Eric Schlosser

"We've become a nation focused on consumption instead of compassion."
Eric Schlosser

Meal preparation has hit a new low this week except for the fact nearly everything is local. Monday night was leftover turkey soup. Not bad.

Thinking ahead I put two delicata squash, a few potatoes and one fat yam on a cookie sheet in the oven. The cute guy turned it on the next night, set the table with candles and fresh off the bus I sat down with him for a romantic one course baked dinner.

Last night it was eggs and rice with backyard serrano peppers before we ran out the door to see Mark Shapiro and tonight we ate grocery store roasted Petaluma chicken at the counter with Acme bread, Clover butter and overcooked broccoli and I ran out the door again. This time to see Eric Schlosser, the author of Fast Food Nation.

I'd read the book some years ago and remember liking it, being a little belligerent about some of the stories, "I mean how could industry get away with such things?", I would say to whoever would listen, but the details are gone. When I bought tickets for tonight's event it was to see Orville Schell who would be doing the interviewing.

Mr. Schell was well spoken and knowledgeable but Eric Schlosser turned out to be the rock star. He has a rare combination of a grounded, relaxed demeanor paired with a hot passion for the topics he chooses to investigate and write about. And he was generous and humble in his pairing with Orville Schell. I declare myself a groupie.

By coincidence Mr. Schlosser wrote an op ed piece in the New York Times today about the Coalition of Immokalee Workers I've previously blogged about and their effort to procure a penny more a pound from Burger King for the Immokalee tomato pickers. He spoke a lot about the system that employs the workers and the audience wilted in their chairs. He spoke of the work of the CIW and the low cost to Burger King to agree to a wage increase. People clapped. I wanted to jump out of my chair and do cartwheels.

Mostly Eric Schlosser was optimistic about the growing movement of food awareness. He's a local food guy, which surprised me. I'm going to keep an eye on him.

If you would like to sign the petition being generated by Oxfam America on behalf of the CIW to present to the CEO of Burger King and didn't previously do so, here it is again.

Thank you.

Exposed

A month ago a co-worker told me of a benefit event in Berkeley with Michael Pollan and an author I had never heard of. I waved it off.

But today the same co-worker sent me a link to the talk again, which is happening tomorrow night, and I shot her back a thank you with exclamation points. The unknown author with Mr. Pollan is Mark Schapiro who was interviewed by Terry Gross on Fresh Air yesterday about his new book - Exposed: The Toxic Chemistry of Everyday Products. Not a come hither title.

What perked my attention to his interview, and I only heard bits and pieces, and the talk tomorrow night, was his explanation of how certain plastics breakdown in our systems.

I recently had a discussion in a fish restaurant about fish eating plastic and we eat the fish and how that can't be good for us. But my no-name friend's point was that the plastic doesn't breakdown, that's why it's out there floating in the ocean. There was a certain logic I wanted to believe and I was hungry; I ordered fish.

The other piece I picked up yesterday from the interview is that the US is accepting products to be sold here that are banned by the European Union. The US does not impose as strict environmental and health restrictions as the EU. In fact the US is referred to as a dumping ground for products that the EU declines.

Bad book title or not, I have last minute tickets and I'm looking forward to hearing what he has to say.

Actually, maybe I'm not.

Thanksgiving

I won't bore you with details of the chewy organic Dietsel turkey. Suffice it to say there is a picked clean carcass simmering in a soup pot.

The bird did however take much longer to bake than expected. At the appointed dinner hour and without setting the table, we served tasting plates of brussel sprout hash. Which should have been the plan from the beginning since inspite of wrinkled noses and a couple of brussel sprout virgins everyone hungrily agreed to try it.

With a scraped clean plate one of the virgins excused himself for a cigarette

Half an hour later, I set up a buffet of sweet potato galette and extra stuffing straight from the oven and quickly got out of the way. The turkey was taking its perfect slow time.

By the time the beast was finally brown and rested the suggestion of setting the table was as popular as our current administration and we had our third course of mashed potatoes, gravy, more stuffing and turkey on our original tiny plates.

"We should do it this way every year," the cute guy said. There were full mouthed murmurs of agreement.

"Are there more brussel spouts?" the smoker asked.

"On the counter," I replied. I did not raise my fist and shout a sweet yes of success. But I wanted to.

Sustaining Farmworkers

Some weeks ago I went to a talk titled Food, Labor and Justice: Fair Wage Farming and sat by the door just in case. Ten minutes into it I quietly moved to a seat up front, in the middle. And I stayed after the talk was done.

The young man presenting, Lucas Benitez, a farmworker and co-director of the Coalition of Immokalee Workers and his translator, a powerhouse in her own right, Melody Gonzales, of the Student/Farmworker Alliance were rock stars except they didn't know it. The key to Lucas's success in securing the first wage increase for tomato pickers in 20 years by taking on Taco Bell, McDonald's and now Burger King is his humbleness . Although his smile and straight talk surely support his efforts.

The much celebrated wage increase that was hard fought and won by the CIW was a penny more per pound to go directly to the farmworkers. The average wage for decades has been .45 cents for a 32 pound bucket of tomatoes or two and a half tons of tomatoes picked in one day to make the current minimum wage. With no benefits or overtime.

I can't remember the last time I had to pick up 32 pounds of anything let alone toss it to somebody on the top of a flat bed truck.

This afternoon I received a link to a Thanksgiving commentary that addresses the Florida farmworker's wages which is worth reading and a link to Oxfam America to support the CIW by signing a petition to be presented to the CEO of Burger King to raise farmworkers wages.

Before heading to the kitchen to continue preparing our holiday meal I considered the men and women that handle our food and I signed the petition for Lucas Benitez, Melody Gonzales, the CIW and all the farmworkers that keep the world fed; one 32 pound bucket at a time.

Pre-Thanksgiving

This is what I notice about preparing to eat a local Thanksgiving meal; it's quieter. The holiday dinner is the food we eat every day. Well, except for the turkey. Okay, and the pumpkin pie.

The food is real food, no sugar added, no labels of nutritious this or that. The food is regular red onions tossed in my purse like loose change at the Tuesday market. It's persimmons and pears to eat when the mashed potatoes are gone and to enjoy as art before then.

The food is potatoes and yams bought with a smile and a few dollar bills. It's a Canvas Ranch pumpkin still sitting on the table, a bunch of celery too beautiful to have ever been removed from it roots. The food is wild leggy parsley, brussel sprouts, walnuts, brown eggs, butter, sage and ranch cured olives in a mason jar.

There is barely any packaging, no advertising, no sale items, specials or add ons. There are no lists of ingredients, no nutrient claims, or warnings. There is only naked food.

And the stories and smiles of all the farmers who grew it.

Haiku Friday

People Making a Difference

New word of the year:
Locavore. Yeah, Locavores!
One meal at a time.

Delicata Squash

Tip for Next Year:

Label the winter squash as to which farmer you buy it from.

I ate the sweetest delicata squash of my life today. Plain, baked, no butter, no sugar, nothing added except a touch of sea salt. I even ate the skin and the taste kicked my butt.

The delicatas came from Paradise Valley or the Harry Potter farmers in Pt. Reyes. I can't remember.

The cute guy had some for lunch too. He called me at work. "What did you put on the squash?"

"Nothing."

I could hear him considering that. "Wow," he finally said.

(The photos is a palm sized hubbard squash that I also baked and it had no squash to it. It was all skin. Disappointing except that I had loved looking it.)