A call for conscientious consumerism

By the time you read this, the last of the Hanukkah wrapping paper will have already been cleaned from living room floors and siren-producing toys will have been rigged for eternal silence. But as with many Jews, my interfaith marriage means that my holiday season is still ramping up for round two: Christmas with my in-laws.

Also like many people, I find myself torn each year between my concern that the meanings of both Hanukkah and Christmas have been distorted by consumerism, and the desire to take advantage of the opportunity to spoil my loved ones with treats. Each year, my family and I debate whether we will buy presents or redirect our monies to charitable causes. Inevitably, we decide on donations and then can't resist treating one another — a cushy pair of hiking socks here, a KitchenAid food grinder there.

The most recent Triad Health Project newsletter reminded me that there is another option: conscientious consumerism. The Guilford County HIV/AIDS support organization has partnered with GiveBackAmerica.org, a Web site that connects major retailers to local charities nationwide; the charities then receive a portion of every purchase made. Target, for example, will donate 2.5 percent of every purchase to THP; Turbo Tax has offered up 5 percent. These percentages then come directly back into our community and the food bank, HIV testing, counseling and other services that THP provides.

If keeping your charitable dollars local isn't a top priority for you, GreaterGood.org has options that will benefit communities in need worldwide. Better known by it component sites — including The Hunger Site, The Breast Cancer Site, The Child Health Site and more — the online store includes everything from clothes to jewelry to household décor, with profits going to everything from free mammograms to rainforest preservation. Additionally, the artisans who produce the products are paid a fair trade wage, making the purchases doubly impactful.

Of course, if supporting artisan works is important to you, look no farther than my favorite spot in Greensboro, the Greensboro Farmers' Curb Market. Between the stalls of hearty winter foods, like greens, eggs and baked goods, are an increasing number of craftspeople. Jewelry, purses, aprons, gourmet teas, pottery, wooden toys and even metal art pounded into existence by my good friend James Quinn are all available at the market. Some products, like the soaps by Mermaid Says, pack an extra punch by being both locally made and environmentally conscious.

There are no distributor fees or overseas shipping in these products, just raw materials and the elbow grease of those who made them. These kinds of purchases not only keep your money in our local economy, but they also personalize gift giving by replacing our typical off-the-rack gifts with one-of-a-kind handcrafted goods.

The gifts I gave for Hanukkah and will give for Christmas are a blend of donations, conscientious consumer products and good, old-fashioned American spending. Had I known about GiveBackAmerica.org a few weeks ago, I likely could have directed all of my holiday shopping through charitable organizations.

One of the joys of this season is treating our friends and family to physical reminders of our affection for them. Still, there's no need to sacrifice the Christmas morning mad dash to the tree (or weeklong eyeballing of the gifts by the menorah) to preserve the bigger picture of giving during the holiday season.

Disaster and dine

Some nights, dinner appears effortlessly out of a seemingly empty fridge, sometimes as simple as a baked sweet potato and a pile of roasted green beans. Some nights, I like to put a little more effort in, perhaps even following a recipe, like the night before last when I set out to make a scrumptious sounding Hazelnut & Chard Ravioli Salad from 101 Cookbooks.

So, I had beautiful goat cheese ravioli from Giacomo's, and appealing substitutions of pine nuts and mustard greens from the market. It's a rather long recipe - not complicated, just plenty of steps involving plenty of pans. I started with the butternut squash croutons... which never quite crisped... but no worries, butternut squash is one of the candies of the veggie world regardless of texture. Moving on.

Sauteing onions, check. Ravioli slowly boiling themselves to the top of the pot, check. Time to wash the greens.

Dirt, my friends, comes part and parcel with shopping at the farmers' market. You wouldn't know it from a grocery store, but most of our food does, in fact, originate in soil. Washing greens, then, is an endurance test: dunk the torn, de-stemmed leaves in a bowl of cold water, swish to dislodge dirt, lift the greens into a colander, clean out the wash bowl and repeat (and repeat and repeat).

As I tore these mustard greens, however, they seemed a little dirtier than usual, with large flakes of dirt shooting across my counter and sticking to my hands. I covered the first bowl in cold water and saw all the flakes float to the surface... some of them looked a little frayed at the edges. I scooped up a palm-full of dirt, held my hand practically to my nose, and realized that the specs of dirt I had been diligently attempting to wash away were in fact tiny bugs, millions of them.

Now, I have certainly picked a bug or two out of my produce before and continued my merry meal prep because it's like the slow foodies like to say: the only thing worse than finding half a worm in your apple is eating apples no self-respecting worm would bore into. I'm paraphrasing.

But millions of tiny bugs coating each of my dozens of mustard leaves? My apologies to the farmer who sweated over that greens patch (and only charged $1 for the entire grocery bag of greens - come on, guys - ask for what your food is worth!!) but everything was swept into the trash. I submerged my dishcloth in water to drown the remaining bugs, then had Rob give me a full-body scan in the hopes that being reassured by my one true love that bugs were not, in fact, covering every inch of my body would keep me from having to take a scalding shower where I scrub myself with a brillo. Beyond a couple moments of feeling imaginary pairs of miniature legs climbing me, it worked pretty well.

Once the bugs had been dispatched with, I decided that sauteed portobello mushrooms would be a workable replacement for the missing bulk of our dinner. These were also a farmers' market purchase but a week and a half old so the shrooms had already lost a good bit of moisture, on their way to becoming dried shrooms. But it's getting late (even for us, who eat after 9 more often than we'd like) and we're hungry so I just chop them and throw them in a lightly oiled pan.

Shortly thereafter, as I was grating lemon zest and parmesan for the garnish when I noticed the acrid smell of the mushrooms burning. Not just a little scorched but beyond repair and taking my pan with it. Yup, an operator error stole my last ditch effort at salvaging our meal.

So there we were with six large, cooked raviolis, a pan of sauteed butternut squash and caramelized onions, toasted pine nuts, grated lemon zest and some shredded parmesan cheese, proving yet again that some of the best meals (and ideas in general) are borne of mistakes. The greens or mushrooms would have added a lovely and nutritionally-packed element, but by piling all the ingredients on the ravioli, we had an amazing meal filled with distinct, light flavors.

Hurrah for happy culinary endings!

Local farmers help me connect to earth and sky

Back when we were students there, my friends and I knew where all of the best puddles were at Page High School. Even at the height of coolness, there was no amount of posturing that could keep us from spending pre- and post-school hours soaking ourselves by jumping into their depths. As my puddle-splashing impulses morphed into a desire to stay comfy and dry (at least on most rainy days) rain became for me what it is to many Americans: a nuisance, something to run through on the way to something important, a gloom in the air that becomes an excuse for any turn in mood.

Looking back, I can now see that as one consequence of our food system. When food comes from thousands of miles away, when produce is picked for its eye-pleasing symmetry and uniformity, when meats are butchered beyond any resemblance to the animal they once were and shrink-wrapped like plastic action figures, it’s easy to forget that our core ingredients – fruits, vegetables, meats and grains – are the result of the magical convergence of soil, its nutrients and that wedding day blessing, rain.

Spending time at the farmers’ market acts as not only a great reminder of the origins of food, it also demonstrates the final essential element: the touch of a diligent farmer. Behind the tables covered in produce grown in our figurative backyards are women and men with calloused, dirt-tinted hands. These are the very farmers who pour their own sweat into the fields, sometimes in concert with the rain and sometimes, like this year, in rain’s stead.

Brian Gann, a third generation farmer in McLeansville, said his farm has seen only three-tenths of an inch of rain in the last three weeks. With so little cumulus assistance, Brian, like many area farmers, has had to rely on irrigation, a costly endeavor that puts him in the unfortunate position of choosing between slimming already narrow profit margins or raising prices. “We have a lot of old timer customers from back in my dad’s day,” Brian said during a conversation at the market this past Saturday. “I hate to raise the prices because I know a lot of them live on a fixed income.”

Despite preludes from developers, Brian, also like many area farmers, is choosing to diversify his offerings rather than abandoning his farming roots. By focusing on low-water and –labor crops, like mushrooms, and selling top-quality hand-crafted goods like homemade apple pie and an absolutely irresistible, but limited production, cheddar cheese, he’s able to fill out tables already covered in produce from eggplant to pole beans. In an amazing defiance of the 24 hour day, Brian also finds time, with the help of his mom and brother who share the work load at the family farm, to run a full-service landscaping business, Gann’s Lawn Management.

When I woke up this morning, the sky was grey and the trees were swaying in a strong breeze. After several years of buying food from the people who grow it, and hearing the stories of all they do so that their customers can have those beautiful Japanese eggplants and heirloom tomatoes in every hue from translucent green to deep purple, grey skies no longer look like a prelude to Seasonal Affective Disorder to me. Instead, they look like the prelude to delicious meals and the key ingredient to supporting the livelihoods of people who I have come to deeply respect for their dedication to the land and care of their customers.

Celebrating independence

I woke up this morning with the realization that yesterday was the tenth anniversary of my grandfather's death. It doesn't seem that long. To this day, I'm not positive what he died of, though it seemed to be a variety of things that ended with his body just shutting down. His brother, a man who I hadn't seen in many years, was at the hospital that morning, looking more like my grandfather than the pale, sunken man in the bed. I always thought that being with someone as they died would be peaceful and reassuring but it wasn't - I was left wondering how he could go from living to gone with virtually no change in appearance... not that I really expected one, but the mystery of bodies, souls and life itself were overwhelmingly apparent in that moment.

With my eyes still glazed in tears, Rob and I went to the farmers' market in the hopes of a watermelon and maybe some squash to transform into fritters for tonight's potluck. It was quiet with very few vendors but the atmosphere was joyful and everyone was particularly chatty. One farmer we regularly purchase from tipped us off that he would have the first of his corn crop for sale on Saturday. The Simple Kneads woman appreciated my "Eat Local" tee-shirt.

We sat outside to eat a breakfast of Simple Kneads cinnamon roll (it's all about worthwhile splurges - i.e. Cinnabon will not cross my lips) and a passing woman commented on our happiness. It's a funny thing that Rob and I are often noticed and/or remembered because we are outwardly happy. In a way it's flattering, but mostly it's a sad commentary that we would be noticeable for what should be a common emotion.

Then it was off to the parade to see our friend's creation:
It was the pièce de résistance of the anti-war/impeach Bush and Cheney contingent, along with Cakalak Thunder, of course. I will say that this Mr. Bush received many more cheers and supporting applause than boos - and certainly more than the real Dubya would get these days.

More of Rob's pictures from the parade:


Well, onto more 4th festivities. Don't forget to check out Big Bang Boom at the Children's stage at Fun 4th at 12:15. Go on - if you don't leave now, you'll never make it in time!

Last week in the CSA bag

As I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, it's CSA season and I am going to try to keep some recipes and other food-related thoughts posted. Last week, our CSA bag included:

• Salad bag of mixed lettuces
• A head of lettuce
• Green onions
• Snow peas
• Broccoli
• Chioggia beets

We also bought Swiss chard, radishes, garlic scapes and shiitakes.

I've been making a practice of making a huge salad over the weekend then eating off of it all week. Alton Brown suggested nested tupperware containers, with holes poked in the top one, for thawing seafood in the fridge; I've found this works equally well for keeping salad fresh throughout the week. I put the green onion, snow peas, radishes and garlic scapes in the salad along with the oh-so-delectable crunchy sprout mix I recently ran across in the produce section of Earth Fare.

Much of what was left went into a massive stir-fry (recipe below).

The beets were the really notable meal, though. We ate them with baked sweet potatoes (I put Greek yogurt and cinnamon on mine - really creamy and wonderful). Heirloom varieties are Pat & Brian Bush's trademark - the Chioggia Italian heirloom beets are a reminder of why we are so lucky to have farmers like them.

I put the beets in a foil pouch with a splash of white wine vinegar and roasted the beets and the sweet potatoes in my toaster oven at 375 for an hour. (I love cooking in my toaster oven because it automatically turns off at the end of the timer - and it's energy efficient.) Once cooked, I peeled them (rub with a paper towel to remove the skin, and be sure to wear gloves if they're the traditional red beets), sliced them thickly and topped with a squeeze of lemon and a tiny drizzle of good olive oil. They're unbelievably sweet and flavorful, and they don't have the undertone of dirt that grocery store beets sometimes have.

Not only was it a delicious meal, but it took only 15-20 minutes of active prep time and an hour of unsupervised cooking time.