Since I've been terrible about posting recently I figure I'll make up for lost time. Here's one I started writing three weeks ago while I was in Miami for work.
Eating lost its flare a while ago. I rarely feel hungry. At the end of the day I could care less about dinner. In my own mind I eat some form of bread and cheese all day long and nearly exclusively and that's all food is anymore...bread (ciabatta, multigrain, Stirato, hominy...) and cheese (chedder, pepper jack, smoked gouda). Even while eating sauteed veggies and a grain (usually quinoa) I feel like I'm eating bread and cheese. That's my own fault, but somehow it clouds everything that enters my mouth or mind. Even last Sunday as I was eating a "Mustafa Salad" from the Chai House, basically a bowl of vegan hippie birdseed-- mixed greens, falafel, sunflower seeds and a smattering of other veggies bits--if I'd closed my eyes it would have been bread and cheese. Same goes for the various other restaurant meals I've had recently including two grilled calamari salads, minestrone soup, a thai smorgesboard, and potato pancakes. All of it...bread and cheese, bread and cheese, more bread and cheese.
So the last twenty four hours have been a big breakthrough. I'm in Miami and can't say that my appetite has come back in a raging way but I've been eating Cuban food and that's what it tastes like. Last night I poached dinner from Cafe Versailles, the well-known, local Cuban haunt and quasi chain with an outpost in the airport. First of all, I love feeling pressured to speak Spanish, and I really didn't even need to at Versailles but the atmosphere just begs for it. Male waiters dressed like penguins weave in and out of the lady waitresses dressed in unflattering green pants suits. Y toda la gente esta charlando rapido. I headed to the back to the take out counter which was also the grill station where a man was churning out order upon order of empanadas made with Bacalao (cod), spinach and cheese, and chicken. And mammoth batches of crispy plantain chips. I ordered Dolphin fish a la plancha that came with a side of yellow rice and platanos maduros, sweet fried plantains that I would course the world twice around for. I also ordered a side of black beans. And the whole mess came with an oily bag of grilled white bread toasts drizzled in butter. Each bite was a gift in that none of it tasted like cheese and the oily toasts were waylaid in favor of every other tasty nibble in front of me. Dinner ran me about $12, it could have easily fed two. I had to force myself to eat half of it and then left it out overnight on the dresser of my hotel room. I ate some of the plaintains cold for breakfast. They really weren't as good day two but I was still reveling in the no-cheese flavor.
The Changing face of the Farmers Market
I'm a huge supporter of Farmers Markets. The air always buzzes with the best kind of positive calm. Canvas bags in hand, looks of pride on the faces of the folks who actually remembered to bring them out of the house...for once. Seattle has a number of fantastic markets and each of my weeks is filled with anticipation about my Saturdays and Sundays and the occasional seasonal Thursday when I get to chat with my favorite farmers and survey the bounty. I'm a loyalist in all things so my first Farmers Market affection began in Magnolia when my parents and I stumbled onto the row of stalls in the community center parking lot. Looking back on that day we bought two relatively terribly things: a pumpernickle bread that left everything to be desired and a cabernet cheese that was so forgettable, I've forgotten what type of cheese it purported to be. Both were bad yet the experience lifted my spirit and that became the Saturday market that I went to all summer and into the fall until it ended in early November. It was at this market where I made friends with "Buck" the seller for Alvarez farms who shoots plastic bags at the shoppers and shouts about the price of corn and hands out handfuls of organic peanuts for grazers to snack on while picking through the produce.
Buck is a far cry from the typically dreamy, healthy looking farm boys and girls who so romantically sell the image of the farmers market to the yuppy attendees. He is rough around the edges, with a hint of white trash, and defies all definitions of the organic oriented, environmentally conscious types who gladly shell out $4 for a single heirloom tomato. Buck is the new face of the Farmers Market; the exciting possibility that conceptions of organics are reaching beyond the privileged and guilt ladden upper classes. Buck is overweight, Buck has bad teeth, Buck has ugly tattoos of hearts and eagles, Buck flirts shamelessly with everyone, Buck talks fast, Buck is abrassive. Buck is also incredibly knowledgeable about the flavor profiles of each of the twelve or more types of peppers he sells. He has a culinary degree and gives advice on recipes to use for each of the five or more types of potatoes on display. Alvarez farms has provided me produce all summer and fall. And as winter approaches I've found myself growing anxious as their bounty has changed and shrunk. But I've also found that it's making me think about what it means to eat seasonally and I find I'm not compelled to run to the grocery store now that tomatoes are no longer in season.
In fact, I've stopped going to the grocery store all together. At this point there is nothing I can't get at the Farmers Market that I want. And I like the challenge of continuing to eat healthy and responsibly as the seasons change. I have my egg man from Ricksen Farms who planted 40 acres of comfry because he is trying to feed his chickens the most balanced diet that will also produce the most appealing egg flavor. My salmon people at Loki who make sure I have a stock of smoked and pickled salmon every week. Tiny Farms who gave me plums and peaches all summer and then apples through the fall. Tall Grass Bakery makes the most killer hominy bread (actually the same people with the wretched pumpernickle, I learned my lesson once and haven't gotten back on that train since). In addition to my bevy of cheese makers (Washington has fabulous sustainably made cheese), purveyors of pickled things (asparagus, green beans etc.), flower growers and jewelry makers.
The Farmers Market has been my best ally in Seattle. It's where I offset my accumulated guilt for my 9-5 promotion of an industry that is suffocating small farms and small businesses. It has reinforced my interest in supporting those who are invested in sustainability practices the intimacy of food production and the gratification of being one of the few willing to keep dealing in cash on an interpersonal level.
And with that I leave you with this link...(play spot the Coca-Cola) as a little food for thought.
Buck is a far cry from the typically dreamy, healthy looking farm boys and girls who so romantically sell the image of the farmers market to the yuppy attendees. He is rough around the edges, with a hint of white trash, and defies all definitions of the organic oriented, environmentally conscious types who gladly shell out $4 for a single heirloom tomato. Buck is the new face of the Farmers Market; the exciting possibility that conceptions of organics are reaching beyond the privileged and guilt ladden upper classes. Buck is overweight, Buck has bad teeth, Buck has ugly tattoos of hearts and eagles, Buck flirts shamelessly with everyone, Buck talks fast, Buck is abrassive. Buck is also incredibly knowledgeable about the flavor profiles of each of the twelve or more types of peppers he sells. He has a culinary degree and gives advice on recipes to use for each of the five or more types of potatoes on display. Alvarez farms has provided me produce all summer and fall. And as winter approaches I've found myself growing anxious as their bounty has changed and shrunk. But I've also found that it's making me think about what it means to eat seasonally and I find I'm not compelled to run to the grocery store now that tomatoes are no longer in season.
In fact, I've stopped going to the grocery store all together. At this point there is nothing I can't get at the Farmers Market that I want. And I like the challenge of continuing to eat healthy and responsibly as the seasons change. I have my egg man from Ricksen Farms who planted 40 acres of comfry because he is trying to feed his chickens the most balanced diet that will also produce the most appealing egg flavor. My salmon people at Loki who make sure I have a stock of smoked and pickled salmon every week. Tiny Farms who gave me plums and peaches all summer and then apples through the fall. Tall Grass Bakery makes the most killer hominy bread (actually the same people with the wretched pumpernickle, I learned my lesson once and haven't gotten back on that train since). In addition to my bevy of cheese makers (Washington has fabulous sustainably made cheese), purveyors of pickled things (asparagus, green beans etc.), flower growers and jewelry makers.
The Farmers Market has been my best ally in Seattle. It's where I offset my accumulated guilt for my 9-5 promotion of an industry that is suffocating small farms and small businesses. It has reinforced my interest in supporting those who are invested in sustainability practices the intimacy of food production and the gratification of being one of the few willing to keep dealing in cash on an interpersonal level.
And with that I leave you with this link...(play spot the Coca-Cola) as a little food for thought.
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