In recent weeks I have become mildly obsessed with cooking in my tiny stand-up kitchen more often. It started with the first board meeting of Compass Yoga. Two of the incredible board members, Amy and Rob, came to my house for dinner while the other two superstars, Lon and Michael, joined by phone. For Amy and Rob, I cooked up a superfood meal and they were so delighted with it that it gave me a warm, happy glow. Despite my tiny digs, I realized how much happiness could emanate from it when the food is made with love and honor.
This happy experience led me to start watching loads of documentaries about growing food via streaming Netflix. Some dogmatic and pejorative, others hopeful and empowering. It’s no wonder that I gravitated to the later and the best among that lot was a film titled simply Ingredients. It features titans of food like Alice Waters, one of my modern-day heroes, talking about how critical good food is to the preservation of our health and wellbeing. Though the concept is so simple, we are so addicted to “big, manufactured food” that it is literally killing us with unprecedented levels of disease and stress (both mental and physical.) A good deal of the film is set in and around Portland, Oregon and talks about the critical issue of preserving land use for farming, particularly as it relates to local, organic ingredients.
Local organic is nirvana for me. I grew up in a tiny farming town on an apple orchard. For most of childhood, the orchard was not active though I have a small set of memories from when I was very young about people coming to our orchards to pick apples. I remember climbing trees and exploring the land with my brother and sister and our dogs. It wasn’t lavish and it was never particularly well-groomed. But to me, it was always beautiful. Even today, there is a tractor-crossing sign across our drive way. Many of the people in the town farmed in some capacity, even if that just meant their own summer gardens. I remember walking out our front door to find baskets of fresh food dropped off by one of our family farmer friends. Local and organic was all we knew growing up – so much so that I didn’t have any concept of a vegetable or fruit existing in any other state. I had no idea how lucky I was in that regard.
On the plane back from a business trip to Phoenix, I found an excerpt from a forthcoming book, An Everlasting Meal, in the airline magazine. Immediately, I fell in love with the prose and it further heightened by resolve to eat whole foods, prepared well. This is what author, Tamar Adler, coins as “honest food”. Tamar is a self-made chef and a cook at Chez Panisse, Alice Waters’ restaurant. (Alice wrote the foreword for An Everlasting Meal.) An Everlasting Meal will be published in October, and I have already added it to my “ship when ready” list on Amazon for a simple reason: Tamar isn’t giving us a food book in the traditional sense, filled with recipes and tricks of the trade; she gives us a gorgeously woven narrative about the art of practical cooking and how it is an allegory for a life well-lived. Her prose is stunning in its simplicity and truth.
All this thinking of food has brought an image to mind that has surprised even me: there I am in amply spaced and sunlit kitchen, cutely aproned, Phineas lying at my feet sniffing the scents of a home-cooked meal. The sun’s coming from a window looking out on a garden that appears larger than my current studio apartment. I hear a man call me from the other room but I can’t quite make out what he’s saying, perhaps because I’m so entranced by a simple pot boiling and the joy of letting its steam rise up over my face as the scent of its delicious contents fills my nose. This is certainly not New York; I’m not sure exactly where it is, but I mean to find it.
And that’s perhaps the most magical thing of all about food – its preparation and the happiness it invokes opens up our imaginations to follow dreams we have yet to know.
Christa Avampato 