table talk / By Joseph Byrd

One Locavore Menu

An exacting critic tries his hand

(Dec. 4, 2008)  It all started with my locavore-restaurant concept, a whimsy that became a column. But readers took it seriously: “When are you opening, what’s the name going to be, who are the chefs?” As though some millionaire had just presented me with a check for $875,000. Of course, folks in the food business know that restaurant start-ups are anything but whimsical.

But it did get me thinking. The locavore and “slow food” movements are in their infancy in terms of practice, whatever their philosophies. Frankly, it is quite a challenge to cook locavore, generally defined as food that travels not more than 100 miles from the source.

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Of course, for 99.9 percent of human history, locavore was the default condition. Even at the height of the Roman Empire, with shipping routes and well-maintained roads, food was essentially local. Olive oil, dried delicacies, preserved fruits, wine and, above all, salt and spices, were about all that was imported. The basic diet was what was grown or raised in your community. Following the disintegration of the empire, feudal keeps were almost completely self-sufficient — the lord’s table might have game or other meat, but for most, food was beer, bread, porridge and the pot-au-feu, hopefully enriched by any animal that could be shot, snared, fished or scavenged.

The growth of towns and trade in the Renaissance led to a more diverse menu of imported delicacies, but only the wealthy could indulge. This was the case up into the late 19th century, when methods of food preservation made possible regional, even national distribution.

Now fast forward a century, an era when many people choose not to cook — there are ready-to-eat alternatives all around us. “After all,” writes Jean Johnson, “wasn’t that part of what the Women’s Movement was about? Freeing ourselves from the endless, thankless chore of cooking?”

The locavore and “slow food” movements are part of a grassroots backlash, taking an active role in eating seasonally and locally, and supporting community farms that produce our food.

Humboldt County vegetarians have an advantage, though not as much as one might think. One of my students bragged, “I eat locavore every meal!” I asked him what his usual evening meal was, and he said, “Sautéed veggies over rice.” Well, where does the rice come from, and what kind of oil do you sauté with?

Grains are a problem. Bread requires meal — wheat, rye, corn, etc., none grown commercially anywhere close to us. (That may change: Shakefork Community Farm sold hulled barley and oats at the Farmers’ Market this year, and Windborne Community Farm, in Scott Valley, has a mill that produces several flours, most of it for subscribers in the Bay Area.)

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