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Awake at the Whisk

Sunday, March 6, 2011

 

Marmalade Popover Recipe

I’m not sure how I made it to the age of 34 without ever eating a popover, but I’m sure glad I’ve corrected this culinary error. Allow me to share this newfound joy with you!

Popovers are made of just a few simple ingredients: eggs, flour, milk, a little melted butter. Simple. They gain rising power solely from the eggs, and come bursting out of their cozy muffin-like tins, reaching for the sky.

Marmalade Popover with Meyer lemon and cardamom marmalade

Within moments of being removed from the oven, they deflate, which will make you sad. But don’t let it get you down. Part of what makes them so luscious is their hollow middle. What they lose in fluff they make up for in flavor! They are light and airy in your mouth. 

I made mine using a muffin tin (I don’t own a popover tin). While a popover pan will make a skinnier, taller version of these breakfast bites, the muffin tin works sufficiently.

I used Marion Cunningham’s recipe from The Breakfast Book—a must-own for anyone who loves breakfast and is tired of the same old recipes. This book is packed with original ideas, and from the success of its popovers, I can only assume that everything in this cookbook is a winner.

This recipe calls for a heaping teaspoon of marmalade placed in the bottom of each muffin mold. I was recently given a jar of tantalizing Meyer lemon and cardamom marmalade from my friend, Elise. Boy, did that boost the excitement of these pastries!

The popovers were airy and chewy with a glistening coat of sweetness, bites of pucker-y citrus rind, and the earthy “pow” of spicy cardamom. When served with a cup of warm chai, this combination made for a warming, happy breakfast on an otherwise rainy morning.

Hello, Popovers! So nice to have met you!

Marmalade Popovers made in a muffin tin
 Marmalade Popovers Recipe

Here’s Cunningham’s recipe with two minor adaptations from me: instead of grinding rolled oats in the food processor, I simply used oat bran. Also, instead of orange marmalade, I used Elise’s Meyer lemon and cardamom version.

In her book, Cunningham stresses the importance of placing these into a cold (i.e., not preheated) oven to start.
Marmalade Popover Recipe
Marmalade Popover Recipe Ingredients
2 eggs
1 cup raw, organic milk (I used skim)
1 Tablespoon butter, melted
1/3 cup oat bran
¾ cup all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon salt
½ cup marmalade (I used Meyer lemon & cardamom marmalade)

Grease muffin tins. Drop a heaping teaspoon of marmalade into the bottom of each cup.

Mix the eggs, milk, melted butter, oat bran, flour, and salt in a medium mixing bowl just until blended. Fill each muffin cup half way with the batter. Set the pan inside a cold oven.

Turn the heat to 450 degrees and bake for 15 minutes. Then, reduce the heat to 350 degrees and bake for another 10 to 15 minutes, or just until golden and round.

Remove from the pans and serve piping hot.

Serves: 12

Other Popover Ideas:
Davis Lebovitz has a donut-inspired popover recipe that I’m excited to try.

My friend Michelle has a savory popover recipe great for making with kids.

My friend Sarah shares her Nana’s recipe for a basic popover. 

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Friday, July 30, 2010

 

Sacramento Leads Nation in Farmers’ Markets & Farm Stands

Sacramento loves its farmers! And it shows. Yesterday marked the second week of a new Capitol farmers’ market at 6th Street and Capitol Mall. This market is just one more example of Sacramentan’s fondness for local produce. In fact, we lead the nation in farmers’ markets and roadside farm stands, according to a new study released and conducted by Shermain Hardesty, a Cooperative Extension economist with the UC Davis Department of Agricultural and Resource Economics.

The new market on Capitol Mall won’t last long. It runs every Thursday through September 30th from 10:00 A.M. to 1:30 P.M.

I stopped by the market yesterday to investigate. Unlike the other weekly markets, I found plenty of elbow room here. I had more time to ask each farmer about their wares.

An heirloom tomato farmer empathized with my home gardening woes. Although he had plump, gorgeous heirlooms covering his table, he said the cool start to summer set him back by about three weeks. Yet, his tomatoes are far ahead of mine. My heirlooms are still hanging green on the vine. So I paid $2.50 for a heavy Brandywine, which I intend to savor in thick slices with chunks of fresh mozzarella.

A melon farmer talked with me about this year’s crop as a luscious smell rose to meet my nose. The perfectly ripe orbs showed pale green and pale orange through their thin matted skins. After detailed explanations about the various flavors I might expect, I selected two happy, juicy melons for less than $5.

Although I’m a vegetarian, I decided to talk to the local free-range meat farmer. At the Sunday market, his booth is usually flanked (pun intended!) by swarms of people. Yesterday, I was able to speak with him at length. He had combined forces with the free-range chicken farmer so they could share the burden of working another market. He said his Sunday customers were pleased to come out to this market, because they could have first dibs on popular items like tri-tip, which he said are normally sold out by the time Sunday rolls around. Since my three brothers-in-law are currently visiting, each of them weighing in at over 6’ 3”, and one of them a hearty and devoted meat-eater, I plunked down $17.50 for a chicken I was told would easily feed four hungry men.

A local baker took the time to help me plan which tortillas might go best with the menu I was considering for dinner. She also gave me a sample of one of her freshly baked cookies. The caramelized sugars in her whole wheat and oat chocolate chip cookie danced and crunched in my mouth. I paid $1.25 to take one more home with me.

And of course, several stalls were overflowing with the ripe harvest of peaches, nectarines, pluots, plums, vegetables, and healthy produce. I heard the farmers explaining patiently, and repeatedly, to new customers what a pluot was, or the difference between a freestone peach and a cling peach.

When I asked each farmer why they were drawn to participate in this particular market, they each gave a similar answer: meeting new customers, expanding awareness, and hopefully, earning just a little more money during the week.

As I loaded my groceries into my car and was driving home, the heavy perfume of the melons filled my car with the bright scents of summer. I sure hope that Sacramento’s love of fresh farm produce continues to flourish in this fine city!

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Wednesday, July 28, 2010

 

Conscious Cooking Reignites Firehouse


Everyone knows The Firehouse Restaurant as a Sacramento icon for its picturesque court yard, abundant wine cellar, and historic charm. Yet, on a recent sit-down with Executive Chef Deneb Williams, I was delighted to learn that The Firehouse is also surprisingly alive and modern. From its menu to food-sourcing practices to a unionized kitchen staff, Firehouse is innovative and inspiring.
First, there’s the menu. Chef Williams has done some traveling in his day, and his global tastes are reflected in a new bill of fare that is bright and playful. The Mahi Mahi Tacos blend the flavors of honey, cumin, cilantro, mango, cucumber, and avocado, and are served as you might find them on the streets of Mexico, rustically wrapped in paper.

Classic Dungeness Crab Cakes come alive with the pop of plump corn, fresh cilantro, and a light, sweet pepper coulis. Another classic, the caprese salad, becomes a modern day display of creativity in Chef Williams’ Heirloom Tomato Napoleon, which appears in a rounded stack looking deceptively like a large, whole tomato.

In fact, most of Williams’ dishes are immaculately displayed, and even more studiously planned months in advance. Churning out three new seasonal menus each year, with the addition of nightly specials and formal occasion dinners, (like Valentine’s Day), Williams will run through 38 different menus and 50 tastings to test them, in a single year.

This is a guy who needs to be fully awake at the whisk! And he is.

Raised in the San Juan Islands near Vancouver, Canada, Williams was brought up on a macrobiotic vegetarian diet. His mother raised goats and had a large garden. Her philosophy sticks with him to this day. He still doesn’t eat much red meat, and when he does, he says he can only eat about four ounces at a time. He shops regularly at Sacramento’s Sunday farmers’ market. He works with seasonal themes, local farmers, and an environmentally strong food philosophy.

“I won’t serve seafood that is overfished,” Williams says firmly. “I try to balance both wild and farm-raised fish. And I get all my Ahi from the big island in Hawaii. It’s only caught using long line, and they don’t harvest shark.”

Williams proceeds to rattle off several websites on sustainable fishing that I should be sure to read. When I ask him how he keeps up with all the information, he doesn’t hesitate, “I’m completely obsessed with what I do!”

He speaks passionately about the farms he has visited in pursuit of the perfect ingredients for The Firehouse menu. He describes his process for sourcing quality ingredients for a menu that must be planned 120 days in advance.

With the oddly cold start to our Sacramento summer, the tardy tomato season sent Williams to Southern California for heirloom tomatoes he would otherwise have purchased locally. This is a quandary that he clearly approaches thoughtfully.

“I have to react quickly,” he says. “I’ve got squash, basil, and onions coming in locally now. I’ll definitely run specials when our local tomatoes are finally ripe.”

Williams trains his chefs to respond quickly, too. He trains them to prepare every item on the menu to meet the dietary needs of Firehouse customers. “We can make anything on the menu vegetarian, vegan, etcetera,” he explains enthusiastically.

He speaks highly of the chefs he works with, all of whom are part of this union restaurant. “I’m only as good as my cooks,” he says with pride. “Most of my cooks could be executive chefs at other restaurants.”

This pride and passion aren’t immediately apparent when you step through the ancient doors of this historic, quiet, reserved restaurant. Yet, somewhere inside the kitchen, hidden from diners’ view, an explosion of creativity and zeal is taking place. If you eat there, rest assured, you will experience it: in your mouth.

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Tuesday, July 20, 2010

 

Book Review of Farm City: The Education of an Urban Farmer



Feathers fly. Guns fire. Beets ripen. Salami cures. There’s a bit of flavorful adventure around every page in Novella Carpenter’s debut memoir Farm City: The Education of an Urban Farmer. Just as her urban farm tumbles with chickens, pigs, and watermelon, Carpenter’s book bubbles with a blend of funny, nostalgic, rebellious, and heartfelt tales not to be missed.

Raised by former hippies, Carpenter’s veins run thick with bloodlust to live in harmony with the land. Yet, like most children, Carpenter has her own ideas about how this plays out. Instead of running barefoot through the woods of rural Michigan plucking berries, she dons a headlamp to dive in Oakland city dumpsters in search of food for her rabbits and pigs. Rather than a white picket fence-lined home on a ranch, Carpenter builds her farm illegally on a vacant city lot next to her apartment. When she picks extra lettuce from her bountiful crop, she doesn’t package it for market. Instead, she carries it on her bicycle handlebars to donate to the local Black Panthers.

In this delightful story, Carpenter invites the reader to experience her initiation in becoming a tried and true “urban farmer” in a ghetto called “Ghost Town” in Oakland, California. The story opens with Carpenter’s newest purchase, and the beginning of her transformation: a box of assorted meat birds including chickens, geese, turkeys, and ducks. The story quickly unfolds in a comedy of trial and error as Carpenter educates herself through copious research and sweaty toil.

In one misadventure, Carpenter attempts a 30-day 100-yard diet, putting the notion of being locavore (trying to live off food sourced only from within 100 miles) to shame. Carpenter is choosing to live solely off her own farm and her food desert neighborhood. As her waistline shrinks and her coffee-cravings cause headaches, she stumbles upon a neighbor willing to barter: some of Carpenter’s urban farm-grown collards for the neighbor’s crispy-fried locally-caught fish dinner complete with fabulously-urban, yet equally homemade, cake frosted using pink food dye.

Such tales reveal a Carpenter whose lifestyle is equal parts nostalgia and practicality. Hers is not a life of abstinence, but one rich in abundance. Carpenter does not deny herself of urban pleasures in pursuit of romantic food ideals. Indeed, she pulls the resources of the city close to her, showing that there can be farmer’s harmony even in a concrete jungle.

For example, when Carpenter takes ownership of several rabbits, her first instinct is to draw on the city to provide for them. She finds Chinatown dumpsters overflowing with bread and greens ideal for bunny feed. For her chickens, she scours her neighborhood for a widely growing weed that the chicks find particularly tasty. As Carpenter puts it, it’s an “urban waste stream that I was tapping regularly.”

Yet Farm City isn’t just a story about farm life. In this urban setting, it’s plentiful with stories of the characters in Carpenter’s neighborhood and city. There’s Bobby, a homeless man who sleeps in abandoned cars on the street. There’s Lana, an artist who operates a speakeasy in her warehouse. And there’s Chef Chris Lee, who runs the upscale restaurant Eccolo, and teaches Carpenter to make Italian cured meats.

Anyone hungry for an inspired tale that stands out as a fresh addition to the food writing scene will be delighted by Farm City.

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Monday, June 21, 2010

 

Crawfish Boil

You don't have to go to New Orleans to have a Crawfish Boil. You can do it with freshly-caught crawfish right here in Sacramento.

I love seafood. I love trying new recipes. So, when I saw the sign for Kelly’s Crawfish at the Sunday farmers’ market, I made a v-line. I had read about crawfish boils. They are always described in happy detail as one of those “must” culinary adventures. Indeed, in the tales I’ve read, the boil seems to be half as much fun as the eating itself.

So, in my quest for the next big food escapade, I traded $7 for a few pounds of wriggling, pinching crawfish. Fisherman Kelly Hutson bestowed a few words of crawfish wisdom upon me as he handed over my fidgeting package. “Add lemongrass,” he suggested.

I took the neon blue bag from him and held my crawfish at arms’ length. “Of course they can’t escape,” I told myself.

As if reading my mind, Kelly tossed one last bit of advice in my direction. “When you get to your car, lay your other groceries on top of them. That will ensure they don’t crawl out,” he said.

Feeling utterly reassured, I made haste to get my little critters safely home to my cool refrigerator. Next, I began researching recipes for what would be my first-ever crawfish boil that night. With two hands, I guided My New Orleans off the bookshelf. Written by James Beard award-winning chef John Besh, this book is more than a cookbook. It’s a storybook for people who love food. Heavy, glossy, and oozing with edible photographs, My New Orleans conveys professionalism with every word, every image, every carefully-chosen recipe. I knew I could not fail with this book as my guide.

Yet, under the recipe for Crawfish Boil, the spice list merely read “1 package Zatarain’s Crab Boil spices.” Nooo! This would never do! Then I read further, “Secrets of the boil: What makes it yours are the ingredients you add.” Okay—so he doesn’t want to reveal his secret spice recipe. The man owns a restaurant. I can understand that. But as I read on, I finally found what I was looking for: “Foundations of the crawfish boil: cayenne, salt, and a mix of coriander, allspice, mustard seed, and black pepper.”

Bingo! Now I was ready! I prepped all my ingredients, fired up the grill, and had my stock simmering as our guests arrived. Within minutes of their arrival, the heady scent of spices lifted through the air. Our tummies rumbled.

“I’m going to check the stock,” I said. As soon as my feet hit the ground, I noticed everyone was following. All the stories I had read were right—a crawfish boil was an event! Eyes peered anxiously over my shoulder as I first lifted the lid to the grill, then the lid to the bubbling pot. “Oohs” and “ahhs” were uttered at the site of mere boiling water as the thickly spiced brew introduced itself to our noses.

Into the water went giant chunks of potato, corn, and carrot. As it boiled, we drank beers, but we were drunk on the smells coming from the grill, growing with force by the minute.

Now it was time for my crawling crawfish to meet their fate. The bag in my fridge was still wriggling. I cracked the seal, poured scampering crustaceans into a metal bowl, lifted the lid to their bubbling cauldron, and zoop!—in they plopped. One push of the spoon to sink them deeper into the watery depths, and clap!—I slammed the lid down, trapping all the heat in with them.

I have never before cooked a live fish. As a little girl, I went fishing on the Mississippi River with my dad, and it was his job to remove all creatures from hook. I never saw them again until they appeared on my dinner plate. Similarly, on my honeymoon several years ago, I went deep sea fishing with my husband, and we landed a giant, gorgeous mahi-mahi. As I dreamed lovingly of fish tacos, I had to look away when the fisherman walloped my mahi on the head. Love fish as much as I do, I get a little squeamish when it comes to the process from fishing line to my plate.
But I digress! I tell you this tale only to give you courage. I’m a big girl now, and as soon as the lid came down on that pot, my next thought was of dinner! And a mere 30 minutes later, I was scooping luscious chunks of veggies and crawfish right onto my plate, eager to dive in with both hands.

In every description I’ve read about crawfish boils, the entire contents of the boil are dumped onto newspaper laid across the table. But, since our bar is brand new, I didn’t want to take any inky chances. Instead, I daintily transferred mine into several large serving platters.

With the first messy bite, I learned why others rave about crawfish boils. The corn, which I thought might turn out mushy from all that boiling, was crisp and gushing with spicy Cajun flavor—no butter, no salt necessary. The potatoes were velvety. And the crawfish… the tails were soft and buttery, while the claws (my favorite!) were sweet and bright. As juice ran down our arms, we licked our fingers, cracked more fish, and stuffed ourselves silly on these farm-fresh delights.

Amber’s Sacramento Crawfish Boil
Ingredients:
1 large grapefruit cut into 1/8ths
2 large stalks celery, cut into large chunks
2 large cloves garlic, cut in ½ crosswise
2 ½ large, red onions, quartered
2 Tablespoons each: mustard seed, coriander seed, peppercorns, mild paprika, torn lemongrass, salt
1 Tablespoon allspice
½ Tablespoon each cayenne pepper, rosemary, and fennel seed
4 bay leaves
1 ½ lbs purple potato cut in half
5 ears of corn, shucked and halved
4 small sweet potatoes, whole
2 lbs crawfish
4 carrots cut in large chunks
4 washcloths
Juice from half a lemon

Farmers' Market Fare: garlic, onion, purple potato, corn, sweet potato, crawfish, carrots, lemon
Fresh from My Garden (and my neighbor's tree): grapefruit, lemongrass, rosemary, bay leaves, cayenne pepper, fennel seed
Non-local Supermarket Ingredients: celery, mustard seed, coriander seed, peppercorns, paprika, salt, allspice

Fill your largest soup kettle ½-full of water. Add the grapefruit, celery, garlic, onion, and spices. Bring to a boil on your grill. Reduce heat, cover with a lid, and simmer for 10 minutes.

Now add the potatoes and corn. Return to a boil, and then simmer, covered, for 15 minutes more.

Add the carrots and crawfish, being sure to dunk the fish under the water. Cover and cook for 10 more minutes.

Without removing the lid, turn off the heat and continue to let the crawfish stand in the pot for 20 minutes more.

Strain the liquid. Dump the remaining contents onto newspaper on your picnic table, or be dainty and distribute it among several large platters.

When the meal is finished, submerge clean washcloths in a bowl of very warm water. Add the lemon juice. Squeeze the excess water from each washcloth and place them in a metal bowl with a lid to trap the heat. Hand one to each guest. Their hands will be messy, and they will thank you for this lovely gesture!

Serves 4.

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Wednesday, June 2, 2010

 

Epiphany Farms: Three Vegas Chefs Take on Farming in Rural Illinois


When I picture farmland in Illinois, I imagine the farms of my youth with their high, green rows of corn that stretch as far as the eye can see. These are precise, square plots; the kind that look like building blocks if you were peering down from an airplane. The rows are tidy, the colors uniform.
These are the farms of industrialized agriculture with its mono-crops of corn and soy brought to life through the heavy use of pesticides and chemical fertilizers.

My childhood vision of the typical Illinois farm was shattered on Sunday when I visited Epiphany Farms, an organic farm in Downs, Illinois (population 760). Run by three guys in their mid-twenties, the farm looks like the creative doodles of a preschool drawing—not the clean design of an architect. This is farming as the earth intended.

In the front of the property, sloping into the south-facing sun leans a greenhouse constructed of curving wood. Next to that are three cold frames built entirely from recycled window panes. These stand not far from a pig pen. Around the bend is a field planted topsy-turvy by hand with slanting rows of beans, lettuces, and broccoli, and decorated by weeds. Adjacent are more pigs, most of them babies suckling on their mother. Farther a-field are cattle and chickens. Around the corner are bee hives and fruit trees.

The life on this farm teams with diversity, leaving no square outline to be seen from the air above. Instead, it winds with the hills and the forest tree line.

This is Epiphany Farms, the brainchild of Ken Myszka. He’s actually not a farmer, though he’s learning to become one. He’s a trained chef by trade, having worked for some of Vegas’s finest restaurants. But the more he has learned about cooking great food, the more he has wanted to be responsible for every step of the cooking process—including growing his own groceries.

So one year ago, Myszka packed up and moved back to his childhood home, conveniently located on 72 acres of farmable land in central Illinois. He brought along two buddies and fellow culinary geniuses Mike Mustard and Stu Hummel, who were also cooking in Vegas at the time.

Mustard is a native of Sacramento, California, while Hummel’s roots are from Clearfield, Pennsylvania. Like Myszka, the two wanted to be responsible for the production of the food they serve their customers.

Together, the three spent their first year as farmers studying and learning as much as they could about the craft. This year, they’ll see how successful they can be at harvesting bounty from their fields. And by next March 2011, they hope they can finally pull their vision together to start feeding the good folks of Bloomington, Illinois from their farm-to-fork restaurant. Vegetables and farm-fresh produce will be the stars of their menu, while protein (including their own grass-fed beef) will simply run support on the plate.

After touring their farm this past weekend, the chefs-turned-farmers offer me and a group of about 20 interested patrons a sampling of their cooking. This is no ordinary farm BBQ. Instead of hotdogs and chips, we are served a gourmet lunch of garden herb-seasoned potato salad (the lightest, freshest potato salad I’ve ever enjoyed), Asian noodle salad studded with grated carrots and radish (bright and flavorful), giant burgers made from Epiphany cattle and topped with both homemade mayonnaise made with their farm eggs and caramelized onions. For dessert: alpine strawberry muffins and coriander custard topped with powdered oats. Divine.

We dined as we looked out at cows chewing grass, chickens pecking, and vegetable plants blowing in the breeze.

Although other farmers and chefs will tell you that Epiphany Farms is breaking the mold, Myszka will tell you, “I’m not inventing anything. I’m not trying to be the first.” Instead, his goal is practical, “When I research about eating locally and eating healthy, and then I try to educate others, where can I tell them to go?”

For decades, there wouldn’t have been many answers to that question in rural Illinois. Today, there’s Epiphany Farms.

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Friday, May 28, 2010

 

The Sandwich Underground


I enter a darkened house on a run-down street. There are youth wearing black concert t-shirts, combat boots, and Chuck Taylors seated around the undecorated room rapidly ingesting the contents of their foil packets. Well-worn copies of the Sacramento News & Review scatter the floor.

I exchange money and wait while the dealer goes into another room. He returns with my own foil packets, the contents of which I have waited for all day. I’m fidgeting back and forth, anxious to get my hands on the product.

My secret stash: Vietnamese Sandwich on Baguette. The lethally delicious contents include fried tofu, shredded cabbage and carrots, scallions, cucumber, basil, cilantro, red bell pepper, jalapenos, plum sauce, cilantro-garlic vegennaise, and chili-garlic sauce.

Some folks travel to the grocery store for dinner. I prefer more heightened adventures. I hunt in the sandwich underground. Much like my clandestine pie buying, news of this Vietnamese baguette first came to me through a covert email forwarded from one foodie “in the know” to the next. It pays to know friends who eat well.

When the email arrived in my mailbox, it contained instructions to obtain this underground delight. There was an address, a name, and a narrow window of time in which to make the exchange.

Unlike the other anxious diners, I muster up some patience and drive my baguettes home to share with the hubby. With one crack of the foil seal, the heavy scent of chili-garlic sauce warms my nose. As I peel the foil further, chunks of ripe veggie topple out. This is a serious sandwich!

As I rush to the table to take a bite, I hesitate, grab an ice cold beer, and then settle in. My first bite sends a dance of flavor across the mouth. Crunchy bite of vegetables stand firm against a backdrop of soft, chewy baguette. There’s a burn of chili-garlic subdued by the clean and crisp combination of cilantro and mint. My lips burn. I take a swig of beer. Refreshed, I go in for another bite, and another, and before I realize it, my sandwich is gone. All that remains is the flame on my lips and that lustful longing when you’ve just tasted a good thing—and there’s nothing left.

Now, I sit anxiously at my computer, hitting the refresh key to my mailbox again and again. Surely, there must be word of another pick up. When it comes, I'll be ready! 

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Tuesday, April 20, 2010

 

Food, Inc. Acclaimed Film Airs on KVIE Tomorrow Night


Last July, I wrote a review for a documentary that has been sweeping America: Food, Inc. The movie has even enjoyed its moment in the limelight on Oprah. Food, Inc. is required viewing if you buy or eat food. Yep. That’s pretty much everybody. So, tune in. Trust me. You want to know what’s going on with our food system. And Food, Inc. leaves no question unanswered.
Thanks to our local PBS station, KVIE, you won’t even have to pay the $9 ticket price to see it. Just turn your TV dial from the comfort of your home. It airs twice this week: Tomorrow (Wednesday) at 10:00 P.M. and again on Sunday at 3:00 P.M.

I recommend hosting a gathering of friends to celebrate Earth Day and watch Food, Inc. together. This is the kind of movie that generates conversation, so make sure you have people around you to converse. You’ll all be ready to take action when the movie ends, so plan for that, too. For starters, you can use my handy guide to the farmers’ market. I have a feeling you’ll be shopping there more often.

You’ll probably come up with other great ideas to improve the way you eat. Write me. Comment on my blog. Share your views with all the locavores who gather here. We want to hear from you!

This incredible film moved my meat-eating husband to start ordering veggie burgers at our local brew pub. I can’t wait to hear how it inspires you.

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