By Tony Ricci
On our table is a bowl that holds the season. A relic that has been transformed from a humble server of spaghetti, it now records the progression of harvest. Tonight it cradles the last great gasp of the San Marzanos, a pepper of unknown origin, Asian pears and a clutch of bruised peaches.
We can gauge the shifting season as easily from the contents of this modest bowl as we do from the incremental slant of the sun. Eating with the season seems like such a natural concept that there hardly needs to be commentary on the subject. But after decades of indoctrination into the all-seasons-all-the-time mentality, eating what’s in your own backyard has begun to slowly work its way back into the American diet and culture. Finally, after years of hawking vegetables on the street corner, farmers can relax their lungs a bit and let the self-styled food gurus do some of the leg work for us by proclaiming the joys of eating a locally grown heirloom tomato.
There are many reasons for this welcome marketing trend, not least of which is the proliferation of local farmers markets. Direct promotional campaigns from departments of agriculture, non-profit agricultural organizations, and local town councils have also had a significant impact in promoting the concept of homegrown produce. In Pennsylvania, for instance, the Pennsylvania Vegetable Marketing and Research Program has invested significant resources during the past decade in advertising a “Simply Delicious” campaign through advertising, point-of-purchase material for farmers, and sponsoring farmers markets along the PA Turnpike. Twenty years ago the status quo in the vegetable production universe was dominated by the processing industry; farmers markets were viewed as quaint but insignificant players in the agricultural economy. But the resulting success of “eat fresh/eat local” campaigns is hard to explain without a compelling demand from consumers. Many veteran farmers can attest to the increased traffic in front of their stand, and the popularity of fresh local produce is due in large measure to this direct contact between grower and consumer.
A similar trend is rapidly gaining momentum at the wholesale level, especially the restaurant trade. Again, this incursion into territory that used to be completely dominated by large wholesale distributors has been successful because of the footwork of farmers in creating personal relationships with chefs. This connection between sous chef and dirt farmer has certainly always existed to some degree. But this vogue of buying local goes beyond hauling the dregs of your market baskets down the alley after a long sales day in the hopes of making a few extra bucks. Restaurants are demanding first pick and promising undying loyalty to their favorite farmer.
Curtis Eargle, executive chef of the Maryland club in Baltimore, is in the vanguard of this growing movement to bring the best local produce to the table. Talking with Curtis, you immediately realize that his commitment to buying from local farmers comes not from a compulsion to follow the latest trendy suggestions from Bon Appetit, but from a real devotion to using the best quality produce available. His awakening to the joys of local produce came decades before homegrown became haute cuisine.
“In 1975 I spent some time in Germany, visiting family,” he recalls. “The availability of vegetables there was like night and day compared to what I was used to in the U.S. I discovered vegetables I didn’t even know existed.”
When he returned home conventional purveyors were simply unwilling to supply him with anything that wasn’t on the top ten bestseller list of the American palate. Thus began his forays into the countryside in search of what he knew must still exist in this country – a tomato that hadn’t traveled more than a few miles from where it was picked.
Curtis had mixed results early on. Maryland is home to a thriving farming community, but many of the farmers were satisfied with the business they were doing at their retail stands. Convincing them to deliver to a restaurant was a daunting task. Eventually, he was able to develop relationships with a few farmers who were willing to grow produce specifically for his needs; and what he couldn’t get delivered he continued to actively search for himself at farm stands and markets. Ironically, it was like “pulling teeth to get local produce”, Curtis says. “What these guys didn’t realize was that I could help their other business by promoting them on the menu. I make a point of letting everyone know where their meal comes from. I’ll buy apple varieties that you can’t get in the store and give them away; and I’ll have a sign on the basket with the farmer’s name telling people exactly where they can find them.”
Life would be a cake walk through the rhubarb patch if all chefs were as enlightened as Curtis. Predictably, there are as many different kinds of chefs as there are tomato varieties in the world – which in the long run is a good thing, even though it might mean more work catering to specific needs. The greatest obstacles in selling to a restaurant are variety, cost and consistency. Traditionally, chefs have been accustomed to the cheapest food available on the planet because the largest wholesalers can guarantee prices that most small farmers can’t compete with. In addition to this familiar social injustice is the pressure from restaurant management to keep the cost per plate within the bounds of their clientele’s wallet. The advantages that farmers have over the monoliths are variety and freshness.
The dictates of the wholesale market conspire to make the largest volume of the fewest number of vegetable varieties available to the customer; and for the most part the consumer – including chefs – are often ignorant of what’s available out of the fields they drive by everyday. This is the chink in the armor of large wholesalers that small farmers should exploit. Don’t just offer potatoes – offer Peruvian Purple Fingerlings and its forty cousins. You might only sell a few at first, but it will be the wedge in the door that will allow your bumper crop of paste tomatoes to come flowing in at the end of August.
Freshness is an attribute that wholesalers can only approximate and is the main asset for the farmer when trying to make a sale. That’s why it’s important to avoid offering the scraps at the end of sultry market day rather than picking specifically for the chef. Beautiful, clean produce not only facilitates the sale, but it reduces prep time for the cook – a calculation that is foremost in the mind of every restaurateur when gauging the value of a plate. In Curtis’s words, this attention to quality is what distinguishes farmers as craftsmen; and such respect is a worthy premium for our labors.
Quality alone, though, will not guarantee success in developing a long term relationship with a restaurant. Consistent supply is just as important and for many chefs it’s more important than price when given the choice between dealing with a large vendor and a local farmer. Sure that arugula you brought in last week was great. But can you supply it in exactly the same form for the next six weeks? Although many restaurants take seasonality to its limit by rewriting the menu on a daily basis, most are still constrained by signature dishes which they carry over a set period of time. It’s a good strategy to develop a reputation for growing consistent supplies of basic ingredients (tomatoes, peppers, squash, onions, garlic, cucumbers, spinach, basil, etc.) and piggy-back the more unusual items that you might be experimenting with. Resourceful chefs are always willing to experiment with new vegetables to distinguish their menus – just be ready to produce when the experiment is successful.
This strategy of offering steady supplies of basic vegetables while plying the exotic may seem self-contradictory, but it is precisely this chemistry that chefs thrive on, and they depend on the expertise of the farmer to give them the range of possibilities over a particular season. At the same time, farmers should be keen to requests for the unusual. (It wasn’t long ago that basil was relegated to a marginal existence as a garnish. Today pesto is so pervasive on menus that it’s hard to imagine a time when pasta wasn’t served green. Basil production is an unquestioned necessity for the serious market farmer thanks in large part to the influence of chefs.) Not all new introductions will have the following of basil, but it’s still worth overcoming your skepticism when a chef asks you for fennel pollen or fresh hay. You may just be on the cusp of the next big food craze.
The partnership of chef and farmer goes beyond fads, though, just as a meal is ultimately defined by the sustenance it provides. This natural connection between field and kitchen provides small farmers a unique place in the wholesale market that large distributors have a difficult time filling. The source of an evening meal has become as important as the ingredients themselves. The recent outbreak of E.coli in spinach illustrates the risks of anonymous production systems. When spinach was pulled off the shelves many local growers were worried about the sales of crops that were just ready to be harvested. But when I surveyed chefs about how they would deal with the crisis I was surprised by the response.
“When the E.coli outbreak hit, I threw away all the spinach we had on hand,” Curtis said. “But as soon as it’s available from a local farmer it will be back on the menu. I know exactly where it’s coming from and how it’s grown.” This sentiment was echoed by other chefs who knew that putting spinach on the menu would be a hard sell – but they were willing to put the extra effort into educating their clientele. Their confidence in the farmer is a vindication of a decentralized food system that nourishes and sustains the local community as well as the body.