Am I Looking Forward to Eating Local This Week
I think I started the week eating local. I bet the trout for the smoked trout I ate for brunch came from a local fish farm. I think. I know that a lot of the food at the event I went to on Sunday night came from local sources. The was La Querica ham and Zingerman goat cheese and I’m sure a few other locavore items on the menu, but as I did not source that meal, I feel no special responsibility for its province. I went from there to a Monday lunch of restaurant Cuban sandwiches and ate a dinner of leftover Chinese food. If I’m going to be an eat local eater, it’s going to have to happen the rest of the week. Am I looking forward to local food?
“It’s a crisis of conviction,” my wife tried to correct me. I had just explained to her that I explained to someone a few days earlier that I was having an existential crisis. I was showing too much envy for the shoppers at Angelo Caputo’s who filled their carts with whatever they felt like. I wanted to snag a roasting pepper. That’s not existential, she said. “But it is,” I said, “it reflects my being and how I determine my being.” I have to eat local because that is who I am.
We found no philosopher to score our debate. I feel the angst and boredom I’m feeling towards an attic full of food qualifies as existential complaining. Then again, around the Local Family, I’m known as the kvetcher anyways. I know I got to get around to inventorying our Bungalow foods, but I have a good general sense that there’s enough there. A huge bag of beets. Too many winter squash. Potatoes in several shapes, colors and sizes. It’s all good food. Yet, what do I do. I walk the entire stretch of the Loop, actually where I started on Congress, I was beyond the Loop, to find more leftover cabbage at the Downtown Farmstand. And when they can only sell me one cabbage, I buy four heads of lettuce. Local lettuce!
I thought my crisis stemmed from a pepper addiction. I longed for all those peppers staring at me at the Caputo’s bins. I realize, however, that maybe it just stems from buying. Maybe it is a primitive hunter-gather instinct that is coming out in dark winter. I cannot just consume my food. I have to go out and get my food. I don’t know. I don’t know what the heck I’m talking about.
I know that tonight it’ll be local chicken and potatoes that I may or may not turn into hash. There’s a pot of local beans that I won’t mind eating with non-local rice tomorrow. If there’s more chicken left by Thursday, it will be big salad for sure, and we’ll cook up some find Friday night dinner for sure. I’m almost positive I will not waver in my conviction to always eat local. I know at each and every meal, I’ll enjoy it greatly. I’ll have been happy I ate local. I’m just not sure I’m looking forward to eating local this week.