Today an Empty Plate

Today I'm fasting, along with thousands of other people around our world, in solidarity for climate justice. Bill McKibben at 350.org sent a message from Copenhagen yesterday asking people to join in this 24-hour symbolic act of gentle activism.

I know this is not by any means a solution to the complex problems of global warming or a substitute for leadership and thoughtful negotiation, but it does represent what I'm trying to do here on this blog and in my life. Thinking about where my food comes from, making informed choices about what I cook and serve to my family and friends, is no longer a strictly personal pastime. Our food is intimately linked to our environment, both local and global.

It seems unlikely, but shopping at farmers markets and eating according to the season is opening a whole field of knowledge that I somehow took for granted in the past. Knowing that this week's beautiful, velvety leeks won't be available next Thursday, that indeed they won't be around for the rest of the winter, gives me pause. It makes the leek, I don't know, in some way, more real, more precious. And the dirt inside its white layers, a reminder of our earth, even as it sits on my cutting board in New York City. This experience is leading me to pay a particular kind of attention to issues that spin all around us in the media -- issues like nutrition, drought, water supply, energy sources, glaciers melting, global warming. That new attention is not intellectual, it's empathetic. Call it linking the personal with the political -- call it, and I do, "interdependence." I've never been a political activist in my life -- but now, here I am, joining a worldwide fast (if only for a day, I mean really, I do that every time I get a colonoscopy) on behalf of people on the other side of our earth who are already dealing with the consequences of our habits of waste and gluttony. And I'm doing it, not because of some high minded idea of righting wrongs, but because it feels like a connection, a human connection that begins, literally, in my belly.

I understand why religions call for occasional periods of fasting and the contemplation that accompanies it. Most days, when I feel hungry, I think about things like the homemade goat cheese and bread in the refrigerator or the apple turnovers fresh out of the oven. But today, my hunger pangs turn my thoughts to Copenhagen and the individuals who share a conviction that there really is something important at stake and that all of our habits and choices do matter.

Polka Dot Salad

It's getting late in the season, the weather's turned frigid, and the salad greens have all but disappeared from the farmers market. Knowing there were two precious radishes and some green onions stowing away at home in the refrigerator, I hit upon a plan. Using fresh, handmade mozzarella as the base, and topped off with a few olives and my golden vinaigrette (I always use 3 parts oil to 1 part vinegar plus a squeeze of lemon, a bit of mustard, kosher salt and a dot of honey) I managed to put together a colorful and crunchy final taste of summer. Lots of winter to get through until we get back there.

Cold Milk

Guess what I just had a tall glass of? Milk. This milk. Whole milk. With the cream on top. The way my mother used to describe it. That lovely, creamy cushion of heaven floating just under the cap. Like creme fraiche. I dip it out with a teaspoon and spread it on toast with jam.

This milk comes from Jersey cows at Milk Thistle Organic Dairy Farm in Ghent, NY. Being organic farmers, the Hesse family uses no chemical pesticides or fertilizer. Their cows eat mostly grass, the food that cows, being ruminants, were meant to eat, not corn and grain. Because it doesn't have to travel far, this milk needs to be only lightly pasteurized to be safe; industrial milk loses both flavor and nutrition as a result of "ultrapasteurization" at high temperatures. The luscious cream at the top appears because this milk isn't homogenized, a method that uses high pressure to forcefully blend the milk and cream. Because it's less processed, this milk is more nutritious, a good source of complete protein, with carbohydrates for energy, and a nice balance of fats, saturated and unsaturated.

But mostly, it's incredibly delicious! And there's something wonderful about wrapping your fingers around a real glass bottle (100% reusable, that can be returned for a small discount on your next purchase) and taking a swig from its cold rim. If you want to know more about milk, check out Nina Planck's "Real Food", the chapter called 'Real Milk, Butter and Cheese.' Cheers!

I buy it at my local Columbia farmers greenmarket on Sundays. Learn more about the farm and find out where you can buy it at http://www.milkthistlefarm.com/

Caterpillar wanderings

Shopping at the farmers market brings unexpected acquaintances. While unpacking my vegetables, this little guy showed up somewhere between the kale and the lettuces. He was definitely not your ordinary supermarket escapee, embedded in a mealy tomato and wrung out from a cross-country trip. I couldn't help but notice his extraordinary greenness. Velvety and handsome, I immediately set up a photo shoot along with the glorious radish (soon to be lunch) on my kitchen counter. I later deposited him gently among the ivy in our building's sidewalk treebed. I guess he's a New Yorker now.

My Saturday Sandwich

It's built on a thick toasted slice of 7-grain bread; a generous pile of fresh greens -- velvety arugula, leaves from one of the season's last lettuces, pea shoots; 2 slices of sharp cheddar from Millport Dairy in Lancaster County; finely sliced "rainbow radishes"; homemade bread & butter pickles (also from Millport Dairy); topped off with a sprinkling of capers. Crunchy & delicious!

Back home in America

Thinking a bit wistfully of the faded elegance of certain small cafes and restaurants still found in Europe -- Fabrica di Cioccolata in Florence, where in late afternoon one can sit down to tea and pastry or stand at the bar and savor aperitifs or coffee; cafe Ferrara in Rome; Berlin's original Lutter and Wegner or Einstein Cafe. These places, where even a small morsel is treated like a meal, maintain an unbroken connection to an "old world" idea of food as a ritual of pleasure, social encounter and respite.

One thing they all have in common is a sound. It's the sound of tinkling glass and china. Real glass and real china. Not paper or cardboard or plastic. The sound of cup against saucer, knife and fork against plate. You hear it all over Europe. In theater lobbies at intermission; ice cream and candy shops; in pizzerias; through the open windows of apartments; in train stations at tiny snack bars; even at small eateries at the airport. It is an increasingly rare sound in the United States. I miss it.

Our Earth

Ben and I are here in Berlin on the weekend of extraordinary buildup to Monday, November 9th -- the celebration of the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall. Hearing and seeing so many reminders of the transformative power of individuals working together with a common understanding of what's truly at stake, I'm thinking about climate change and the fact that it is an issue of such overwhelming significance for us all.

This is an iconic photograph that you have probably seen many, many times -- the photo taken in December 1972 during the Apollo 17 space mission. A photo of home, something we all share. It is ours. And we have responsibility for it.

Normally we refer to it as "the" earth -- as though it's something 'out there' that exists on its own, separate, apart.

Language is a transmitter, and when used respectfully, has the capacity to transform and identify, in a simple medium, the essence of human experience.

I have a proposal.

From now on, I will no longer refer to "the" earth, but to "our" earth. Not the definite article, but the possessive. Our earth.

So far, I've mentioned this to three people; Martin Hope of the British Council, Martin Frick of the Global Humanitarian Forum, Benjamin Barber founder of Interdependence Day. We've made a pact. Want to join us?

More English Cheese

These are the cheeses that greet you at Neal's Yard Dairy -- on the sidewalk and inside the shop.

Buying Cheese in London

Neal's Yard Dairy is the jewel in the crown of local cheesemongering in London. They buy cheese from about seventy cheesemakers on farms around Britain and Ireland and stay in close contact both with the producers and the customers who come to their two shops in Neal's Yard (Covent Garden) and Borough Market (near London Bridge.) They see the shop counter as a vital part of what they do -- there they offer and "sometimes insist" that you taste the cheese before buying. I did; taste and buy. A small piece of Tunworth, a soft cows milk cheese made at Hyde Farm in Hampshire. Back at the hotel, it's just the right temperature and consistency -- mmmm. I understand they also export to shops on the East and West coasts in the USA. But, for us, in NY, is that really eating locally? Columbia Market on 114th and Broadway has excellent cheesemakers from the Hudson Valley.

Bikesharing

This is how they do it in Florence. When you need a bike you go to one of these "parking lots" located in various locations throughout the city. This one is particularly nice looking because it's located in the government office area and there's lots of street security. Other neighborhoods may have different stories to tell about the degree of vandalism or stealing. Paris, evidently, is having a hard time keeping its inventory intact. Same principal as Zipcars in NYC.

Lunch in Florence

This plate of turbot with olives, tomatoes, potatoes, a sprig of thyme and a whisper of Tuscan olive oil was baked in parchment. Lovely.

Green for a Change

I'm encouraged to continue with this blog by all the friends who checked it out and wrote back
with enthusiasm and information. Thank you all. It's definitely time to connect the dots.

A friend in the Berkshires told me about an organization there. Check out their website
www.greenforachange.org. Be sure to read the list of facts pertaining to bottled water in the U.S. (click on Projects to see it). After you've read that, click the Chris Jordan button to see an
amazing photo depicting "60,000 plastic bags, the number used in the U.S. every five seconds."
Be sure to scroll down for closeup views. This will all take about a minute.

Pumpkin seeds

These
are
some
of
Sophie's
toasted
pumpkin
seeds.

Soup

I was so inspired by last evening's visit to my grandchildren's Halloween pumpkin carving, and their incredibly delicious toasted pumpkin seeds with oil, butter, and salt baked on that this morning found me in the kitchen cooking butternut squash soup.

Apron over my nightgown at 8:30 am. I've become partial to cookbooks that not only have great recipes but also give information about gardening and seasonal ingredients. Jamie Oliver's "Superb squash soup" from jamie at home is truly superb (I left out the red chillies and substituted pumpkin seeds for the croutons.)

I was going to use Ina Garten's wonderful squash soup recipe but opted instead for JO's choice to let the vegetables speak for themselves without enhancement of cream or creme fraiche (and no canned pumpkin puree.) Really good. Two bowls for lunch and now I have two glass jars in the refrigerator filled with the morning's lovely labor.

Addendum to Blog 350

This little paragraph, reporting on growing public skepticism about the issue of global warming, appeared in the same edition of the NYTimes that reported the October 24th 350.org day of action that I write about in my blog titled 350 (see below).

350

So yesterday, October 24th, was 350 day -- a day of demonstrations and protests held in 170 countries around the world to focus attention on the number 350. This is the number that climate scientists say is the upper limit for heat-trapping carbon dioxide in the atmosphere, measured in parts per million. As I've been learning, for most of the life of the earth, or anyway, at least 650,000 years, the number was 280. Scientists have calculated that the atmosphere prior to the Industrial Revolution contained about 280 parts per million carbon dioxide. For many scientists, 350 is the upper limit -- if the gas concentration exceeds that for long, the world can expect decades of disrupted climate patterns, rising sea levels, drought and famine. The current concentration is 387 parts per million. And over the next few decades, we're easily heading toward 450. With those numbers in mind, Bill McKibben, author and activist, founded 350.org, a group dedicated to building a "global community" for climate action by creating a day of global action centering around this universally understood number. And, indeed, there were over 4,300 demonstrations around the world yesterday.

One of those, the one pictured above, was at The Cathedral Church of Saint John the Divine. Ben and I, and our dog Daisy, were there (see upper photo). We went for a number of reasons: We believe in science! Also, common sense tells me that, despite the complexity of the issues related to the environment and the economy, these dire predictions sound disconcertingly logical. Bill and Ben write and speak about many of the same issues -- the economy, consumerism and their global consequences -- and they have great respect for each other's work, just last week, they were both inspiring speakers at the E.F. Schumacher Society in Stockbridge, MA and I heard Bill speak for the first time. Also, we love St. John the Divine, we feel lucky to live nearby, we have connections and associations with it (Ben and I found solace there on the first anniversary of 9/11 listening to the bells) and we were looking forward to the ringing of the bells 350 times. And we assumed, that, living on the Upper West Side, we'd be part of a pretty big gathering of like-minded individuals. But, honestly, we were shocked at the small turnout. Not just at the Cathedral. Evidently the big rally in Times Square attracted only about 150 people. And, finally, despite all the actions taking place around the globe yesterday, how many actual individuals took part?

Chances are, you didn't know about yesterday's event until you read about it on page 8 of today's NYTimes. Or, if you did know about it, you assumed it was one more attempt by an organization to get attention for it's particular take on a problem that many of us already know is an actual problem and cause for concern but can't really persuade ourselves that being photographed with a banner saying "350" is really going to have much impact on President Obama and the other leaders who will be attending global climate talks in Copenhagen in December. And, like us, you probably agree that legislation and litigation is where the main focus needs to be.

But, honestly, what does this mean? Now, I'm not used to being critical in writing in public (I guess I better get used to it if I'm really going to pursue writing a blog). And I particularly don't want to be negative toward the organizers of these various actions or of Bill and his colleagues for whom I have deep respect. There were some actually amazing and moving demonstrations throughout the world -- go to 350.org to see the images. And I'm really happy we had a chance to meet with the coordinators at St. John the Divine -- we had a remarkable conversation and feel personally even more connected to this great institution and will deepen our association with them. But it makes me question how to go about calling attention to this issue of global warming and making meaningful changes that will really help to heal the problem and not exacerbate it.

What I do know, is that, despite my questioning, I'm very glad we were a part of yesterday's action and joined with others throughout the world who share my concern. And I intend to keep following Bill McKibben and 350.org.

To be continued.

Putting it together

Sometimes it takes awhile for things to crystallize in one's mind. For decades, I've loved cooking and eating, sitting at the table with friends and family, and, whenever possible, using fresh foods from the farmers markets. I've always felt this was outside of the arena of social or political activism. That the nourishment, aesthetic, and creaturely comfort that came with this pursuit of good food was confined to my private life, my homelife, and not really applicable or relevant to the larger world. But times change; things evolve. Lately, like so many others, I've become aware of the larger implications of my habits on my local communities, New York City and the Berkshires. So in the last year or so, I've been asking myself questions regarding the possible unexpected impact of my shopping/toting/cooking/water drinking/disposing routines. And I've been reading: The Omnivore's Dilemma, of course, was the starting point, the springboard to new information and insight about agriculture and food production. As I become more informed, my habits either change or deepen. My family stopped drinking water from plastic bottles over a year ago; I carry my own bags to the market; stuff like that. Yet, it still, somehow, feels disconnected -- small potatoes in the larger world of global famine and climate change. But, increasingly, it's becoming clear that this behavior does, in its own way, build upon itself and I'm finding myself on a journey of learning and activity and awareness that I never could have foreseen when I baked my first banana bread thirty eight years ago. This blog is an attempt to record the progression of that journey through food and community, large and small.