Being in the sustainable food business in a small town and rural neighborhood is both an inspiration and a challenge. One of the vendors from our local farmers’ market was banned a few weeks ago, ostensibly because they were not “local.” Of course, the stories surrounding the incident vary, based on who you ask, but the basic thread is that the vendor did not “follow the rules” and was from <gasp> Duarte. The contraband in question was stone fruit; apricots, peaches, nectarines, cherries, you know, the hard stuff! A vendor friend noted that they had UPC stickers on their fruit, a sure sign of the conventional commoditized food system; surely not a sign of a small, artisan producer? I reflect on the bar coded UPC’s on my own olive oil bottles, a similar litmus test? Many of us as small producers must court multiple sales channels in order to survive. Grocery equals UPC codes; non-negotiable in their world. Even my local customers prefer to purchase our olive oil in their local grocery store, hence the dance with the devil. Without UPC’s and a distributor, the grocery channel is virtually closed to the small producer.
We define local, here on the Mendocino Coast, as somewhere between 100 and 150 miles circumference. This allows us the grains and beans cultivated in the central valley, while still preserving the intrinsic relationship between farmer and customer. My sister lives in the suburbs of Washington, DC, and in her world, local is within 800 miles circumference. In the urban mid-Atlantic, small farms are harder to find. We are spoiled here in California, where farmers live within driving distance of urban markets. Many of us take for granted the cornucopia of regional produce displayed at our local farmers’ markets. Here in Mendocino County, this bounty is limited to the months of May through October, when the certified markets are active. If we wish to partake in seasonal winter vegetables, locally produced, a CSA is often our only option. We are fortunate here in Fort Bragg to have a relationship with a year-around CSA farm. Not everyone is so lucky. In fact, one of the reasons that the disputed produce vendor was even in our local market was to supply fresh items in winter not available in our more severe climate zone.
A successful farmers’ market is a vibrant and diverse market. Thus defines the dilemma. Do we limit the market to only local vendors, and, for that matter, one vendor per commodity? While an ideal situation for the producer, this limits the customers’ choices, and, as a result, their patronage of the market. More choices = more customers, and more customers = higher sales for market vendors. Somehow this equation does not hold true with our local market association. The “rules” supersede the customer. But, what is a market without a customer? By definition, a market exists when a seller and a buyer agree on an exchange for a particular commodity. Without these components, a market does not technically exist. Our lesson; make the maximum variety of commodities available to the consumer. The market will sustain itself. If the commodity has no value to the customer, then the market, or the vendor, will fail.
Open markets promote open minds. We must trust the market forces to drive the equilibrium. If a commodity has no demand, and therefore no value, the market will demonstrate to the vendor that they cannot sustain their participation. Almost Darwinian, those who succeed have the characteristics of success. If your product has value, it will be reflected by the customer as increased sales. No need for oversight, no need for regulation, the force of the market prevails. If there is a buyer and a seller, there is a market. It is not about the random regulatory boundaries exercised by an outside entity. We must reflect on this basic principle of commerce and embrace the essence of its power.
No matter how you define “local” or “regional.” It is about buyers mated with sellers exchanging the value of a given commodity. This is the essence of the freedom of choice characterized in a market economy.
To one customer, located somewhere west of the Mississippi, but where olives are not cultivated, my product might be considered “local.” Yet in a market less than 200 miles away, where olives trees are more common, it is disqualified on the same criteria. It is not about the random geographical boundaries. It is about access to clean, fair and healthy foods. Something we Californians take for granted, but perhaps should not. Every producer is an artisan of sort; and is it our privilege to categorize and judge, or should we simply fulfill our role as buyer, and let our choices speak the truth instead?
Post by Julia Conway on July 21st, 2009
Posted in Country life, Food politics, Local food, Mendocino, Olive oil, Seasonal food, Slow Food, Sustainability
One of my favorite traditions growing up was my Mother preparing our “favorite foods” for dinner on the occasion of our birthdays. Mine was predictable, and did not vary, at least in my memory, from year to year; fried chicken and artichokes with melted butter. Fried chicken remains one of my favorite comfort foods, and I have run the gamut from KFC Crispy Strips to Hooters wings and nearly everything in between. Fried chicken is one of those situational foods that seem to taste best under specific circumstances. For example, Hooters medium-hot wings somehow tasted the very best when enjoyed somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon line, usually in the company of a large group of loud and rowdy sports fans. Attempts to recreate this taste sensation at home fall short, no matter how accurate the recipe.
Of late, I have been in hot pursuit of the perfect recipe for fried chicken, reprising all the childhood memories of those special dinners. I have tried the “secret” combination of herbs and spices, ostensibly a la KFC, via the Internet, and derived from a package of Italian dressing mix combined with a package of tomato soup mix. I have tried Martha Stewart’s recommendations, which included an overnight soak in buttermilk and a four part dipping process with a half-hour drying period in the refrigerator. I ponder the ability of most home cooks to find the space for a full sheet pan of breaded chicken parts set on racks in a single layer in order to achieve the most succulent adhesion of breading to chicken skin. I must honestly note, that this breading, though so crisp it shattered to the touch, did not magically adhere to the skin, and in fact left the skin flaccid and soggy beneath the crunchy coating. Next, I went over current and back issues of Cook’s Illustrated, searching for Christopher Kimball’s infinite wisdom on this particular piece of Americana. This time, a complex brine was called for, extending the preparation time by an additional two days; one to prepare the brine and let its seasonings meld, and the second for brining the chicken pieces themselves. Again, this was followed by dipping in seasoned flour, again in beaten egg, and finally in a breading mixture of flour, panko and seasonings. This chicken, though delicious, was some how wrong, I believe as a result of the recipe’s complexity. I cannot begin to imagine a farm wife whipping up this little specialty after a long day’s work, especially if slaughtering and cleaning the chicken itself was also on the agenda.
Finally, I found the much publicized and printed recipe from Thomas Keller’s Ad Hoc, recently featured in Bon Appetit magazine. Equal in complexity to Kimball’s recipe, it included brining, using both egg and buttermilk in the process, not to mention a myriad of spices I seldom attribute to fried chicken, including Spanish smoked pimenton and nutmeg. This chicken also had to “rest” before frying, of course in the thermal safety of the refrigerator, lest a stray bacterium ruin the entire experience. After frying, eating, and the two hours it took to wash all of the bowls, pans, and utensils and wipe the remains of the breading off of every surface in the kitchen, I was still left strangely dissatisfied. I actually considered my original place-based premise, and momentarily plotted a path to the restaurant itself. However, after careful research, this plan was discarded, as the name “Ad Hoc” implies; there was no set schedule as to when the chicken would even be on the menu!
I got a little closer to the results I was looking for when I tried a recipe for buffalo chicken fingers from Cooking Light. By using boneless and skinless chicken tenders, the entire skin issue was eliminated. The strips were marinated for an hour in a mixture of buttermilk and Tabasco sauce, and then dipped once in the breading. Salt and pepper were the only savory enhancements. Lo and behold, the chicken was crunchy on the outside, juicy on the inside, just spicy enough to make you want more, and tasted unequivocally of the chicken itself, rather than the seasonings. This recipe was manageable on a weeknight, though not necessarily historic.
Finally, I succumbed to nostalgia and produced the closest replica that I could of my mother’s fried chicken. Instead of using buttermilk, she dredged each piece of skin-on chicken in a mixture of Bisquick and Lawry’s seasoned salt mixed together in a plastic bag. This made it easy to shake the pieces in the breading before transferring directly to a pan full of bubbling peanut oil. The chicken pieces were fried until crisp and browned on both sides. The leg and thigh pieces were cooked first, so that they could finish cooking through in the warming oven while the wings and boned-out breast pieces cooked. The fat was drained off the crispy bits of breading in the bottom of the pan, and flour was added to make a roux. Milk was then stirred in to finish the gravy, which was served on the side over buttery mashed potatoes. Accompanied by the traditional steamed artichoke with melted butter, this meal satisfied every craving that had been plaguing me throughout the process.
And the truth at the heart of this chicken obsession? The best fried chicken is the one that reminds you of those special nights at home surrounded by special people. It was not about gourmet seasonings, nor complex recipes, nor the perfect means of manipulating the flavors and textures of this seemingly simple dish. It was mostly about the authenticity of the foods we have come to love over the years, and the people who prepared and shared them.
Post by Julia Conway on June 28th, 2009
Posted in Family favorites, Recipes
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