Of the earth
Something that has been bugging me for years came up again in my recent food reading and that is the idea of terroir, the sense that something is of the place that it comes from. I find this idea to be both tremendous and challenging. It is the utter opposite of our global homogenized world culture.
The idea first came to my senses when I began gardening and discovered native plants. The more I read, the more I could see that the gardens I observed in Cape Cod and Ohio and California were all identical, all had the same plants, the same aesthetic. It certainly helps make you feel “at home” but it gives you no sense of a place, that you have traveled at all. Food also can be so homogenous with only the substitution of corn for wheat in your breakfast porridge when you travel southwards. Midsummer dinner in Ohio was badly cooked beef with mashed potatoes from flakes and canned green beens. A German festival was on, but otherwise “local” food did not exist in either restaurants or delis.
Hardscaping for my garden grounds and later research for home building brought this idea again to the forefront of my brain. In the new movement of structures it is called “vernacular”, the idea of building either with local materials or in a style that is emblematic of an area. Where I live this means chipped bark paths and shake roofs. The dilemma comes when you consider the impracticality of shake roofs against safety or the ubiquitousness of concrete. When does something that was once new become part of the vernacular? How far can we go until we have lost sight of our sense of place?
This is particularly true with food in California. When I was studying traditional barbecue, I was struck by the idea of “flavor prints”, a combination of flavors that is evocative of a particular place or style. Kansas City BBQ is sweet and smoky while Texas is just salt, pepper and chili, and the Carolinas have their distinctive vinegar flavor. What is the flavor of California? Italians were the first to really till the soil here and their flavors of carrot, artichoke, fennel, tomato, and asparagus are imprinted on the land here. The Chinese immigrants brought their long beans, bok choy and cloud ear mushrooms, the Japanese their tofu and soy sauce. My pantry is filled with the basics of cooking in five different flavor styles that I cannot seem to meld into one simplicity.
Even our wines are all over the map, so that no region of California can be said to have a distinctive blend of wine. What does my terroir taste like?
The idea first came to my senses when I began gardening and discovered native plants. The more I read, the more I could see that the gardens I observed in Cape Cod and Ohio and California were all identical, all had the same plants, the same aesthetic. It certainly helps make you feel “at home” but it gives you no sense of a place, that you have traveled at all. Food also can be so homogenous with only the substitution of corn for wheat in your breakfast porridge when you travel southwards. Midsummer dinner in Ohio was badly cooked beef with mashed potatoes from flakes and canned green beens. A German festival was on, but otherwise “local” food did not exist in either restaurants or delis.
Hardscaping for my garden grounds and later research for home building brought this idea again to the forefront of my brain. In the new movement of structures it is called “vernacular”, the idea of building either with local materials or in a style that is emblematic of an area. Where I live this means chipped bark paths and shake roofs. The dilemma comes when you consider the impracticality of shake roofs against safety or the ubiquitousness of concrete. When does something that was once new become part of the vernacular? How far can we go until we have lost sight of our sense of place?
This is particularly true with food in California. When I was studying traditional barbecue, I was struck by the idea of “flavor prints”, a combination of flavors that is evocative of a particular place or style. Kansas City BBQ is sweet and smoky while Texas is just salt, pepper and chili, and the Carolinas have their distinctive vinegar flavor. What is the flavor of California? Italians were the first to really till the soil here and their flavors of carrot, artichoke, fennel, tomato, and asparagus are imprinted on the land here. The Chinese immigrants brought their long beans, bok choy and cloud ear mushrooms, the Japanese their tofu and soy sauce. My pantry is filled with the basics of cooking in five different flavor styles that I cannot seem to meld into one simplicity.
Even our wines are all over the map, so that no region of California can be said to have a distinctive blend of wine. What does my terroir taste like?