"Locavore” was coined two years ago by a group of four women in San Francisco who proposed that local residents should try to eat only food grown or produced within a 100-mile radius. Other regional movements have emerged since then, though some groups refer to themselves as “localvores” rather than “locavores.” However it’s spelled, it’s a word to watch.
So, anyways, I've been struck at how when you live and work on a farm, it's pretty easy to be a locavore. Okay, maybe not easy, but definitely easier.
Here's Armando exhibiting our crop of free-range eggs, collected this morning:
I love the way the white and brown eggs mix and match in their cardboard homes.
But what about supper? (And no, it's not dinner, darn it. Dinner happens at 1:00 p.m., when the long morning's work is done.)
We ain't San Francisco, but we got a little somethin' somethin' going on in that department, too. Here's what I'm cooking tonight:
Yum, yum. You can always butter me up with some butternut squash. Just in case you wondered.
And some good old fashioned, home-grown and corn-fattened beef (non-GMO, at least).
In a year or so, we'll have some even better beef to eat (and, yes, sell!). Our very own (non-certified organic) 100% grassfed beef!! Yoohoo!! I highly recommend you check out Jo Robinson's website Eat Wild for some really great information about the health and environmental benefits of grassfed beef. And then I highly recommend you mark your 2009 calendars with capital letters: BUY BEEF FROM JACKIE IN IRISH GROVE.
Okay, I admit. To make the near-authentic Panamanian meal carne asada, which, by the way, is what I'm cooking, I couldn't pull off the whole meal without a few un-local, fossil-fuel-siphoning, carbon foot-printing, world-warming ingredients to round it all off. Especially since it's January, and much of my garden-preserved goodies have long since been eaten.
Here are a few of the guilty parties:
I say if you strive for perfection, you'll only end up a downtrodden, bitter, wrinkly worry-wart. That's what I say, alright. (Why I say that is unbeknownst to us all.)
The moral to the story? When the urge to join the locavore movement becomes too great to resist, give your local farmer/gardener a call. Preferably one that lives in Irish Grove. We'd be more than happy to help you attain your new hipster status.