Monday, September 14, 2009

Pick Your Battles

Reading over some of my posts, I've discovered that I look like a big fat hypocrite. In one sentence I'm telling you that I have to know where my food comes from; in another, I'm telling you I just broke out a can of coconut milk from coconuts that were likely grown thousands of miles away on an unfamiliar farm. And I don't have a lick of defense.

I started this blog to learn things like that about myself. The citizens of every culture are conditioned by their media to care about specific issues. Animal rights is a big one here in the States, as are the organic and localized agriculture movements. We also hear a good deal about the dangers of overfishing. So like many concerned American cooks, I seek out the local growers at my Sunday farmers' market; and what I don't find there, I buy from the organic produce section at my neighborhood grocery. My meat has to be hormone-free and grass-fed. I buy cage-free eggs only. I tend to steer clear of fish unless I personally know who caught it.

Then, also like many concerned American cooks, I go home and wash my carefully-screened animal and vegetable products down with non-organic beer from Mexico. Because I have not been specifically guilted into giving up non-organic beer from Mexico.

The point is, I learn something new every day about food that appalls me... and yet I still have to eat. My husband and I have not yet saved up enough money or gained enough experience to live on a farm, so we're stuck here in the suburbs of downtown Orlando, depending on others for sustenance. I am forced to pick my battles.

I plan to pick a hell of a lot more of them from now on.

Expect to see some changes in the coming months. Expect to see me start using this blog the way it's intended, to encourage chickenlessness in myself and others. Expect to see a backyard garden and other examples of urban homesteading. Expect to see me volunteering on more farms. Expect pickier recipes.

(Just don't expect me to give up my beer.)


Beat the eggs. Whip the cream. Show no mercy.


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