It's raining. I woke up this morning still full from last night's dinner, thinking about my navy blue Hunter wellies. I mentally perused the aisle at the Long Beach Southeast Farmers Market, the weather stealing my usual excitement for the promise of organic strawberries and a fresh bouquet of white lilies. I wanted to stay in bed with my new purchase from yesterday's Literary Women's Festival of Authors. Suddenly, a thought.
I CAN.
It's March 2nd. My month as a locavore has officially come to a close.
"Heading to the farmers market?" My roommate asked.
"Nope. Not today."
When I set up this project, I purposely picked February for my locavore experiment. February has the fewest number of days. As I suspected, this month has been a greater challenge than last month's cash diet. Surprisingly, and despite my reluctance to head out into the rain today, I'm not eager to leave it behind.
I thought this month was going to be about losing the last five pounds of "unhappy lawyer" weight. It was possibly going to be about juicier oranges, and probably about feeling better about spending my hard-sought money on groceries. It quickly became apparent that it was about more than that. It was about connection.
Food is connection to the environment. We meet friends, dates, and potential clients for lunches and dinners. We have entire holidays centered around eating too much and passing out in front of football games. And yet, most of us, myself included, remain disconnected from the food lining our fridges and pantries. In eating my way through this month, I learned about orange groves in Orange County, bee colonies in Inglewood, and the reproductive habits of goats in the Mojave Desert. And for the first time since I was old enough to witness the power of the ocean, I felt connected to my environment. It became more than just a pretty picture, it became a source of nourishment.
Food is connection to people. It's Bread Guy who remembers the 7-grain wheat loaf you bought last week and recommends something new for you to try. It's Flower Man who learns about your affinity for lilacs and throws an extra bouquet into your bundle at the end of the day. Cheese Lady who proudly gives you an aged cheddar sample to try because it tastes exactly like pecorino romano. Eating local is about more than improving your health and enticing your taste buds with seasonal produce; its about the people who's hard work brings food to your table. People who will, if you allow them to, get to know you. People who will make your large-ish city feel like a small town.
Food is connection to creativity. As usual, I charged into this month with a lot of enthusiasm and very little know-how, craving the chance to try something--anything new. My roommate, who is. . . . um, settled in his ways, was less excited about this venture into the culinary abyss. But creativity is connection to our own originality, and what I am starting to suspect is that the desire to be original, to be authentic, to create and to be creative is a force that is even more powerful than fear of the unknown. As he grabbed his coat and his wallet to head out into the rain this morning, I asked where he was going.
"To the farmers market. I think I might buy some cod for fish tacos. Are you gonna make tortillas?"
I've never made tortillas in my life. The experiment continues.
Overall grade for this month: A-
Knowing what I know now, will I continue? Well, it doesn't get more convenient than having someone else pick up your fruits and veggies and bring them to your house. The Beachgreens deliveries will definitely continue. As for the farmers market, I don't have to go every week, do I?
Yoga: 10 classes this month. Killing it. A+
