Archives for posts with tag: local food

I want every day to be just like this Sunday: chatting with Madeline over bowls of coffee whilst picking at beautiful French pastries, waltzing down to the market, grabbing my weekly bouquet, seeking out the sunniest little tomatoes, buying a weird little heirloom melon just to have an excuse to chat with the beautiful farmers market boy about the change of the seasons, going to four hours of heartfelt yoga, then, at the end of it all, making dinner with Logan, sweet sisterfriend. I want every day to be a Sunday.

Yoga and food have been my two true loves for a while, but Yoga and I just made it official. Come May, I’ll be a real-live yoga girl, certified to teach downward doggies the world over. After a false start this January (mistakenly signed myself up for semi-hot yoga training…there’s a reason I moved away from constantly-90-degrees-Florida…) I’ve embarked upon a nine-month training adventure with my beyond-beloved studio, Yogalife. And it is great. And big. And… big! Life is full. Life is good! Life is Sundays.

The amount that I work out has a direct relationship to the amount of ice cream I eat. Direct, not inverse. Running and yoga-ing, not part of a complete health package with lots of kale and brown rice, no. Just the necessary offset of a fancy ice cream addiction. Last week, a scoop of Molly Moon’s Scout Mint (aka, Thin Mint) with sprinkles. This weekend, an awe-inspiring pale green scoop of pistachio gelato on a cone, devoured while people watching on Ballard Ave. Yesterday, a scoop of mint stracciatella while my nanny charges were at swim team. They swim, I eat.

Other goods at the Queen Anne Farmers Market: a blueberry biscuit (saved for an addition to a picnic for an outdoor concert tonight), three pounds of apples (the apple addiction lives on), four yellow tomatoes (best color of tomato, fer sure), a bunch of teeny carrots, and multiple samples from anyone who’d give them to me and/or didn’t noticed I’d come by to sample peaches fourteen times. Then dinner on the lawn: naan with apricot-y chicken and rice, shrimp and grits, and ginger beer. Yum. And I’m at “work” during all of this, mind you.

Then, real dinner. Finally: Paseo. Mega-beloved Seattle Carribean/Cuban sandwich joint, which I’ve somehow never been to. I’ve stood in line and bailed many times, but never actually eaten a stinkin’ sandwich at the place. So finally. Paseo. I was doubtful that these West Coasters could beat the Florida Cuban sandwich, that flat, weird, mustardy, ham-packed delicious thing, but… maybe so. Very different: a delicious baguette filled with giant hunks of roasted pork shoulder, lettuce, cilantro, jalapeno, and mayo. Very messy, very good. Pros: the bread and pork were stellar. Cons: too much mayo (but I’ve never been a fan) and not enough jalapenos (but I am on the hot sauce crack rock.) Genia and I scored a table, which made it all the better; our sandwiches were definitely improved by the hungry, jealous stares of the dozens of people queuing up outside.

I got a Facebook message worrying that annacotta died… No, she didn’t die, she’s just real, real busy packing up all her earthly possessions (which sururisingly fit into four 16 x 16 boxes and the trunk of a Camry,) trying to learn Spanish before a very frightening final, and writing papers on the destiny of Being and the correlations between light and literature (and wondering just how any of this will be all that useful in, you know, real life.) And eating, mostly at one AM after the library closes. Mostly peanut butter and pitas, smoothies and clementines. Although I’ve discovered roasted radishes, the creamy, quiet, refined older sister of the rowdy raw radish. Anyway. I’m not dead.

Here’s another re-purposed Catalyst article. This article was so insanely up my alley, I couldn’t help but write two thousand plus words and take up two whole newspaper pages blathering about local food. It’s fascinating! I’m so curious about why this trend has so seriously taken root, and no matter how hard I look, I can’t seem to figure it out. It all is very sensical, better for the environment, better tasting, betters the local economy… but there are lots of sensical things that we all just ignore, for the most part. Why is the local movement so hip, so successful?? One could write a thesis on it. Or at least a real, real long article.

The local food movement wants us to change the way we think about our food. Wants us to reconsider the dirt and the farm and the farmer and the cook — the trip our food took to the table — before tucking in to our meals. “I think it gets down to human nature … how we as human beings want to function, and how the way we’ve been functioning [in terms of eating] is wrong,” said local chef Eric Bein of Station 400. “It’s a very passionate thing to eat something … you’re putting something into your body — it’s an intimate thing. But that’s been taken out of it. There’s no identification with the food. It’s just to fill the stomach, fill the gas tank up. People don’t think about the food that they eat and where it comes from … but I think we should and we need to.”

Proponents of local food are realizing this need and emphasizing the roots of not just the food Americans eat food but to the country itself, harking back to the idea of America as an agricultural nation. “People are starting to realize … that this is how it used to be,” explained Bein. “America was built on agriculture, it was built on small farms, it was built on people breaking bread as a family.”

The local food movement is based on this “back to the land” principle, an idea that’s been manifested in a wide variety of campaigns and changes. Bein wants to bring this homeland ethic into his restaurant with tasty local eggs and produce. Others hope to fill their table with the yields of their own gardens and more yet are moving toward simply keeping their dollars in the local economy, shifting their purchases from shipped-in strawberries to the ones picked just 70 miles away.

You know you wanna know what happens next…