Mother may have been a fan of the new, growing local, sustainable food movement. She bought local food that couldn’t have traveled thousands of miles or else it wouldn’t have been as inexpensive in Trinidad. She regularly shopped for her fish from a guy on a bicycle with a cooler attached to the handlebars and a horn to announce his arrival. Tooting loudly and repeatedly when he’d arrived at her garden gate with fish that he would bring in from the nearby docks at the Gulf Of Paria. The fish wrapped in gazette paper (old newspapers) which Mother would open and inspect, sniffing it for freshness. Did it smell fishy or like the sea? If the latter, she would buy a couple red snapper, grouper or other. Later butchering it herself with a cheap knife, yet somehow cleanly filleting and neatly chopping it before stewing with ground provisions to make a thick concoction with ground provisions for her and Daddy to sup right before going to bed – blogo they called it. Or she’d put it into soups, the fish infusing the broth, yams, dasheen, green bananas, breadfruit and the homemade dumplings with their ocean freshness. Her produce came from de market, what here in the U.S. we call a farmers’ market. Every Saturday she would walk to the one in Couva, near her home or take a taxi to the larger market a few miles away in Chaguanas, haggling with vendors and selecting the only the best fruit and vegetables. I remember going with her on several occasions. For some reason, the following exchange, one that likely occurred when I was no more than nine years old is one that I remember best:
“What a pound for the zabocah?” She asked a man, stooping down to pick up and inspect his wares, which was generally frowned upon, the farmers disrespected by such boldfaced skepticism.
“Dollar a pound.” A farmer/vendor responded.
“But dey look hard.” Mother replied. She didn’t believe that the avocado (known as zabocah on the island) was ripe yet.
“Not harder than you.” The feisty vendor retorted, half in jest.
They both laughed heartily. She paid him less than the dollar a pound he tried to fetch. I guess the joke was on him in the end.
Chickens, duck, and eggs (from chickens and ducks) sometimes, but not always came from poultry Mother raised, which today would be considered free range because they roamed around the property, sleeping in the mango and guava tree when dusk fell, the roosters crowing to welcome the morning from their lofty perch. Daddy raised goats. I don’t remember him slaughtering them for meals but maybe he did. We did eat fresh goat meat on occasion, curried or stewed, succulent and thick, dripping with fresh seasoning, from a local herb, wildly growing only near running water, called bandania loaded with numerous other spices and tastes, like the island’s inhabitants a true melting pot of good eats.
I’ve been reading Barbara Kingsolver’s (probably best known for The Poisonwood Bible, a national bestseller and Oprah Book Club selection) Animal, Vegetable, Mineral (HarperCollins Publishers, May 2007) Part memoir, part journalistic investigation, this book tells the story of how the Kingsolver family spent one year of deliberately eating local food in a sustainable way. It’s been pleasurable read for the most part, but it’s also led me to question the definition of sustainable, local food, a movement that’s taken off and is growing about as much as the organic movement once did before it was corrupted by capitalism that destroyed its spirit by undermining its meaning.
In typical U.S. fashion, local, sustainable food seems to be defined narrowly as food produced in the place one lives, as close as possible to one’s home. Mother purchased food grown this way but not because it was better for the planet or farmers but because it was cheaper. She was not the acclaimed author matriarch of an upper-class family living in Virginia so cost was much higher on her purchasing pecking order than saving Mother Earth. (No offense to the Kingsolver family.)
That being said, it’s not that I’m anti-local sustainable food. Heck, my first job in law school was as a legal intern at The Massachusetts Department of Food and Agriculture where I became sold on the value of saving family farms. Plus, I plain like the taste of locally grown better. I belong to a community-supported fish share too, as I’ve previously written about. What bothers me about the local, sustainable food movement is that for all its good qualities it’s classist. Poor people will not and cannot pay twice as much for their tomatoes even if they’re better for their family and for Massachusetts. I’ve taught cooking classes for low-income families through Operation Frontline’s Share Our Strength program, (link to the Massachusetts chapter: http://strength.org/operation_frontline/mass/) in which I try to encourage those with young children (under 5) to use their W.I.C. coupons at the markets and that’s about as much as I have been able to persuade them to do.
Because I believe in inclusion more than, well, almost anything else, I’d like to suggest that we expand the definition of sustainable, local food to include recipes, culture, and families, in this way, poor people will not be left out. In my experience as a diversity consultant, when people feel more included they are more encouraged to participate. Who knows, maybe as Barbara Kingsolver proposes, they may then want to splurge once a week on those pricey greens and onions at the farmers market, eating at least one meal a week that’s from a source close to home, significantly, thus, contributing to cutting down on our fossil fuel dependence via our food supply.
East Somerville Main Streets, an organization dedicated to developing community initiatives and events that reflect and promote the true character of East Somerville, Massachusetts recently produced a fantastic recipe book. In it, recipes of local families and business establishments are shared alongside vignettes about the recipe and/or the contributor. In this way, ESMS has contributed to sustaining not only the longevity of the recipes but also the local ethnicities in East Somerville, its long time and new family-owned businesses in a community culturally composed as a historical matter, working class immigrants and now of new, young middle-class to upper-middle class families and couples. What an innovative way to promote local and sustainable food by expanding the concept while simultaneously being more inclusive!
This week’s menu borrows one recipe from their recipe book – given to me as a Christmas present by a reader and dear friend. Thank you! I chose this recipe, in part, because it was from a woman from a large family, like Mother’s and mine to some extent, who all grew up and still live in East Somerville. The drumsticks were simple to make yet full of complex flavor. The dessert recipe I borrowed from the makers of Fluff, founded in Somerville, Massachusetts (as I’ve written about in previous posts). The chocolate fudge basically disappeared over a game of Trivia Pursuit on Saturday night. I made up the fish and cold cabbage recipes. The fish was from my fish share and the cabbage not from a local source but seasonal and on sale for 99 cents at Market Basket. I may consider, if do this blog for another year, writing a local, sustainable version of it, of course on my terms using my definition, which will inclusively encompass the definition of the current movement too.
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Mother may have 