We are all too aware of the dangers of the conventional system of agriculture. The poisoning of our water, air and land is largely a result of the chemicals farmers must use in order to achieve yields that will guarantee them a profit. Each summer an area of the Gulf of Mexico the size of Texas is stripped of all its life by fertilizer runoff from farms in the Midwest that causes algae to grow prolifically. When the algae die, the decomposition of their bodies sucks the oxygen from the water and drowns every living creature in the sea. Worms no longer live in the fields under the input-intensive farms, and we are afraid to let our children eat food that hasn't been washed off first (not that this procedure removes toxins). We don't suffer from lack of food any longer but at what price?
There is no shortage of food in this world. We seem simply unwilling to place our collective effort in overcoming obstacles to its equitable distribution. Frances Moore Lapp', in the book that de-mythologized vegetarianism as unhealthful and downright dangerous, Diet for a Small Planet, said that her "mission was to awaken people to this simple fact: Hunger is human made. I sought to liberate people from the myth that nature's to blame for the massive deprivation hundreds of millions of people now experience." She goes on to show that " it takes 16 pounds of grain and soybeans to produce just 1 pound of beef." (Original Italics.)
And it's not as if we simply can't move food to hungry people. We have plenty of ships and airplanes to serve this purpose, but they are busy moving Evian drinking water from the French Alps; plastic trinkets from Southeast Asia; people to Cancun and Club Med; raw steel into Japan, and finished cars out; wood pulp from Canada to mills in Myanmar and back to the US as finished paper, and the list goes on. Clearly, our failure to feed our own - to let millions starve each year - is a by-product, and sometimes essential to, the capitalism that controls our economies and encourages us to fend only for ourselves. Can we curb our taste for meat, ego-enhancing cars and our infantile fascination with shiny plastic baubles Made in Korea if it means that hungry people will eat?
Some are beginning to try. Pioneers in the field of sustainable agriculture have shown us that we can achieve yields higher than those found in conventional pesticide, herbicide and fertilizer dependent monocultures. At the same time these methods improve the soil rather than letting it wash away; produce healthful, poison-free food; employ people that desperately need work; and tend to foster communities where people know and respect each other, rather than exploit one another.
John Jeavons has been researching and advocating sustainable agriculture for more than twenty-five years. From the preface to his book How to Grow More Vegetables than you ever thought possible on less land than you can imagine:
Mini-farms can flourish in non-agricultural areas such as mountainous regions, arid areas, and in and around urban centers. Food can be produced where people live. With knowledge and skill, the yield per hour can be high without the expensive machinery that is the preoccupation of our current agriculture. Mini-farming is available to everyone.... The impact is also global...The homegrown tomato requires no fuel in its transport, no packaging to be sent to the landfill, no political decisions about who will work in the fields or what level of pollutants is acceptable in our groundwater.
Sustainable agriculture can be one of the answers to the modern paradox of plenty and utter desolation that exist side by side. It as an avocation that people can practice in their backyards, in parks and median strips along roadways. We can bring food production closer to the consumers, and at the same time make use of marginal land while producing healthier food, respecting the environment and providing employment to those who desperately need it.
Sustainable agriculture has its limitations. Unfortunately, some regions will probably never feed themselves entirely. It is doubtful that Juneau, Alaska can eke enough food out of its 60-day growing season, or that roof-top gardens will ever feed New York City completely. Some food will still have to be moved. And we will have to accustom ourselves and our eating patterns to the seasons and the ability of the soils we live on to produce the foods we want to eat. Those of us who live in northern climates will be forced to give up fresh tomatoes in December, bananas on all but special occasions, and will have to find a regular substitute for olive oil. Dwellers of tropical climates may have to rely on manioc instead of wheat, which grows poorly in hot weather. We might not be able to sustain saffron production that requires many acres to produce a single pound of saffron crocus stamens. And all of us will have to seriously curtail our meat consumption. Are we prepared as a civilization to make these sacrifices, "to live simply, that others may simply live?"
In short order this option may not be a choice, but a practical necessity. Some have already made the choice to live this way, to sacrifice thus. They are doing the hard work of figuring out how to live within a new set of restrictions, to re-accommodate themselves to more natural patterns of existence.
When we, who come from a culture of plenty and over-consumption accept the challenge of living sustainably, sacrifices of all kinds will be made. Some will find it particularly painful to go without their cars, other will miss the convenience of the electric water heater, and still others will be most distraught when they can no longer afford to run their air conditioners.
I have struggled with these challenges myself, and as a trained chef, am most bothered by the limitations that a sustainable food production system engenders. I miss the convenience of the supermarket, where any food can be had in any season, the freedom to experiment with rare delicacies like truffles and caviar, and to grill big hunks of corn-fed beef on sunny afternoons.
In cooking, my passion and my profession intersect. I think of myself as a culinary craftsman and sometimes artist. To say to the chef, you cannot use meat or citrus fruits is like telling a painter that she cannot paint with red or black anymore. But most of the time, the chef is a craftsperson. Her object is to create beautiful and functional food, food that nourishes and sustains, while simultaneously appeals to the five senses, food that exhibits texture, perfumes the kitchen, is visually intriguing, sometimes makes noise and is always delicious.
A high school painting teacher of mine kept all of the black paint locked up in the back closet. He maintained that we could achieve any vision we had without the use of black. Unless we were attempting to speak something directly about black, unless it was essential to the piece, it was forbidden. As a culinary craftsman, and only rarely an artist, I can do quite well without black. On one of the few occasions when I attempt to make art with food, when I want to elevate a piece above the plane of the purely functional and beautiful, to convey something, it would be appropriate to incorporate black, or as the case may be, meat, tropical fruits, or exotic grains. It is perfectly possible to create beautiful, functional pieces within the limitations inherent to the medium, and within the political and cultural limitations we impose on ourselves.
So with the understanding that no act is apolitical, our challenge now is to develop a cuisine that relies on the benevolence of the earth, the rains, the sun, the seasons and our own skill and ambition. To preserve the spectacle of the meal, to retain its entertainment value, for it is an immensely entertaining pastime that we can engage in at least three times a day, to create a cuisine rooted in where we live, and to reflect the kind of culture we hope to nourish; this is our charge.
It will be a long and lengthy process that will happen simultaneously around the world within the confines of each culture and every biome. It is a process that should engage our creativity and be joyful, rather than be defined by limitations and disappointment of missing that perfect ingredient. In some sense it will be guided by substitutions: vinegar for lemon juice, textured vegetable protein for ground beef, walnut oil for olive oil, cassava flour for wheat flour, and so on. But we can also look forward to the blossoms of new flavor combinations that will emerge. I've often found that some of my most interesting and exciting dishes have come from a refrigerator running on empty; limited options can force one to think creatively.
We too often consider sacrifices made on behalf of the environment to be a burden. Decisions force compromise, which is rarely pleasant. In food, however, with significant effort, we can act without compromise, while simultaneously enjoying something beautiful. While we may sorely miss one or more of the ingredients that we used of find most intriguing, we will be rewarded with a cuisine that reflects the places where we live, our lifestyle, our culture while simultaneously respecting our environment and fellow humans. At least I hope this project will help prove that supposition.
Intentional Community Bookstore