Have you heard of Fresh and Easy? Not yo mama -- the new grocery store craze that's sweeping the nation.
Fresh and Easy Neighborhood Markets are small grocery stores that are run by Tesco. Philosophy-wise, they support fresh foods, organics, sustainable growth, all that cool green stuff -- however, they are distinctly different from Whole Foods/Trader Joe's. Mostly, there's no pretension or smugness; Fresh and Easy isn't marketing itself to foodies and yuppies. "We think fresh, wholesome food should be accessible and affordable to everyone," they say on their website.
The stores are brightly lit and simply laid out -- and did I mention that they're small? They still cover pretty much everything bigger stores do; I did my weekly shopping there last week and didn't notice the absence of anything at all. Options are fairly limited -- usually there will be one or two brands per product -- but it certainly didn't bother me. The prices were good, even on national brands, and their cage-free eggs were way more affordable than any ethical choices at Fry's. They also offer a large variety of prepared foods, from whole meals to precooked cubes of chicken, that promise they are made of fresh, healthy, wholesome ingredients. I didn't buy any, but some of them looked quite good; a reasonable alternative to junky frozen dinners, for sure.
I quite enjoyed shopping at Fresh and Easy -- however.
However. I don't even know how to say this in a way that communicates the full horror of the situation. I will give it a shot --
Their produce is packaged.
No, see, I'm failing. That doesn't sound so bad. Sealed up! Encased in plastic!
PACKAGED!
I wanted a green bell pepper. I had to buy three, in a plastic sleeve. I wanted a squash -- I had to buy two, in a plastic tray encased in a plastic case. I wanted 5 apples; I had to buy four, in a little plastic square tray, encased in a thick plastic envelope.
It was so very, very wrong. Produce, as Barbara Kingsolver mentioned in "Animal, Vegetable, Mineral," is the last section of the supermarket where most Americans can still see the connection between the food we eat and the earth it came from. The plants we buy have stems, leaves, stalks, skins, sometimes bruises, sometimes traces of dirt.
It's also the last section of the store where we really have any control over what we buy. Quality control -- squeezing eggplant, sniffing melons, turning apples over to check for bruises. I think that choice is important, on some level; retaining a sense of control over our food can be empowering.
To take all that away? I couldn't smell, squeeze, select -- none of that. Only the bananas were available outside of a package.
It was in stark contrast to the shopping I did yesterday, when William and I went to a farmer's market in Ahwatukee. The market wasn't spectacular -- I can honestly say that the one in Harrisonburg is much, much better, but I guess that's what I get for living in the desert. Still, there was a decent selection of produce, all laid out -- covered in dirt, stalks and roots still attached, in wooden trays or plastic crates. I could squeeze and smell to my heart's delight.
Around me, other shoppers were asking for advice on how to cook the beets, or where exactly were the potatoes grown, and which were the best tomatoes, and how long until they could find... It was downright inspiring, all those people getting to know their food.
At Fresh and Easy, the plastic packaging on my squash said, "Grown in MEXICO." At the farmer's market, I asked about the different colors of baby eggplant, and the farmer rolled them into piles, saying, "now, these came from one tree," (eggplants grow in bushes -- who knew?) gathering the white ones "and these from another," gathering a darker shade, "and believe it or not, these all came from the same tree," -- dark green, deep purple, striped. "I don't know how it happened," he said, grinning like he'd just presented a magic trick.
I bought one of each color.
Any karmic benefit I got from buying local was immediately erased when I went straight from the market to Fry's, where I bought grapes from Chile, bananas from Costa Rica... but that's not the point. The point is that the difference between the two buying processes -- one avowedly green and plastic-wrapped, the other eco-friendly and covered with dirt -- mirrors a much larger split in the enviroconscious movement in general.
Organic foods: grown without the use of synthetic agricultural inputs, like fertilizers, pesticides and hormones. No GMOs. Clearly much, much better for the environment, and for your health.
But best of all, they are painless to buy, and relatively pain-free to grow. You don't think so? Any major grocery store in the country carries organic food these days. It costs more, but you are paying for a personal benefit, as well as an environmental one; nobody really likes ingesting petrochemicals. A justifiable upfront cost, and as easy as grabbing a different gallon of milk off the shelf.
As easy as going to Fresh and Easy.
Painfree to grow? Sure thing. Fits right there into the industrial model; you're spreading manure-based fertilizer instead of a petroleum product, but the process is the same. You double-till or use cover crops or rotate, but you have the same land, the same harvesting techniques; the same trucks take the same food to the same processing plant; if you are raising cows, you can keep them in the same pens, as long as the feed you give them is certified and you go easy on the antibiotics.
Michael Pollan did a really interesting section on industrial organics in "The Omnivore's Dilemma." His conclusion? Industrial organic agriculture is indeed better for the land than traditional chemical farming, but they look an awful lot alike.
Buying local, on the other hand, hurts. It's not just a higher upfront cost; it's a sacrifice of variety, of convenience, of availability, sometimes of quality. To eat local, you can't shop at the same grocery stores; you'll almost always have to seek out markets or CSAs or buying clubs. To eat local, you can't eat the same foods; you can't cook the same recipes. You need new skills: cooking, canning, baking. Some things you will just have to give up.
The organic movement asks for change that works within the system. The local food movement asks you to abandon the system.
That right there is the central struggle, I think, of the entire green movement. Is it easy, or is it hard? Can we do what we've always done, but better, or do we have to do something different altogether?
Take CFLs. People are really starting to get the message about CFLs. Undeniably better for the environment than incandescents. Readily available. No major lifestyle changes -- screws right in to your old sockets, thanks-very-much. The upfront cost is made up for by long-term energy savings. Good for the environment. Good for you. Easy!
And not nearly enough. What we really need is for people to turn off more lights. We need to live in smaller houses. I read an article in the newspaper a month or two ago where a man was lamenting his family's high energy bills. He had a 2,000-3,000 square foot house, two stories, two air conditioning systems, several TVs with video game systems... his comment? "But we haven't got a normal light bulb in the entire place!"
That's the problem. So we raise awareness about CFLs -- and do people think they're done? Because CFLs are a tiny, tiny start, and the more we convince people that going green is as easy as switching their lightbulbs, the more we lie. Marketing corn-based plastic products as being the "green" alternative is doing society a disservice. We will need to use less plastic; we can't just make it out of corn.
Buying organic produce is great. But when it is raised in a massive, vulnerable monoculture, trucked across the continent, washed in a factory, packaged in plastic... this is not the face of sustainability. The sustainable option is available once a week, in a wooden crate, covered in specks of dirt. We need to eat locally... but it hurts!
Hybrids are great, but we really need to drive less. Walking, biking, public transportation -- but it hurts!
You can buy a hybrid at your favorite dealership, drive your same route, use your same parking place, leave at the same time, justify the cost in the gas savings. It's easy. You pay with your money, not with your time or your convenience or your comfort.
It's easy, and it's not enough.
So here's the question: do we do this gradually? Do we start with organic pretzels and organic yogurt cups and plastic-packaged organic produce, with CFLs and hybrids and bamboo flooring and hemp clothes, and slowly work our way up to the real lifestyle changes? Do we gloss over the need for smaller houses, fewer cars, closer vacations, less shopping, less exotic food, smaller families -- less, fewer and smaller of everything? Or do we need to start, right now, hammering in the fact that the way we live is not sustainable, and the changes we have to make will, indeed, hurt?
I see the value in not scaring people away from the green movement. Heck, it's working really well. But at the same time, I am terrified that we will grow complacent well before we really can.
Economic forces will help us, if we let them. Gas prices are going up! It's fantastic! (please don't shoot me!) But it would be much more comfortable if we can start adjusting before we absolutely have to.
As I say this, of course, I don't buy organic all the time. I don't buy local all the time. William and I drive to Mesa two to three times a week. I am speaking not as a perfect carbon-neutral angel passing judgment on others, but as a fellow human being who also wishes that living sustainably hurt a little less.
But all the same, it will hurt. Should we be pretending that it won't?
Monday, April 28, 2008
you are what you buy
Sunday, April 27, 2008
polly wanna?
I've been baking a lot of crackers lately. It's instant-gratification baking; no rising, no long baking times, no kneading, no frosting: one bowl, one baking sheet, two pieces of wax paper and a rolling pin. Done!
And, of course, you get munchable, munchable crackers at the end. And unlike cookies, you can eat as many as you want without any qualms!
Here are the three recipes that I've tried out. The process is essentially the same for all three: to roll them out, place the dough between two pieces of wax paper. If you are broke and clueless, butter two pieces of parchment paper like I did. Works! Then roll it out with a rolling pin until it is "1/4 inch thick." Or, as I like to say, pretty thin.
Score it deeply with a knife, prick each square with a fork a couple of times, and sprinkle on top anything you want to sprinkle on top.
The contenders:
1. (from Bob's Red Mill Rye Crackers)
1/2 cup white flour
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 tsp salt
1 T sugar
1 tsp baking powder
4 T margarine
3 T milk
Combine dry ingredients; work in margarine with a pastry knife; stir in milk to make a soft dough. Roll out VERY thin -- 1/8 -1/16th inch, and score. Bake at 400 degrees for 5-6 minutes.
These were very hard to roll out as skinny as the recipe asks for, which is probably why the crackers I wound up with were rather too thick. They were crisp, but not overly so, and took rather longer than 5-6 minutes to bake. Also, they seemed to bake better when separated, not just scored, which is way too much work. With salt on top, they were okay -- not great, though. And I always strive for greatness. NEXT!
2. From Mark Bittman's cracker recipe
3/4 c white flour
1/4 c whole wheat flour
1/4 t salt
2 T cold butter
1/4 cup water
2 t honey
Combine dry ingredients. Work in butter with a pastry knife. Add the water and honey, and combine to make a soft dough; add more water if necessary. Roll out to 1/4 inch thick, score, and bake at 400 degrees for 10 minutes.
Flaky and delicious! These crackers were almost pastry-like -- not surprising, looking at the recipe -- and very, very flaky. They were crisp, and browned nicely without having to be separated. Topped with salt, they were good; topped with sugar and cinnamon? Freaking amazing. Houston, we have a keeper.
3. from straight from the farm's artisan herb crackers
1 c white flour
1/4 cup whole wheat flour
1 1/2 tsp dried herbs
1/2 t salt
2 T olive oil
3/8 c water
Combine dry ingredients. Add olive oil and water, then more water if necessary, to make a rough dough. Knead briefly, until the dough comes together. Roll, score, and bake at 400 degrees for 15 minutes.
These cookies were denser than the last, with a harder sort of crunch. Mine also tasted DREADFUL -- but that's my fault. I scribbled down notes on the recipe a couple days before baking it, and "dried herbs" became transmuted to "fresh herbs." So I put in fresh rosemary, and the flavor was downright overwhelming. The batch got chucked, that's now much I couldn't stand it.
I don't blame the recipe, though. I might try again in the future... but I'll wait a while.
We have a winner... Mark Bittman, I'm buying your books at the first opportunity!
Should I get How To Cook Everything, or How To Cook Everything Vegetarian? I just don't know.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
product indorsement
I admit it. I am a sucker for anything promising to be a Happy Indulgence. What's not to love?
We stopped at the local japanese market after work, because William had a gyoza craving. It was hot today -- 93 degrees -- and a cooler of popsicles caught my eye. Fruitfull, they said. Happy and healthy. A happy indulgence!
So I sprang for it, and bought a truly delicious strawberry popsicle. It had bits of strawberry in it and it hit the spot. A happy indulgence indeed.
And the packaging was amusing, and their website is like a blast from the past. Pretty much just awesome.
Friday, April 25, 2008
playing ketchup
Not dead! Me! Not dead!
That was a strange way of explaining my absence, but I’m kind of a strange cookie sometimes. Other times, I’m a strange cracker.
(Incidentally. Ketchup? Catsup? Catchup? Strange word for sauce, no matter how you spell it, neh? Wikipedia, my supplementary brain, reports that it is believed to come from the Amoy dialect of Chinese. Or from Malay. Strange indeed.)
Returning to our regularly scheduled programming, I am indeed not dead. I went home for a delightful weekend with family and friends, and after two delightful days with family I started vomiting my brains out, and remained quite sickly for the remaining day-with-friends. I might possibly have gotten food poisoning.
Food. Poison. What a dreadful combination of words. I felt downright betrayed! I love food! I always try to do right by it, and enjoy it properly and all, and here was a meal most emphatically not appreciating my efforts. While it may have been a stomach virus after all, I am still very suspicious. I hate to look askance on a fine-tasting portabello cooked in the restaurant of a family friend, but I’m afraid I can’t quite tamp down my doubts.
So a weekend of fine food and not mucking around in any kitchen turned into a weekend of almost no food and not mucking around in any kitchen, except for when I made ramen and jello. I really enjoyed the jello. I made two boxes and ate one scoop… you’re welcome, familia, for the jiggly goodness in the fridge! :D
It really does jiggle. It is possibly the best thing ever.
So I have only recently returned and recovered. Faced with an empty crisper and scantly-filled cupboards, I made tacos. Because pantry + cheese = dinner. And how can it get much more perfect than that? A lot of great young-broke-and-clueless dinners consist of pantry+cheese. Pasta. Rice and beans. Well, that's all I can think of, actually. So I'll say it again: lots.
Anyway, taco-making also involved making my first corn tortillas. The process is incredibly easy; probably the easiest recipe in the world. Mix masa harina and water; press into a circle; cook on ungreased skillet for 50 seconds per side.
Of course, being so easy, I managed to find every possible way to make it harder. Here are a few suggestions: Suck at measuring things. Randomly decide to add extra water. Don't have a tortilla press. Don't have a timer.
Actually, not having a tortilla press was kind of fun. Kind of. It meant I had to press the tortillas flat with a big cast-iron skillet; so first I tried on the counter, and let me tell you what, my upper body strength (or lack thereof) was not cutting it. Or pressing it, rather.
So I ended up with a plastic-covered cutting board on the floor, masa on top of that, then a big skillet, then a plastic bag, then me. Me, standing in that skillet in my professional kitten-heels, moving my weight around to try to press the tortilla evenly... I sort of rocked back and forth a little like I was pretending to surf.
Would a tortilla press have been that much fun? Certainly not!
(P.S. -- I want a tortilla press.)
So the tortillas turned out okay -- some a better thickness and texture than others. I need more practice. But masa harina was really cheap, and the whole thing was a bit of an adventure.
Last night I made indian food; rice pilaf, curried vegetables, garlic naan. It was all okay. The naan recipe I used this time had yeast, but no yogurt, which is interesting, as the last recipe I used had yogurt, but no yeast. I wish I could do a side-by-side taste comparison, because my memory has them both tasting like, well, naan. I guess I could do a taste test... but I'd feel silly making two different kinds of naan.
Exciting discovery! Naan can be reheated in a toaster. Okay, maybe it's obvious to you. But it was totally the delight of my afternoon.
That's all.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
my starter and I
We are getting along just fine now. I take back everything I said. About two days ago it decided that it was time to grow up and get out into the big, big world, and it suddenly swelled up to two-thirds of the mason jar. Needless to say, I was ecstatic!
This delightfully living starter is now safely tucked away in the fridge. I do hope it will still be alive when we get back. I cannot wait to see if it will actually work and raise my bread. It just doesn't seem entirely possible...
Monday, April 14, 2008
starter's game
I am having starter drama. My starter has finally stopped smelling like something died in it -- now it smells strong and sour, but entirely edible. I would say, in my limited experience, that it smells right.
HOWEVER. It is NOT rising up. It is not crawling up the sides of the jar. It is not gently doming on the top. It has not increased to 3 cups -- nowhere near. It looks alive -- it is full of little bubbles and all -- but there is a distinct lack of expansion.
Also, it is incredibly liquid. It was a stiff sort of batter , then a less stiff sort of batter, and then -- POOF! -- it turns into something I could drink. You know, if I wanted to. Watery. Sloshing about. I am wondering if I accidentally added water twice on one of these days. I would like to think I am not that dumb, but I am not dumb enough to think that I am not that dumb. Is that dumb?
No, really. I think I might have. It's just... very, very liquid.
I was really hoping that it would be established enough to be refrigerated by the time we went home for 4 days. Because traveling with my starter just doesn't seem like that good of an idea. But if it hasn't expanded by Friday, I think I'll have to throw it out and start over.
It's so sad! I don't want to break up with my starter! But I feel that I have no choice... alas!
My life is so tragic.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
i'll probably be the next fleming or something
blargh. i am sick of bad cheese. I swear that mozzarella wasn't that old. and yet there it sat, super duper mcmoldy. And not 'cut off the moldy bits and use the rest' moldy -- and besides, the internet tells me that it's only okay to do that on harder cheeses, like cheddar. apparently poor mozzarella is too squishy.
super. duper. mcmoldy. And my pizza dough was all ready! I could have cried. That's what I get for knowing what I have in my kitchen and not bothering to check.
So I sent William out to fetch me some. Every time I look despairingly out of the kitchen and say, "dear, would you mind..." a little piece of me DIES.
I am a little more dead today.
But yes. Yesterday for dinner we had pizza. Pizza and soda. and it was deeeelicious.
I feel like some folks have wound up with the impression that I am all health-nutty. I was talking about chocolate with one of my coworkers and she said, "wait -- as healthy as you eat, you still like chocolate?" I almost choked. What is this nonsense about me eating "healthy?" I bake cookies and pies on a regular basis, I love chocolate and ice cream and cake -- I like things that taste good. Who doesn't?
And how on earth did she get the idea that I could live without chocolate?
The thing is, I don't like eating gross food. Pizza in a box? Usually gross, although there are some exceptions. Those soft, strangely-colored "cookies" sold at supermarkets? Gross. Shrink-wrapped little debbie cakes? Disgusting. Anything with aspartame? I can freaking taste it -- like somebody sprinkled sour metal shavings into my no-fat yogurt. I don't care how "healthy" they say that is, it is gross. Limp sandwiches that are 90% sprouts? Gross.
Most sodas? Gross, gross, gross. I don't know. I have somehow moved away from liking anything that comes out of a soda fountain. Right now the root beer is about all I can handle, and even that isn't too enjoyable. I don't know what about it tastes so bad -- it's too sweet, too syrupy, or something.
We had Fufuberry instead, and that is some delicious stuff, yo. Props to Jones Soda for the only soda of theirs I really love. Props also to them for all their other, very creative sodas that I don't love at all.
I suppose my food philosophy, if it could be summed up, would center on the fact that I like eating delicious food that doesn't make me feel bad. Food that doesn't make me feel physically bad, like fat-filled meals make me feel heavy and nauseous, and like sugary candies make me feel ill fifteen minutes after I eat them. Food that doesn't gross me out, like anything with lard in it does. Food that doesn't make me feel guilty, like factory-farmed meat or -- well, the category of 'food that makes me feel guilty' seems to be expanding, thanks to my reading choices. Drat.
Things that taste good but feel bad seem like they should be easy to avoid, especially when there are all kinds of yummy foods that make a body feel good. In fact, these days, the only place I have problems is with candy. There are always jars around in the office, and even though I know I'll regret it, I frequently grab a few and gulp them down. And then I regret it.
My own desserts rarely make me feel regretful. It turns out I can eat a fair amount of pie without feeling icky afterwards. Cookies are easy to have in moderation -- they're the right size and everything. And a lot of what I make for dessert starts life as non-threatening fruit, and doesn't get much transformed along the way. Have you ever had broiled grapefruit? (Recipe: Turn on the broiler. Sprinkle as much brown sugar as your sweet tooth desires on top of your grapefruit halves. Pop them under the broiler til they smell delicious and you can't wait any longer. Enjoy.)
Most of the time, I eat food that actually makes me feel good. I'm usually proud of myself for having made it, and I am continuing to discover what sorts of dishes leave me feeling energized and refreshed, and what sorts of things leave me a little bloated or queasy or sleepy or just feeling off. My body certainly doesn't have ascetic tastes -- it's anti-grease and salt, but loves spicy foods, roasted vegetables, dark chocolate after dinner, fruit smoothies, coconut milk, lots of fruit, honey -- even deep-fried things, in moderation. Did you know that if you deep-fry things right, they shouldn't be greasy?
And just like soda doesn't have to be sickly-sweet and cloying, pizza doesn't have to be a greasy, limp mess. Mine was tomato sauce, mozzarella, sauteed onions and red bell pepper, broiled eggplant, and spinach. A bit of canola oil, a bit more olive oil -- no grossness required. I did learn a few things -- I didn't saute the spinach, and I think that if I try that again, I will put the spinach under the cheese. It seems obvious in retrospect, but there was some pretty crunchy spinach involved. But overall, it was good.
The last couple pizzas I had made were thin-crust; good, but not the same as the thick, crisp, chewy crust that my dad makes. I was really craving pizza like I grew up on (I miss all kinds of things!) and I called him to find his recipe, but I couldn't reach him. What to do? I decided to go with the Joy of Cooking recipe, figuring that odds were pretty good he had started from there. If not, hey, it'd still be pizza. And it turned out pretty darn close!
I totally understand that people are reluctant to eliminate tasty things from their diet in favor of low-fat, low-calorie, low-carb, low-pleasure diets that leave them hungry and cranky. Pretty much everybody agrees that those diets aren't good for you, anyway. But why would we seek out foods that make us feel ill, and avoid good, wholesome foods: whole-fat, whole-calorie, whole-carb, whole-pleasure diets that actually nourish?
A live without pizza would be a sad one indeed -- but trading greasy deliveries for fresh ingredients, a crust just how you want it, and a far more flavorful experience... how is that hard? Why is that unusual?