them cool on the walk home. If you bike to the Clovis market, bring a light, rigid tote so they don’t bruise. Radishes regain their snap and spice now. French breakfast radishes with pale pink tips are sweeter than the round red type. Eat them with good butter and flaky salt, a simple plate that turns into a habit.
Herbs wake up. Dill is feathery and fragrant, cilantro crisp rather than wilting, parsley with stems that crunch. An herb bundle tossed into simmering potatoes turns them into a side dish. Thinly licensed window installers slice spring onions over everything. If you see green garlic, grab it. It looks like a thick scallion with a mild garlic scent. Slice and sauté for soups, or stir it into ricotta as a pasta filling.
Stone fruit starts teasing by late April or early May depending on the weather. Loquats come and go in a flash, tangy and juicy. Early apricots can be mouth-puckering unless you pick the blushy ones that give under a finger. Peaches are still weeks away, but you may spot green almonds, soft and fuzzy, eaten whole like a tangy cucumber if you’re adventurous.
Spring cooking wants minimal intervention. Asparagus gets the grill, strawberries hit yogurt or balsamic, peas take a minty toss with olive oil. If you bake, strawberries fold into a rustic galette that disappears in minutes. When the first warm day pushes into the 80s, a salad of shaved raw asparagus with lemon and shards of Parmesan will make you wonder why you ever boiled it.
Summer: the Central Valley hits its stride
By June, Clovis is draped in summer fruit. You can smell the peaches from half a block away, and the tomato tables look like a color wheel exploded. This is the season to bring cash, a big bag, and the discipline not to buy more than your fridge can honor.
Tomatoes lead the parade. You’ll see Early Girls first, then heirlooms like Cherokee Purple, Brandywine, Green Zebra, and Mortgage Lifter. The ugly ones are usually the best. A tomato that feels viscerally heavy for its size has the water content and the sugar balance you want. If you see cracks at the shoulders, don’t panic. Those often signal a tomato that swelled quickly after a hot spell. The flavor is still there, and you’ll likely get a discount for the cosmetic imperfection. Cherry tomatoes are candy when the heat settles in. Sun Golds turn orange and pack tropical flavor, while black cherries bring a grown-up, winey edge.
Peppers pile up in shapes and colors. Padrons and shishitos land for quick blistering in a hot pan. Sweet peppers come in bell shapes and long, tapered Italian types like Corno di Toro that roast into silk. Then the chilies. Fresno chilies, jalapeños, serranos, and the occasional basket of rarer types like Aji Amarillo or chocolate habaneros. Vendors will tell you if a batch ran hot this week. Heat varies plant to plant, even on the same farm.
Corn deserves a mention. Local sweet corn rarely needs much. I check for tight husks and oozing ear tips that smell like summer. Peel back just an inch or two to peek at the kernels. You want full, milky pearls, not dented or shriveled ones. Don’t shuck at the stall, the husk keeps it fresh until you cook.
Stone fruit crowns summer in Clovis. Peaches, nectarines, plums, pluots, apriums, and then grapes and melons as the heat ripens everything. Fruit naming can get creative, particularly with pluots. The lighter speckled Dapple Dandy variety packs sweet-tart complexity. Donut peaches look like a novelty but they’re low acid and perfect for kids. White peaches are delicate and bruise if you look at them wrong, but the perfume is worth the fuss. When you pick, go by scent and give. Fruit that smells like itself is ready. Don’t stack ripe fruit deep in your bag. Carry a shallow box or use the flat you bought them in, and cushion with a tea towel.
Melons arrive in waves. Cantaloupe is the benchmark, but the specialty melons are where you’ll find surprises. Galia tastes like a honeyed cucumber, Canary melons have a clean sweetness, and Santa Claus melons can hold for a week or more on the counter. Knock gently and listen for a hollow, resonant note. The blossom end should give slightly under your thumb, not collapse.
Cucumbers and summer squash are plentiful. Armenian cucumbers, actually in the melon family, have ridged skin, minimal seeds, and a crisp bite that holds up in salads. For squash, look for small to medium size for best texture. Patty pan squash sliced thick takes well to a hot grill and a brush of garlicky oil.
Eggplant shows up in glossy purples, long Japanese styles, and pale lavender Rosa Bianca. Smaller eggplants tend to have thinner skins and fewer seeds, which keeps bitterness down. Salting and draining is a personal choice. With fresh, young eggplant, I skip it and go straight to char or sauté.
Cheese and eggs feel more abundant now. Fresh goat cheese rolled in herbs, burrata for those tomato plates, and pastured eggs tucked under canvas to keep cool. If you cook a lot of vegetables, eggs make the meal complete. A summer dinner might be grilled zucchini with a lemony ricotta, a plate of sliced tomatoes with olive oil, and a frittata layered with sweet onions and basil.
Hydration is part of the summer market strategy. Clovis heat can creep up on you, especially if you stop for a coffee on the way in. Vendors often set out water jugs near the back of the tent if you ask. Bring a cooler in the car for dairy and delicate greens. Peaches left in a hot trunk are a crime against August.
Fall: depth, color, and the long simmer
By late September and into October, the light shifts. The market is still stacked, but the tones change from neon to jewel. You get the last burst of tomatoes alongside the first persimmons, and dinner begins to lean toward roasts and stews again.
Grapes are a fall treat that can get lost among the larger fruit. You’ll find seedless table grapes, sure, but also seeded heirlooms like Black Monukka and Muscat strains that taste like a vineyard tour. Grapes like a rinse and a towel dry, then they keep best unwashed in the fridge in a breathable bag. If you see blushy flame grapes with a dusty bloom, that’s a sign of minimal handling, not neglect.
Figs move through the season quickly. Mission figs are dark, honeyed, and robust, while Kadota and Adriatic types run lighter and jammy. Figs bruise just from a hard stare. Nest them in a shallow basket and eat them within a day or two. They love goat cheese or a quick tear over yogurt with a drizzle of local orange blossom honey.
Pomegranates pop up next, bright as ornaments. For fewer kitchen stains, halve them in a bowl of water and coax out the arils under the surface. The bitter pith floats, the rubies sink. Arils freeze well in a thin layer on a baking sheet, handy for salads through winter.
Persimmons divide the world into two camps. Fuyu are squat, eaten crisp like an apple. Hachiya are acorn-shaped, mouth-puckering until fully jelly-soft, then like dessert pudding. If you do holiday baking, puree soft Hachiyas and freeze in one-cup portions. Persimmon quick bread outperforms pumpkin in my kitchen every time.
Apples might not be the Valley’s lead crop, but foothill orchards feed the market with varieties you don’t see in big-box stores. Pink Lady, Fuji, and Gala are common. Seek out Arkansas Black or Spitzenburg if you like aromatic, firm apples that hold shape in pies. Pears, particularly Bosc and Comice, land with subtlety. Buy them green, ripen on the counter, then chill to hold. A ripe Comice pear perfumed with a touch of blue cheese can make a meal.
Winter squash begins to pile up. Delicata is the weeknight hero, thin-skinned and easy to slice, with edible skin and a sweet, caramelizing flesh. Kabocha is dense and sweet, a friend to soups and tempura. Butternut is reliable and versatile, and even a small one feeds a crowd when roasted and blitzed into a silky sauce.
Peppers linger into fall, including roasting chilies like Anaheim and Hatch-type varieties. Some vendors will roast them on-site in rolling drums. The smell draws a line. Buy a few bags, take them home, peel, seed, and freeze for enchiladas and stews. You’ll thank yourself in January.
Greens return with the cooler nights. Arugula sharpens, spinach regains its spring tenderness, and chicories like radicchio and escarole appear. Chicories can scare off the sweet-tooth crowd, but a warm bacon dressing or a mix with sliced pears and walnuts converts skeptics.
Fall cooking leans toward sheet pans and long simmers. Roasted squash with sage and brown butter, Fig and prosciutto toasts, braised greens with a splash of local red wine vinegar. A pot of beans from a vendor who specializes in heirloom varieties becomes the backbone of lunches. Seek out Christmas limas or Ayocote negros if you see them. These aren’t always present, but when they are, you’re in for creamy textures and actual flavor, not just starch.
Little rituals that make the Clovis market better
After enough Saturdays wandering the stalls off Pollasky Avenue, you start to pick up unspoken guidelines. They’re small things, but they change your haul from good to unforgettable.
- Arrive early for tender greens and fragile fruit, later for deals on robust produce like squash, onions, and potatoes. Bring small bills and a few reusable produce bags. Vendors appreciate quick, clean transactions, and bagging tomatoes separate from peaches saves heartache. Taste when offered, but ask first. Farmers in Clovis are generous with samples, and they’ll steer you toward ripeness. Plan one dish around a vendor’s recommendation. You’ll discover varieties and uses you’d never try otherwise. Rotate your staple vendors, but keep two or three favorites. Relationships get you the heads-up on next week’s crop.
Picking like a pro: quick cues by category
This is the cheat sheet I wish I had my first year shopping in Clovis. It’s not exhaustive, just practical signs you can check in seconds.
- Tomatoes: heavy for size, slight give at the blossom end, smell the stem. Avoid fully hard fruit unless you’ll ripen at home. Peaches and nectarines: fragrant, slight yield to gentle pressure, no green cast near the stem. Accept minor surface scuffs if the scent is strong. Greens: crisp stems that snap cleanly, no slime at the base of the bunch, leaves that bounce back when flexed. Cucumbers and squash: firm along the length with no soft spots, stems still moist or just barely dry, skin unwrinkled. Corn: tight husk, sticky silk, plump kernels near the tip when you peek. Don’t over-peel at the stand.
Where the market meets your kitchen
Fresh produce deserves a plan. I keep a mental triage on the drive home. Eat-now items: berries, soft stone fruit, tender lettuce. Eat-soon: tomatoes, cucumbers, herbs. Hold: squash, onions, potatoes, apples. Citrus floats between categories. If I bought a flat of strawberries in Clovis at 9 a.m., I hull half for eating and freeze the rest by noon. Spread them on a parchment-lined sheet, freeze solid, then move to a bag. On a winter morning, a handful in the blender smells like June.
Tomatoes get a similar split. The prettiest ones go to sandwiches and sliced plates with olive oil, salt, and basil. The bruisers become sauce. A quick method that works with mixed varieties: rough chop, simmer with a smashed clove of garlic and a pinch of salt for 20 to 30 minutes, then pass through a food mill. Freeze flat in zip bags. You’ll pull summer into January soups without a can in sight.
Herbs keep better when treated like flowers. Trim the stems, tuck in a jar with an inch of water, and tent with a loose produce bag in the fridge. Basil is the exception. It blackens in the cold. Keep it on the counter in water, away from direct sun, and use within two or three days.
If you buy more greens than you can eat, blanch and freeze. Spinach, kale, and chard all compress beautifully. Later, you can tuck them into soups, omelets, and pasta. The Central Valley’s bounty tastes different when you preserve it yourself, and you control the salt and texture.
Local character: what feels distinctly Clovis
Markets share patterns, but Clovis has its quirks. You’ll spot tables where three generations sell together, a grandfather weighing oranges while a grandchild packs cilantro with practiced hands. The Fresno State creamery sometimes sends students to sell cheese and ice cream, a reminder that agriculture here is both tradition and training ground. Floral vendors offer eucalyptus-heavy bouquets that hold up in the heat. Tamale stands have lines even before most shoppers arrive, and nobody minds because the salsa is worth it.
If you keep an eye out, you can track small producers through the year. A jam maker who in spring boils down Albion strawberries might switch to white peach and basil by July, then pomegranate jelly in November. A beekeeper brings orange blossom honey early and wildflower later, the color shifting from pale gold to amber. Ask questions and you’ll learn where the hives sit and which orchards they worked.
There’s also the practical Central Valley trait of bulk buying. Peak summer brings deals if you’re ready to process. A 20-pound box of tomatoes looks intimidating until you roast them with olive oil and garlic on two sheet pans, then blitz into a freezer sauce. The vendor who sells you the box will often share a family method. Those conversations knit you into the market’s fabric.
Weather quirks and how to adapt
Clovis heat hits triple digits some weeks. Fruit ripens faster, greens wilt if you dawdle, and vendors pack more ice into coolers. Shop quick on those days. Stow fruit in the shade while you pick up the rest of your list. If the forecast calls for wind, expect dust. Bring a cloth bag you can cinch shut. Light spring rains make for muddier walkways but also cleaner air and happier farmers. The best berries often follow a mild, sunny week after rain, when the fields dry and the plants concentrate sugars again.
Smoke from regional fires can sneak into late summer. Farmers might pick earlier to keep crews safe, so ripeness at the stand may tilt slightly underdone. That’s when it pays to understand ripening at home. Tomatoes finish well on the counter in a single layer, peaches do a day or two in a paper bag, and melons mostly do not get sweeter post-harvest, only softer. Choose accordingly.
Making the most of your budget
Clovis produce offers strong value, but prices reflect labor and water realities. A few strategies stretch your dollar without shortchanging the farmer.
Buy what’s peaking. At peak, abundance brings prices down. You’ll see peaches at a friendly per-pound or a flat discount if you take a whole tray. Mix varieties within a flat if the vendor allows, so you get a range of ripeness and flavor.
Embrace seconds. Many farmers set aside a box of seconds, fruit that’s bruised or misshapen. Perfect for jam, smoothies, or cooking. I’ve bought ten-pound bags of seconds tomatoes or stone fruit for around half the standard rate, then cooked them that afternoon.
Share with friends. Split a large quantity, divide a case of cucumbers for pickling, or make a salsa day together. The work feels lighter with company, and the cost per head drops.
Ask about end-of-day deals, politely. If a farmer looks slammed at 10 a.m., now is not the time. But at noon when they’re counting the last boxes, they may cut a bulk price for quick cash and less to load.
A few simple dishes to anchor your seasonal haul
I cook from the market by default. The key is a handful of base recipes that flex with what you find.
Spring risotto with peas and asparagus: Sauté green garlic in butter, add arborio rice, wine, then stock. Stir in blanched peas and sliced asparagus tips for the last few minutes, finish with lemon zest and Parmesan. The vegetables stay vibrant, and you can swap in favas or tender spinach.
Summer tomato salad with peaches: Slice ripe tomatoes and peaches, layer on a platter, drizzle with olive oil and a splash of red wine vinegar, scatter torn basil and thinly sliced red onion, season generously. The peach echoes the tomato’s sweetness while adding perfume.
Charred corn and pepper tacos: Grill corn in husk, char shishitos or padrons in a skillet, slice off kernels, toss with chopped cilantro and a squeeze of lime. Add crumbled cheese and a dollop of crema. If you have a roasted chili stash from fall, tuck it in.
Fall roasted squash with tahini and pomegranate: Roast delicata moons until caramelized. Whisk tahini with lemon juice, garlic, and water to a pourable sauce. Plate squash, drizzle tahini, sprinkle pomegranate arils and chopped parsley. The sweet, nutty, tangy mix wakes up a cool evening.
Winter citrus and olive salad: Combine sliced blood oranges and Cara Caras with thinly shaved fennel and a handful of briny olives. Dress lightly with olive oil and a pinch of salt. It cuts through rich roasts and makes a bright lunch with crusty bread.
A last lap around the stalls
The best part of the Clovis, CA market isn’t just the produce. It’s the habit of paying attention. When you buy strawberries from the same family three weeks in a row, you notice the shift from tart to jammy to deeply perfumed, and then the season fades. You learn that peaches from a farm near Reedley lean sweeter than those from a foothill orchard, that Armenian cucumbers keep their crunch longer than slicers, that Fuyu persimmons do fine on the counter for a week while Hachiyas require patience and a soft touch.
If you’re new, start with what you already love. Get it at peak, learn how it looks when it’s truly ripe, then branch out. If you’ve been walking these stalls for years, keep a little room in your bag for something you’ve never cooked. The market changes, and so do our kitchens. That’s the quiet promise of a place like Clovis. The fields around town write the menu. We just have to show up and taste.