Cocktail Recipes, Spirits, and Local Bars

Blogger Spotlight: Accidental Locavore

Blogger Spotlight: Accidental Locavore

We’re proud to feature Anne Maxfield in this week’s Blogger Spotlight, where we highlight a member of The Daily Meal’s Culinary Content Network, a selected group of talented and influential bloggers who write about food and drink.

Anne is a Hudson Valley-based blogger and entrepreneur. Thus began the blog Accidental Locavore.

Since then, Anne has been blogging about the local ingredients she has found, cooked, and eaten, demonstrating to her readers how easy and satisfying it is to cook with local food. From her experiences with the Instapot pressure cooker to her discovery of locally made sauces, recipes, cookbook reviews, and food related articles, Accidental Locavore covers a multitude of interesting topics and presents them with an engaging sense of humor.

In addition to the Accidental Locavore blog, Anne can be heard on Pawling Public Radio, and she also writes for The Huffington Post.

The Daily Meal: What is the mission of your blog?

Anne Maxfield: To show how easy it is to cook local and fresh.

How did you get started?

I picked up a box of whatever my local farmer thought was good each week and started writing about it. Sort of a splinter-group CSA.

What is your philosophy of cooking or baking?

Always do it with love.

What are some of the foods you can’t live without?

Olive oil, lemons, butter, chocolate, salt.

Are there foods you can’t stand?

BEETS!!!

What is your proudest post?

A non-food one after the terrorist attack in Nice last summer.

Do you have a blogging blunder?

According to my SEO widget, not enough sub-headings…

What do you like to listen to while in the kitchen?

Someone talking on TV.

What are some other blogs you love?

Smitten Kitchen [and] David Lebovitz.

What is the best thing about blogging?

You can write whatever is on your mind.

What is the most challenging thing about blogging?

When there’s nothing on your mind…

What would even your most loyal followers be surprised to learn about you?

My weakness for salt and vinegar potato chips.

What are five of your all-time favorite posts?

10 Things Not to Do at a Farmers’ Market

My Nice

Most Hated Vegetable

Have You Ever Had a Restaurant Experience Go Bananas?

No Fail Mayo


The accidental locavore

I’m not a rebel in any traditional sense of the word. Outside of a 1995 research trip to a Harley-Davidson store wherein I tried on a stereo-wired helmet, listened to Blue Oyster Cult, and then swore I’d someday don leather and ride into the sunset on the back of a Harley (should I erase that fantasy from my bucket list since I forbade my husband from owning a motorcycle?), I’m a pretty safe and predictable girl.

The exception to this rule occurs when something comes into vogue. Even in cases where I’ve previously attached myself to a trend, fashion, or social phenomenon, the moment it becomes “all the rage,” I turn my back like a spurned lover. It’s not so much the pressure to conform as the appearance that I’ve conformed to pressure. See how warped this is? I just don’t want to look like I care what people think, or need to be identified with a thing.

Which might be why, now that local food is becoming quite vogue, it’s getting hard for me to admit I’m eating locally without simultaneously rolling my eyes just a smidgeon.

Understand what I am saying: I love eating local. It tastes better, feeds your body better, serves the environment and local economy better. But I never want local food to seem elitist, or appear as something that people must jump off a proverbial ledge to conquer. It’s often quite accessible, and there are no hard-and-fast rules (no matter what some might have us think). In this country of ours, the range of living conditions, family dynamics and financial statuses is vast enough to warrant a loose translation of the local-eating realm. People would benefit from doing what they can, maybe challenging themselves a bit, learning a little and experimenting where possible.

Which is why, a couple of nights in the past week, we have been surprised when we sat down to our dinner and realized our meal consisted of almost 100% local foods. When we figured this out last night, Tim decided it was time to do a cost analysis (murmuring something about food miles and asking me detailed questions about how much I paid for this and that, figuring percentages of CSA boxes, etc.). Was eating a local meal a luxury?

We were happily surprised to discover that it just wasn’t that expensive. Granted — this was a meat-free meal, which necessarily makes it cheaper. Here’s what we (i.e., Tim) figured:

Vegetable skillet with eggs & creamy grits:

  • 1 Tbsp rendered bacon fat, plus 1 Tbsp purchased duck fat: .25
  • 1/2 pound golden potatoes: $1.00
  • 1/2 red onion: .50
  • 2 small zucchini squash: $1.15
  • small bunch kale: $1.00
  • 4 eggs: $1.00
  • 1 cup milk: .34
  • 1/2 cup corn grits: .40

To note: while our kids did eat some grits and potatoes, the meal was eaten mostly by me and Tim. So, that ends up being $2.81/person for a local meal. Also, we had a couple incidentals that were not local: a few shakes of tabasco, and some ketchup.

We didn’t set out to cook the dinner of a locavore. But after making slow, accessible changes to how we source a lot of our food, it just happened. Between our CSA, my weekly trips to our farmer’s market, a local meat shop like Goose the Market, and my own small garden, we had ourselves a humble supper where most things traveled less than 100 miles to get to our table.

Not that it is always that easy, or something that will now regularly occur. But it was encouraging, to know that the handful of choices we’ve made since we moved here have unintentionally created an environment in our kitchen where this can happen.

I’m no Barbara Kingsolver — but it’s nice to know that after challenging ourselves a bit, and doing what we financially can, local food can happen.


The accidental locavore

I’m not a rebel in any traditional sense of the word. Outside of a 1995 research trip to a Harley-Davidson store wherein I tried on a stereo-wired helmet, listened to Blue Oyster Cult, and then swore I’d someday don leather and ride into the sunset on the back of a Harley (should I erase that fantasy from my bucket list since I forbade my husband from owning a motorcycle?), I’m a pretty safe and predictable girl.

The exception to this rule occurs when something comes into vogue. Even in cases where I’ve previously attached myself to a trend, fashion, or social phenomenon, the moment it becomes “all the rage,” I turn my back like a spurned lover. It’s not so much the pressure to conform as the appearance that I’ve conformed to pressure. See how warped this is? I just don’t want to look like I care what people think, or need to be identified with a thing.

Which might be why, now that local food is becoming quite vogue, it’s getting hard for me to admit I’m eating locally without simultaneously rolling my eyes just a smidgeon.

Understand what I am saying: I love eating local. It tastes better, feeds your body better, serves the environment and local economy better. But I never want local food to seem elitist, or appear as something that people must jump off a proverbial ledge to conquer. It’s often quite accessible, and there are no hard-and-fast rules (no matter what some might have us think). In this country of ours, the range of living conditions, family dynamics and financial statuses is vast enough to warrant a loose translation of the local-eating realm. People would benefit from doing what they can, maybe challenging themselves a bit, learning a little and experimenting where possible.

Which is why, a couple of nights in the past week, we have been surprised when we sat down to our dinner and realized our meal consisted of almost 100% local foods. When we figured this out last night, Tim decided it was time to do a cost analysis (murmuring something about food miles and asking me detailed questions about how much I paid for this and that, figuring percentages of CSA boxes, etc.). Was eating a local meal a luxury?

We were happily surprised to discover that it just wasn’t that expensive. Granted — this was a meat-free meal, which necessarily makes it cheaper. Here’s what we (i.e., Tim) figured:

Vegetable skillet with eggs & creamy grits:

  • 1 Tbsp rendered bacon fat, plus 1 Tbsp purchased duck fat: .25
  • 1/2 pound golden potatoes: $1.00
  • 1/2 red onion: .50
  • 2 small zucchini squash: $1.15
  • small bunch kale: $1.00
  • 4 eggs: $1.00
  • 1 cup milk: .34
  • 1/2 cup corn grits: .40

To note: while our kids did eat some grits and potatoes, the meal was eaten mostly by me and Tim. So, that ends up being $2.81/person for a local meal. Also, we had a couple incidentals that were not local: a few shakes of tabasco, and some ketchup.

We didn’t set out to cook the dinner of a locavore. But after making slow, accessible changes to how we source a lot of our food, it just happened. Between our CSA, my weekly trips to our farmer’s market, a local meat shop like Goose the Market, and my own small garden, we had ourselves a humble supper where most things traveled less than 100 miles to get to our table.

Not that it is always that easy, or something that will now regularly occur. But it was encouraging, to know that the handful of choices we’ve made since we moved here have unintentionally created an environment in our kitchen where this can happen.

I’m no Barbara Kingsolver — but it’s nice to know that after challenging ourselves a bit, and doing what we financially can, local food can happen.


The accidental locavore

I’m not a rebel in any traditional sense of the word. Outside of a 1995 research trip to a Harley-Davidson store wherein I tried on a stereo-wired helmet, listened to Blue Oyster Cult, and then swore I’d someday don leather and ride into the sunset on the back of a Harley (should I erase that fantasy from my bucket list since I forbade my husband from owning a motorcycle?), I’m a pretty safe and predictable girl.

The exception to this rule occurs when something comes into vogue. Even in cases where I’ve previously attached myself to a trend, fashion, or social phenomenon, the moment it becomes “all the rage,” I turn my back like a spurned lover. It’s not so much the pressure to conform as the appearance that I’ve conformed to pressure. See how warped this is? I just don’t want to look like I care what people think, or need to be identified with a thing.

Which might be why, now that local food is becoming quite vogue, it’s getting hard for me to admit I’m eating locally without simultaneously rolling my eyes just a smidgeon.

Understand what I am saying: I love eating local. It tastes better, feeds your body better, serves the environment and local economy better. But I never want local food to seem elitist, or appear as something that people must jump off a proverbial ledge to conquer. It’s often quite accessible, and there are no hard-and-fast rules (no matter what some might have us think). In this country of ours, the range of living conditions, family dynamics and financial statuses is vast enough to warrant a loose translation of the local-eating realm. People would benefit from doing what they can, maybe challenging themselves a bit, learning a little and experimenting where possible.

Which is why, a couple of nights in the past week, we have been surprised when we sat down to our dinner and realized our meal consisted of almost 100% local foods. When we figured this out last night, Tim decided it was time to do a cost analysis (murmuring something about food miles and asking me detailed questions about how much I paid for this and that, figuring percentages of CSA boxes, etc.). Was eating a local meal a luxury?

We were happily surprised to discover that it just wasn’t that expensive. Granted — this was a meat-free meal, which necessarily makes it cheaper. Here’s what we (i.e., Tim) figured:

Vegetable skillet with eggs & creamy grits:

  • 1 Tbsp rendered bacon fat, plus 1 Tbsp purchased duck fat: .25
  • 1/2 pound golden potatoes: $1.00
  • 1/2 red onion: .50
  • 2 small zucchini squash: $1.15
  • small bunch kale: $1.00
  • 4 eggs: $1.00
  • 1 cup milk: .34
  • 1/2 cup corn grits: .40

To note: while our kids did eat some grits and potatoes, the meal was eaten mostly by me and Tim. So, that ends up being $2.81/person for a local meal. Also, we had a couple incidentals that were not local: a few shakes of tabasco, and some ketchup.

We didn’t set out to cook the dinner of a locavore. But after making slow, accessible changes to how we source a lot of our food, it just happened. Between our CSA, my weekly trips to our farmer’s market, a local meat shop like Goose the Market, and my own small garden, we had ourselves a humble supper where most things traveled less than 100 miles to get to our table.

Not that it is always that easy, or something that will now regularly occur. But it was encouraging, to know that the handful of choices we’ve made since we moved here have unintentionally created an environment in our kitchen where this can happen.

I’m no Barbara Kingsolver — but it’s nice to know that after challenging ourselves a bit, and doing what we financially can, local food can happen.


The accidental locavore

I’m not a rebel in any traditional sense of the word. Outside of a 1995 research trip to a Harley-Davidson store wherein I tried on a stereo-wired helmet, listened to Blue Oyster Cult, and then swore I’d someday don leather and ride into the sunset on the back of a Harley (should I erase that fantasy from my bucket list since I forbade my husband from owning a motorcycle?), I’m a pretty safe and predictable girl.

The exception to this rule occurs when something comes into vogue. Even in cases where I’ve previously attached myself to a trend, fashion, or social phenomenon, the moment it becomes “all the rage,” I turn my back like a spurned lover. It’s not so much the pressure to conform as the appearance that I’ve conformed to pressure. See how warped this is? I just don’t want to look like I care what people think, or need to be identified with a thing.

Which might be why, now that local food is becoming quite vogue, it’s getting hard for me to admit I’m eating locally without simultaneously rolling my eyes just a smidgeon.

Understand what I am saying: I love eating local. It tastes better, feeds your body better, serves the environment and local economy better. But I never want local food to seem elitist, or appear as something that people must jump off a proverbial ledge to conquer. It’s often quite accessible, and there are no hard-and-fast rules (no matter what some might have us think). In this country of ours, the range of living conditions, family dynamics and financial statuses is vast enough to warrant a loose translation of the local-eating realm. People would benefit from doing what they can, maybe challenging themselves a bit, learning a little and experimenting where possible.

Which is why, a couple of nights in the past week, we have been surprised when we sat down to our dinner and realized our meal consisted of almost 100% local foods. When we figured this out last night, Tim decided it was time to do a cost analysis (murmuring something about food miles and asking me detailed questions about how much I paid for this and that, figuring percentages of CSA boxes, etc.). Was eating a local meal a luxury?

We were happily surprised to discover that it just wasn’t that expensive. Granted — this was a meat-free meal, which necessarily makes it cheaper. Here’s what we (i.e., Tim) figured:

Vegetable skillet with eggs & creamy grits:

  • 1 Tbsp rendered bacon fat, plus 1 Tbsp purchased duck fat: .25
  • 1/2 pound golden potatoes: $1.00
  • 1/2 red onion: .50
  • 2 small zucchini squash: $1.15
  • small bunch kale: $1.00
  • 4 eggs: $1.00
  • 1 cup milk: .34
  • 1/2 cup corn grits: .40

To note: while our kids did eat some grits and potatoes, the meal was eaten mostly by me and Tim. So, that ends up being $2.81/person for a local meal. Also, we had a couple incidentals that were not local: a few shakes of tabasco, and some ketchup.

We didn’t set out to cook the dinner of a locavore. But after making slow, accessible changes to how we source a lot of our food, it just happened. Between our CSA, my weekly trips to our farmer’s market, a local meat shop like Goose the Market, and my own small garden, we had ourselves a humble supper where most things traveled less than 100 miles to get to our table.

Not that it is always that easy, or something that will now regularly occur. But it was encouraging, to know that the handful of choices we’ve made since we moved here have unintentionally created an environment in our kitchen where this can happen.

I’m no Barbara Kingsolver — but it’s nice to know that after challenging ourselves a bit, and doing what we financially can, local food can happen.


The accidental locavore

I’m not a rebel in any traditional sense of the word. Outside of a 1995 research trip to a Harley-Davidson store wherein I tried on a stereo-wired helmet, listened to Blue Oyster Cult, and then swore I’d someday don leather and ride into the sunset on the back of a Harley (should I erase that fantasy from my bucket list since I forbade my husband from owning a motorcycle?), I’m a pretty safe and predictable girl.

The exception to this rule occurs when something comes into vogue. Even in cases where I’ve previously attached myself to a trend, fashion, or social phenomenon, the moment it becomes “all the rage,” I turn my back like a spurned lover. It’s not so much the pressure to conform as the appearance that I’ve conformed to pressure. See how warped this is? I just don’t want to look like I care what people think, or need to be identified with a thing.

Which might be why, now that local food is becoming quite vogue, it’s getting hard for me to admit I’m eating locally without simultaneously rolling my eyes just a smidgeon.

Understand what I am saying: I love eating local. It tastes better, feeds your body better, serves the environment and local economy better. But I never want local food to seem elitist, or appear as something that people must jump off a proverbial ledge to conquer. It’s often quite accessible, and there are no hard-and-fast rules (no matter what some might have us think). In this country of ours, the range of living conditions, family dynamics and financial statuses is vast enough to warrant a loose translation of the local-eating realm. People would benefit from doing what they can, maybe challenging themselves a bit, learning a little and experimenting where possible.

Which is why, a couple of nights in the past week, we have been surprised when we sat down to our dinner and realized our meal consisted of almost 100% local foods. When we figured this out last night, Tim decided it was time to do a cost analysis (murmuring something about food miles and asking me detailed questions about how much I paid for this and that, figuring percentages of CSA boxes, etc.). Was eating a local meal a luxury?

We were happily surprised to discover that it just wasn’t that expensive. Granted — this was a meat-free meal, which necessarily makes it cheaper. Here’s what we (i.e., Tim) figured:

Vegetable skillet with eggs & creamy grits:

  • 1 Tbsp rendered bacon fat, plus 1 Tbsp purchased duck fat: .25
  • 1/2 pound golden potatoes: $1.00
  • 1/2 red onion: .50
  • 2 small zucchini squash: $1.15
  • small bunch kale: $1.00
  • 4 eggs: $1.00
  • 1 cup milk: .34
  • 1/2 cup corn grits: .40

To note: while our kids did eat some grits and potatoes, the meal was eaten mostly by me and Tim. So, that ends up being $2.81/person for a local meal. Also, we had a couple incidentals that were not local: a few shakes of tabasco, and some ketchup.

We didn’t set out to cook the dinner of a locavore. But after making slow, accessible changes to how we source a lot of our food, it just happened. Between our CSA, my weekly trips to our farmer’s market, a local meat shop like Goose the Market, and my own small garden, we had ourselves a humble supper where most things traveled less than 100 miles to get to our table.

Not that it is always that easy, or something that will now regularly occur. But it was encouraging, to know that the handful of choices we’ve made since we moved here have unintentionally created an environment in our kitchen where this can happen.

I’m no Barbara Kingsolver — but it’s nice to know that after challenging ourselves a bit, and doing what we financially can, local food can happen.


The accidental locavore

I’m not a rebel in any traditional sense of the word. Outside of a 1995 research trip to a Harley-Davidson store wherein I tried on a stereo-wired helmet, listened to Blue Oyster Cult, and then swore I’d someday don leather and ride into the sunset on the back of a Harley (should I erase that fantasy from my bucket list since I forbade my husband from owning a motorcycle?), I’m a pretty safe and predictable girl.

The exception to this rule occurs when something comes into vogue. Even in cases where I’ve previously attached myself to a trend, fashion, or social phenomenon, the moment it becomes “all the rage,” I turn my back like a spurned lover. It’s not so much the pressure to conform as the appearance that I’ve conformed to pressure. See how warped this is? I just don’t want to look like I care what people think, or need to be identified with a thing.

Which might be why, now that local food is becoming quite vogue, it’s getting hard for me to admit I’m eating locally without simultaneously rolling my eyes just a smidgeon.

Understand what I am saying: I love eating local. It tastes better, feeds your body better, serves the environment and local economy better. But I never want local food to seem elitist, or appear as something that people must jump off a proverbial ledge to conquer. It’s often quite accessible, and there are no hard-and-fast rules (no matter what some might have us think). In this country of ours, the range of living conditions, family dynamics and financial statuses is vast enough to warrant a loose translation of the local-eating realm. People would benefit from doing what they can, maybe challenging themselves a bit, learning a little and experimenting where possible.

Which is why, a couple of nights in the past week, we have been surprised when we sat down to our dinner and realized our meal consisted of almost 100% local foods. When we figured this out last night, Tim decided it was time to do a cost analysis (murmuring something about food miles and asking me detailed questions about how much I paid for this and that, figuring percentages of CSA boxes, etc.). Was eating a local meal a luxury?

We were happily surprised to discover that it just wasn’t that expensive. Granted — this was a meat-free meal, which necessarily makes it cheaper. Here’s what we (i.e., Tim) figured:

Vegetable skillet with eggs & creamy grits:

  • 1 Tbsp rendered bacon fat, plus 1 Tbsp purchased duck fat: .25
  • 1/2 pound golden potatoes: $1.00
  • 1/2 red onion: .50
  • 2 small zucchini squash: $1.15
  • small bunch kale: $1.00
  • 4 eggs: $1.00
  • 1 cup milk: .34
  • 1/2 cup corn grits: .40

To note: while our kids did eat some grits and potatoes, the meal was eaten mostly by me and Tim. So, that ends up being $2.81/person for a local meal. Also, we had a couple incidentals that were not local: a few shakes of tabasco, and some ketchup.

We didn’t set out to cook the dinner of a locavore. But after making slow, accessible changes to how we source a lot of our food, it just happened. Between our CSA, my weekly trips to our farmer’s market, a local meat shop like Goose the Market, and my own small garden, we had ourselves a humble supper where most things traveled less than 100 miles to get to our table.

Not that it is always that easy, or something that will now regularly occur. But it was encouraging, to know that the handful of choices we’ve made since we moved here have unintentionally created an environment in our kitchen where this can happen.

I’m no Barbara Kingsolver — but it’s nice to know that after challenging ourselves a bit, and doing what we financially can, local food can happen.


The accidental locavore

I’m not a rebel in any traditional sense of the word. Outside of a 1995 research trip to a Harley-Davidson store wherein I tried on a stereo-wired helmet, listened to Blue Oyster Cult, and then swore I’d someday don leather and ride into the sunset on the back of a Harley (should I erase that fantasy from my bucket list since I forbade my husband from owning a motorcycle?), I’m a pretty safe and predictable girl.

The exception to this rule occurs when something comes into vogue. Even in cases where I’ve previously attached myself to a trend, fashion, or social phenomenon, the moment it becomes “all the rage,” I turn my back like a spurned lover. It’s not so much the pressure to conform as the appearance that I’ve conformed to pressure. See how warped this is? I just don’t want to look like I care what people think, or need to be identified with a thing.

Which might be why, now that local food is becoming quite vogue, it’s getting hard for me to admit I’m eating locally without simultaneously rolling my eyes just a smidgeon.

Understand what I am saying: I love eating local. It tastes better, feeds your body better, serves the environment and local economy better. But I never want local food to seem elitist, or appear as something that people must jump off a proverbial ledge to conquer. It’s often quite accessible, and there are no hard-and-fast rules (no matter what some might have us think). In this country of ours, the range of living conditions, family dynamics and financial statuses is vast enough to warrant a loose translation of the local-eating realm. People would benefit from doing what they can, maybe challenging themselves a bit, learning a little and experimenting where possible.

Which is why, a couple of nights in the past week, we have been surprised when we sat down to our dinner and realized our meal consisted of almost 100% local foods. When we figured this out last night, Tim decided it was time to do a cost analysis (murmuring something about food miles and asking me detailed questions about how much I paid for this and that, figuring percentages of CSA boxes, etc.). Was eating a local meal a luxury?

We were happily surprised to discover that it just wasn’t that expensive. Granted — this was a meat-free meal, which necessarily makes it cheaper. Here’s what we (i.e., Tim) figured:

Vegetable skillet with eggs & creamy grits:

  • 1 Tbsp rendered bacon fat, plus 1 Tbsp purchased duck fat: .25
  • 1/2 pound golden potatoes: $1.00
  • 1/2 red onion: .50
  • 2 small zucchini squash: $1.15
  • small bunch kale: $1.00
  • 4 eggs: $1.00
  • 1 cup milk: .34
  • 1/2 cup corn grits: .40

To note: while our kids did eat some grits and potatoes, the meal was eaten mostly by me and Tim. So, that ends up being $2.81/person for a local meal. Also, we had a couple incidentals that were not local: a few shakes of tabasco, and some ketchup.

We didn’t set out to cook the dinner of a locavore. But after making slow, accessible changes to how we source a lot of our food, it just happened. Between our CSA, my weekly trips to our farmer’s market, a local meat shop like Goose the Market, and my own small garden, we had ourselves a humble supper where most things traveled less than 100 miles to get to our table.

Not that it is always that easy, or something that will now regularly occur. But it was encouraging, to know that the handful of choices we’ve made since we moved here have unintentionally created an environment in our kitchen where this can happen.

I’m no Barbara Kingsolver — but it’s nice to know that after challenging ourselves a bit, and doing what we financially can, local food can happen.


The accidental locavore

I’m not a rebel in any traditional sense of the word. Outside of a 1995 research trip to a Harley-Davidson store wherein I tried on a stereo-wired helmet, listened to Blue Oyster Cult, and then swore I’d someday don leather and ride into the sunset on the back of a Harley (should I erase that fantasy from my bucket list since I forbade my husband from owning a motorcycle?), I’m a pretty safe and predictable girl.

The exception to this rule occurs when something comes into vogue. Even in cases where I’ve previously attached myself to a trend, fashion, or social phenomenon, the moment it becomes “all the rage,” I turn my back like a spurned lover. It’s not so much the pressure to conform as the appearance that I’ve conformed to pressure. See how warped this is? I just don’t want to look like I care what people think, or need to be identified with a thing.

Which might be why, now that local food is becoming quite vogue, it’s getting hard for me to admit I’m eating locally without simultaneously rolling my eyes just a smidgeon.

Understand what I am saying: I love eating local. It tastes better, feeds your body better, serves the environment and local economy better. But I never want local food to seem elitist, or appear as something that people must jump off a proverbial ledge to conquer. It’s often quite accessible, and there are no hard-and-fast rules (no matter what some might have us think). In this country of ours, the range of living conditions, family dynamics and financial statuses is vast enough to warrant a loose translation of the local-eating realm. People would benefit from doing what they can, maybe challenging themselves a bit, learning a little and experimenting where possible.

Which is why, a couple of nights in the past week, we have been surprised when we sat down to our dinner and realized our meal consisted of almost 100% local foods. When we figured this out last night, Tim decided it was time to do a cost analysis (murmuring something about food miles and asking me detailed questions about how much I paid for this and that, figuring percentages of CSA boxes, etc.). Was eating a local meal a luxury?

We were happily surprised to discover that it just wasn’t that expensive. Granted — this was a meat-free meal, which necessarily makes it cheaper. Here’s what we (i.e., Tim) figured:

Vegetable skillet with eggs & creamy grits:

  • 1 Tbsp rendered bacon fat, plus 1 Tbsp purchased duck fat: .25
  • 1/2 pound golden potatoes: $1.00
  • 1/2 red onion: .50
  • 2 small zucchini squash: $1.15
  • small bunch kale: $1.00
  • 4 eggs: $1.00
  • 1 cup milk: .34
  • 1/2 cup corn grits: .40

To note: while our kids did eat some grits and potatoes, the meal was eaten mostly by me and Tim. So, that ends up being $2.81/person for a local meal. Also, we had a couple incidentals that were not local: a few shakes of tabasco, and some ketchup.

We didn’t set out to cook the dinner of a locavore. But after making slow, accessible changes to how we source a lot of our food, it just happened. Between our CSA, my weekly trips to our farmer’s market, a local meat shop like Goose the Market, and my own small garden, we had ourselves a humble supper where most things traveled less than 100 miles to get to our table.

Not that it is always that easy, or something that will now regularly occur. But it was encouraging, to know that the handful of choices we’ve made since we moved here have unintentionally created an environment in our kitchen where this can happen.

I’m no Barbara Kingsolver — but it’s nice to know that after challenging ourselves a bit, and doing what we financially can, local food can happen.


The accidental locavore

I’m not a rebel in any traditional sense of the word. Outside of a 1995 research trip to a Harley-Davidson store wherein I tried on a stereo-wired helmet, listened to Blue Oyster Cult, and then swore I’d someday don leather and ride into the sunset on the back of a Harley (should I erase that fantasy from my bucket list since I forbade my husband from owning a motorcycle?), I’m a pretty safe and predictable girl.

The exception to this rule occurs when something comes into vogue. Even in cases where I’ve previously attached myself to a trend, fashion, or social phenomenon, the moment it becomes “all the rage,” I turn my back like a spurned lover. It’s not so much the pressure to conform as the appearance that I’ve conformed to pressure. See how warped this is? I just don’t want to look like I care what people think, or need to be identified with a thing.

Which might be why, now that local food is becoming quite vogue, it’s getting hard for me to admit I’m eating locally without simultaneously rolling my eyes just a smidgeon.

Understand what I am saying: I love eating local. It tastes better, feeds your body better, serves the environment and local economy better. But I never want local food to seem elitist, or appear as something that people must jump off a proverbial ledge to conquer. It’s often quite accessible, and there are no hard-and-fast rules (no matter what some might have us think). In this country of ours, the range of living conditions, family dynamics and financial statuses is vast enough to warrant a loose translation of the local-eating realm. People would benefit from doing what they can, maybe challenging themselves a bit, learning a little and experimenting where possible.

Which is why, a couple of nights in the past week, we have been surprised when we sat down to our dinner and realized our meal consisted of almost 100% local foods. When we figured this out last night, Tim decided it was time to do a cost analysis (murmuring something about food miles and asking me detailed questions about how much I paid for this and that, figuring percentages of CSA boxes, etc.). Was eating a local meal a luxury?

We were happily surprised to discover that it just wasn’t that expensive. Granted — this was a meat-free meal, which necessarily makes it cheaper. Here’s what we (i.e., Tim) figured:

Vegetable skillet with eggs & creamy grits:

  • 1 Tbsp rendered bacon fat, plus 1 Tbsp purchased duck fat: .25
  • 1/2 pound golden potatoes: $1.00
  • 1/2 red onion: .50
  • 2 small zucchini squash: $1.15
  • small bunch kale: $1.00
  • 4 eggs: $1.00
  • 1 cup milk: .34
  • 1/2 cup corn grits: .40

To note: while our kids did eat some grits and potatoes, the meal was eaten mostly by me and Tim. So, that ends up being $2.81/person for a local meal. Also, we had a couple incidentals that were not local: a few shakes of tabasco, and some ketchup.

We didn’t set out to cook the dinner of a locavore. But after making slow, accessible changes to how we source a lot of our food, it just happened. Between our CSA, my weekly trips to our farmer’s market, a local meat shop like Goose the Market, and my own small garden, we had ourselves a humble supper where most things traveled less than 100 miles to get to our table.

Not that it is always that easy, or something that will now regularly occur. But it was encouraging, to know that the handful of choices we’ve made since we moved here have unintentionally created an environment in our kitchen where this can happen.

I’m no Barbara Kingsolver — but it’s nice to know that after challenging ourselves a bit, and doing what we financially can, local food can happen.


The accidental locavore

I’m not a rebel in any traditional sense of the word. Outside of a 1995 research trip to a Harley-Davidson store wherein I tried on a stereo-wired helmet, listened to Blue Oyster Cult, and then swore I’d someday don leather and ride into the sunset on the back of a Harley (should I erase that fantasy from my bucket list since I forbade my husband from owning a motorcycle?), I’m a pretty safe and predictable girl.

The exception to this rule occurs when something comes into vogue. Even in cases where I’ve previously attached myself to a trend, fashion, or social phenomenon, the moment it becomes “all the rage,” I turn my back like a spurned lover. It’s not so much the pressure to conform as the appearance that I’ve conformed to pressure. See how warped this is? I just don’t want to look like I care what people think, or need to be identified with a thing.

Which might be why, now that local food is becoming quite vogue, it’s getting hard for me to admit I’m eating locally without simultaneously rolling my eyes just a smidgeon.

Understand what I am saying: I love eating local. It tastes better, feeds your body better, serves the environment and local economy better. But I never want local food to seem elitist, or appear as something that people must jump off a proverbial ledge to conquer. It’s often quite accessible, and there are no hard-and-fast rules (no matter what some might have us think). In this country of ours, the range of living conditions, family dynamics and financial statuses is vast enough to warrant a loose translation of the local-eating realm. People would benefit from doing what they can, maybe challenging themselves a bit, learning a little and experimenting where possible.

Which is why, a couple of nights in the past week, we have been surprised when we sat down to our dinner and realized our meal consisted of almost 100% local foods. When we figured this out last night, Tim decided it was time to do a cost analysis (murmuring something about food miles and asking me detailed questions about how much I paid for this and that, figuring percentages of CSA boxes, etc.). Was eating a local meal a luxury?

We were happily surprised to discover that it just wasn’t that expensive. Granted — this was a meat-free meal, which necessarily makes it cheaper. Here’s what we (i.e., Tim) figured:

Vegetable skillet with eggs & creamy grits:

  • 1 Tbsp rendered bacon fat, plus 1 Tbsp purchased duck fat: .25
  • 1/2 pound golden potatoes: $1.00
  • 1/2 red onion: .50
  • 2 small zucchini squash: $1.15
  • small bunch kale: $1.00
  • 4 eggs: $1.00
  • 1 cup milk: .34
  • 1/2 cup corn grits: .40

To note: while our kids did eat some grits and potatoes, the meal was eaten mostly by me and Tim. So, that ends up being $2.81/person for a local meal. Also, we had a couple incidentals that were not local: a few shakes of tabasco, and some ketchup.

We didn’t set out to cook the dinner of a locavore. But after making slow, accessible changes to how we source a lot of our food, it just happened. Between our CSA, my weekly trips to our farmer’s market, a local meat shop like Goose the Market, and my own small garden, we had ourselves a humble supper where most things traveled less than 100 miles to get to our table.

Not that it is always that easy, or something that will now regularly occur. But it was encouraging, to know that the handful of choices we’ve made since we moved here have unintentionally created an environment in our kitchen where this can happen.

I’m no Barbara Kingsolver — but it’s nice to know that after challenging ourselves a bit, and doing what we financially can, local food can happen.


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