By Caitlin Coe
I've got a question for you: where did those plump, marbled steaks in your refrigerator come from? Not what store, but what actual physical location? How about the lovely bright green asparagus stalks that you're going to cook along with them? And here's a real toughie: can you point out on a map where the salt you'll be using to season the meal was produced? Yeah, me neither. First off, I'm horrible at geography, but, more to the point, I often just have no idea. Canadian authors Alisa Smith and J.B. MacKinnon considered themselves to be well informed eaters, but they realized that even when they had detailed statistics regarding where their "local" food was coming from, it was generally hundreds if not thousands of miles away. How was this distance between tree and table conducive to maintaining the connection between people and sustenance? If we had more information regarding how our food was produced, could even observe it while it was growing or ripening, would we still make the same choices? These questions were the catalyst to Smith and Mackinnon's year-long experiment: they would try to eat only local food for a year. And not just vaguely local—all food had to be produced within a 100-mile radius from their Vancouver home; thus the 100-mile diet was born, and the he-said she-said foodalogue Plenty was written.
Month by month, starting with the first day of spring in March, Smith and MacKinnon alternately share their experiences of a food-focused (and initially potato-centric) existence. April was not a lot of fun: The concept of a year without flour, sugar, and salt seemed almost barbaric, and there wasn't yet a leafy green to be found at the local farmers' markets. Smith became a bit obsessed with watching for the first asparagus shoots to raise their heads from their personal garden plot, while MacKinnon made sandwiches out of turnip "bread" slices. May brightened up, literally and figuratively. June saw the two narrowly escape being found out as cheese smugglers, and, by August, Smith and MacKinnon were more bored with being asked "Are you bored yet?" than they were with the diet itself. The first 100-mile salad was made, 29 pounds of the first strawberries of the season were picked, cherry-eating bears were met, pumpkin honey was discovered, giant lobster mushrooms were dried, and forgotten wheat (!) berries were separated from mouse poop. Ok, so not everything was idyllic, but it was becoming clear that the diet was in fact doable—a major coup for Smith and MacKinnon.
In addition to the trials and tribulations surrounding the diet itself, Smith and MacKinnon have plenty to share with us regarding the ecological, agricultural, and historical implications of the food that they can or can't eat. Statistics regarding the incredibly bountiful food production of self-sufficient islands in 1893 frame the need for modern micro-farms to be revitalized and supported. The retelling of several environmental disasters that may or may not have reached the front pages makes a significantly different impact when told from the perspective of those whose sustenance is directly and personally affected by the consequent loss or extinction of plant and wildlife. Without preaching or pleading, the authors invite us to reflect on the abundance that was versus the abundance that is, clearly stating the pros and cons of both, allowing us to make informed choices between the two.
Now granted, to some (even to Smith and Mackinnon at times), this diet may seem a bit extreme, if not just plain silly. After all, isn't it kind of amazing that a craving for mangoes in Maine in the middle of winter can easily be satisfied by a shipment from Chile? The fact that some markets can carry up to 45,000 items is fantastic, right? Well, frankly, yes. But equally amazing is the fact that we can appreciate these luxuries while still enjoying the plethora of foods that can only be found in our own neighborhoods, not in every chain grocery store or restaurant. The rules that Smith and MacKinnon set for themselves did allow for a respite from the "local" requirements whenever traveling; consequently chocolate chip cookies, seven-layer dip and beer were eagerly consumed during a family visit. But this feast in no way dimmed the fresh, moist sweetness of the regional walnuts they found shortly thereafter. There are plenty of options to go around if you take the time to look and enjoy. Oh, and if you want to know whether Smith and MacKinnon made it the whole year, you'll have to take the time to read and enjoy.
Recipes from Plenty:
Maple Walnut Crêpes
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