Our Food Philosophy

Sign Me Up for Slow

I grew up in the 80s, an era that marked a dramatic change in the American food supply. It was the decade when soda companies switched from sugar to high fructose corn syrup, when many smaller cattle operations funneled into fewer corporate behemoths that prized profits over all else, when almost every family in America acquired a microwave and the many packaged foods newly designed to be cooked in it became dietary staples.

A typical day in my childhood food life included a breakfast of coffee, a lunch of diet soda, a bag of chips or a paper cup of cafeteria French fries, and a dinner that was often pizza, fast food, or boxed frozen convenience food. A homemade meal at my house was pasta with jarred sauce and garlic bread from a frozen silver bag or sandwiches with deli potato salad on the side.

At restaurants, if I said I wanted to order an unfamiliar dish I was told, over and over, “You don’t like that.” It was repeated so many times that I believed into my adulthood that I did not like what are actually my very favorite foods: mussels, blue cheese, avocados, lentils, and prosciutto, to name a few.

For years, I ate factory-made food because it was all I knew. Eventually, when I was 21, I read Andrew Weil’s book 8 Weeks to Optimal Health and got wise to the “foods” I had always eaten. Specifically, the book made me aware of partially hydrogenated oils and high fructose corn syrup. From then on, I was a label-reader and I sought to avoid these highly refined ingredients, which, for me at the time, resulted in high grocery bills and meals based on Whole Foods-sourced junked food.

When I met my husband Dan, I talked to him about partially hydrogenated oils the first time I saw his kitchen and Dan, a naturally skeptical person, looked at me like I was a crazy hippie. But later he researched the topic on his own. The next time I saw him, his pantry had been purged, and from then on we shared an interest in cooking based on non-manufactured ingredients.

I knew our approach had become extreme a few years ago when we banned boxed crackers, even the Whole Food’s 365 brand Woven Wheats, which contain just whole wheat and salt. Why? Well, they are expensive, the packaging is wasteful, and, most importantly, it’s really insanely easy to make your own crackers and they taste a whole lot better. These days, in the Whole Food’s checkout aisle, there is rarely a boxed or bagged item in our cart. It’s usually a lot of produce, one or two carefully selected meat items, cheese, various dried beans and grains from the bulk section, and grass-fed butter, whole milk, buttermilk and cream. Our grocery bills are a fraction of what most people spend because we make everything from scratch.

If I search my fridge and pantry there are some exceptions: a jar of pre-made curry paste and a bag of whole wheat sandwich bread for times when we don’t have homemade bread, biscuits, tortillas, or rolls on hand. Sometimes I buy a bag of chips for a party. We haven’t yet tackled sausage making, but we buy the best available from our local shops.

Recipes that call for a packet of taco seasoning or a can of condensed soup or canned cake icing or a jar of marinara sauce bring out the raging food snob in me, a revulsion that is almost certainly a rebellion against the way I was raised. I reject fake food. I have already eaten all the jarred pasta sauce and Weight Watchers frozen entrees I can take.

I like to be in the kitchen. I like to turn up music, strap on my apron, open a bottle of wine, and spend the entire afternoon and part of the evening cooking, either alone or, especially, with Dan. Because it’s so much fun, so creative, so relaxing, such a powerful bonding experience, I just can’t wrap my head around the zeal for quick and easy cooking.

If there’s a hard way and an easy way, I will pick the hard way. A fast way and a slow way? Sign me up for slow. I don’t want to rush through some of the most rewarding moments and hours of my life. I want the final dish to be as delicious as the process of cooking itself.