Where Does Your Food Come From?

A playful approach to sincere thoughts on food

✍️ Author’s Note: I wrote the following piece for a “playful essay” writing class that I’m currently enrolled in. I wasn’t planning on sharing this here on The Conscious Consumer, at least not without incorporating feedback from my classmates, but alas, the week got away from me and I didn’t have a post planned so I thought, why not share it?

This essay in particular uses the abecedarian format, which is simply an alphabetical arrangement. It was a fun yet challenging way to approach writing something and definitely got me thinking out of the box. I hope it makes you smile and think!

Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: a memoir by Barbara Kingsolver that I can’t stop thinking about. As a self-proclaimed foodie, I appreciate delicious food and value knowing where it comes from.

Bolognese in Budapest, I still remember from my first time overseas. Europe taught me that not all food is created equal. Is it any surprise that the Slow Food Movement originated in Italy?

Chicory, a green of Italian origins, found its way into my life last winter. A plethora arrived from the farm biweekly, leaving me to fend with its preparation. I am slowly but surely learning. Douse bitter greens in a creamy dressing and they shine like a stage actor in the spotlight.

Do you know how easy it is to roast a whole chicken? A party trick of Julia Childs’, I thought this a far-fetched fantasy until I met my partner and he showed me how simple it is.

Every few weeks this summer, we received a bounty of produce and a frozen whole chicken from a farm less than an hour's drive away.

Farming isn’t for the faint of heart. I spent a day in the fields on that farm this past fall, kneeling underneath the shadow of Mt. Hood to wipe the moisture off freshly-picked delicata squash.

Geez, the last volunteer group dug for potatoes, I'm told—they let us off easy!

Hoodie strawberries, the taste of Oregon’s summer, require more arduous kneeling than that squash.

Is this evolving from a food origin story into a chronicle of some of my favorite foods? Maybe. But who doesn’t want to talk about their favorite foods?

Jammy yolks are one of mine. They belong on almost everything, I’d argue. Pizza, hamburgers, noodles, toast. The only spot I’ve yet to try them is in my morning oats.

Kitschy rhyme, right? Even kitschier is “Kitchenistics,” the name of my mom’s food blog.

Like me, my mom appreciates good food. She believes that no baked good shall ever be store-bought. Julia Childs' wise words, “If you’re afraid of butter, use cream” hang in her home.

Mothers are often a great source of food inspiration, passing down recipes and work ethic from generation to generation. My mom’s mom made a living working in a school cafeteria.

Normally a school cafeteria lunch is nothing to write home about; I'm lucky that my childhood consisted of many a sack lunches, packed with love by my caregivers. But if a cafeteria lunch must be eaten, shouldn’t it fill our children with nutrients and joy?

Oregon, I recently learned, offers a subsidy to public schools statewide that allows them to buy fresh, locally grown foods for their cafeterias.

Portland's own Umi Organic makes award-winning yakisoba noodles for students spanning the state. After their facility caught fire last summer, they stopped manufacturing noodles for the public; schoolchildren are their one and only priority.

Quite something, don’t you think? Our world could use a little more of that spirit. Making food out of the goodness of our hearts instead of pressure to grow.

Recently, Portland’s Pip’s Donuts opened a second location in the neighboring suburb of Beaverton. They announced its closure less than two years later, citing rent increases.

Sad, I thought when I read the news. Especially for a business whose owner preaches “community over competition.” But I’ll admit, that part of me that prefers urban gems don't cater to suburban sprawl couldn't help but feel a little smug.

Tell me I'm not the only one who feels that way? Why does accessibility to quality restaurants feel entirely different than equitable access to fresh foods? Are they not the same thing?

Utmost importance lies in the integrity of the product and the people, I suppose. Salt & Straw has expanded to 42 locations nationwide and I was never too bothered by that.

Very well then—thoughtful, purposeful expansion that keeps quality food at its center can stay. But I prefer my favorite spots stay local, limiting their expansion instead to the outer limits of Portland. Like Harlow, one of the city’s tastiest vegan cafés.

Wellness Toddy, Harlow's lemon-ginger beverage, is what I sipped as I wrote this, the cayenne pepper leaving a not-unpleasant burn in the back of my throat while my fingers marked a trail across the keyboard. I needed a beverage to warm me up after walking the trails of the Portland Audubon Society beforehand.

Xena, a rescued bird—American Kestrel—lives in a cage there because she cannot fly well enough to survive in the wild.

You see it's the circle of life, don’t you? Animal, human, miracle. We must all eat to live.

Zest—for life, that is—often lies in the pleasures of what we eat. It is not just our minds that are a treasure of being human; it is the way in which our tongues can detect 5 different tastes—sweet, salty, sour, bitter, and umami. Now you know where taste comes from. Where does your food come from?

If you’re craving more like this...

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