I often meet foodies strolling around the Back40 Farm. Assorted visiting foodie dignitaries, foodie authors, foodie restaurateurs, and general foodies for food’s sakes. I can tell a foodie from far away: Comfortable shoes, canvas watch band, floppy hair, thin, and very happy. Then there would be the introductions. Awkward. (I always wanted to say: “hold that thought. Stay right there. Let me go get my work boots on”)
They would look at my full figure, slicked hair, endangered species belt and give me one of those half smiles….looking back on those encounters is amusing for me now.
Because I have been converted? Because I think sprouts and kale should continue to be categorized as edible? No, not at all, on either count.
I’m amused by what it must have been like for them to meet me…..they had heard about people like me; they had read about us in a Forbes or GQ, when there was nothing else to read in the doctor’s office.
But to actually meet an unconscious consumer, in the french fried flesh? Must have been quite entertaining for them.
I can laugh at myself now….it’s not like I can travel back in time and make amends to God, Nature, and all those people who carry a compass to find their food.
I have come very far. Please accept me as reformed, and improved. I often recycle. I haven’t used Miracle Grow on my veggies in 10 years, and I always bring out the organic condiments when my sister visits.
If you think I’m coming up short on the whole sustainable living scale? Think about how far I’ve come, and give a guy a break.
In the 1980’s I ate so much Velveeta spray cheese that my friends would give it to me for birthdays. I drank 6 diet cokes, every day, for 5 years.
For me to be such an outspoken supporter of organic farming, in practice and in preach, is a much bigger accomplishment than some forager foodie who grew up on a kibbutz in the Oregon woods eating soup made out of bark.
I have done 2 juice cleanses, know how to pronounce Quinoa, and have read all of Micheal Pollan’s books. That HAS to count for something!
I remember pulling into the Litchfield Farmers market last summer and thinking to myself, Man, I’m a Foodie! I am a flea-market-shopping, practical shoe wearing, salad eating foodie! It was invigorating!
I’m going to go buy some carrots and iceberg lettuce and cucumbers , (hold the fiddlehead) an organic dressing with a date scribbled on it instead of a label, read Edible Nutmeg and not care what my hair looks like! (well, maybe not the hair; let’s not get crazy here).