photo credit: mckaysavage
Food has a life, a story. The environment it grew in, the people who produce it. And usually it’s traveled an awefully long way to get to our plates. I’d like to know these things.
There’s a moment, when you realize that the apple you are biting into was probably picked several days ago in a foreign country, that hits you. The moment is a collision, a crash of this new fact and the memory of picking an apple off the tree in your own yard and taking a bite.
I don’t remember when I realized that the food I was eating wasn’t from some nearby farmer. I do remember a bit of a panic, of fear, and horror. Why was my food being shipped to me when there was perfectly good land right here to grow food on? Of course I hadn’t yet heard of the locavore movement, or even considered such a movement might exist. It seemed natural to me, that food would come from nearby. Read more…
