Virginia is for food lovers

There are many things that might draw visitors toward western Virginia's food culture. I know I've mentioned Joel Salatin's famous operation (though my timing didn't align with any of the regular public tours of the famous pasture-raised meat farm in Swoope). I've written already about the amazing market development work that Appalachian Sustainable Development has been doing with farmers around Abingdon. I believe I've mentioned that Meadowview is something of a mecca for literary locavores due to Barbara Kingsolver's residence there. (Heck, the possibility of breathing some of the same air molecules as one of my all-time favorite authors would've been enough to draw me to the area.) I'd heard of the nonfiction account of her family's year of eating locally *before* the book was on Oprah, thank you, but it was only more recently that I learned of the dining establishment her husband helped start up in town. I am happy to report that while I didn't run into Ms. Kingsolver or her husband, co-author Steven Hopp, I did have a chance to experience one of their great gustatory legacies in the area. Twice.

My first night in town, Richard and Kathy treated me to dinner at The Harvest Table. As we nursed our beers on the patio and awaited our dinner plates at the almost exclusively locally sourced restaurant, I pored over the back of the menu. A number of farm names were printed with short descriptions and a listing of the ingredients contributed by each. Some of these very same farmers sold their wares at the market I'd been to earlier that day in Abingdon. I'd even met some of them! Talk about "know your farmer, know your food." I imagine I'm not the first tourist (or local) to seek out specific farms directly for ingredients after enjoying them as part of a meal here. It wasn't just one or two items on the menu, it was the whole thing. The restaurant, linked to the Meadowview Farmers' Guild, meant to show direct links between food, farmers, and eaters. They're playing my song.

The meal was darn good and I would have lingered much longer, but since it was the last shift before the place would close for the holiday weekend I didn't have much of an opportunity to badger... I mean chat with... the chef. While friendly enough, the staffmembers were clearly ready for the 4th of July weekend and ushered us out with a complimentary slice of chocolate cake and bottle of white wine. But my curiosity was far from sated.

Conveniently, the restaurant was open once again the following Tuesday afternoon, so of course Mike and I stopped in for lunch before heading out of town. (Yes, this was pure altruism on my part. I mean, it would be unfair for Mike not to experience food this good after he'd traveled all the way from DC for the weekend.) This time we sat at the bar overlooking the kitchen. As fate would have it, Chef Philip happened to overhear the two of us discussing the difference between heavy cream and whipping cream and struck up a conversation. Over the course of the next hour or so, Philip shared his views on the importance of direct relationships with farmers, a reconnection with seasonal eating, and the challenges of both. He openly admitted that the coffee and lemons and olive oil couldn't be locally sourced -- hey, I'm no purist, either, with these items -- but insisted that ingredients be purchased from local producers as much as possible. Sometimes working with smaller growers presents unique challenges when one is trying to supply a restaurant doing decent business, I learned. One has to be flexible. "I mean, some of these are older generation farmers," Philip shrugged. "They don't have computerized invoices, they don't know the exact number of blackberries in a pint. They grow the food -- good food -- and I do my best to make it work." And boy does he. I'm telling you, the lamb burrito was stellar, and the berry cobbler we gobbled for dessert nearly brought tears to my eyes. (That one's for you, dad.) Actually, I felt a bit sheepish leaving a cookmark with Philip -- I think he may have outdone my perfect tart crust. I'll have to try that berry cobbler again some day. You know, just to be sure.

Too soon, it seemed, Mike and I had to hit the road for Charlottesville -- he had kindly offered to give Ollie and me a lift on his way back toward DC -- but we left The Harvest Table with full bellies and happy hearts, knowing that our food dollars were supporting sustainability-minded farmers and a restaurant that helps to celebrate their everchanging seasonal bounty. Come to think of it, I think this state's tourism department is going to have to modify its tagline: Virginia is for *sustainable food* lovers.

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I'll be baaaack

I can't help but marvel at the fortuitous encounters and conversations that pepper my life these days. I mean, I just *happen* to be patching a tire on the side of the road and suffering from a desperate hankering for pork barbecue when the owner of Winfield, AL's only BBQ shack, and seemingly the town's only avid bicyclist out for a ride, stops to ask if I need anything? (Four sandwiches on the spot and three for the road later, Aaron and I were sated and on our way. Thanks again, Kyle!) And about a week ago, on my way through Lenoir, NC, when none of the town's eight campgrounds have space for me I *happen* to bump into and befriend the head of the Chamber of Commerce who invites me to dinner, offers me a comfy guest room, and puts me in touch with amazing artisanal cheese makers down the road from her home? Deborah, you may well see me back in your neck of the woods: the ladies and the cheeses at Ripshin were nothing short of stellar. In fact, I'm still daydreaming about that Camembert....

A trip to the Sandburg Farm a few years ago and follow-up visits to dairies in France -- my kind of research -- convinced Liza that her calling was of the heritage dairy goat raising variety. She set about remodeling the family farm accordingly, with state-of-the-art (but not ostentatious) equipment and started Ripshin Goat Dairy. Here's the matron herself with a retinue of affectionate milk does. (Seriously, they were perhaps the friendliest goats I've ever met, nuzzling right up to me and waiting for a scratch behind the ears.) Liza convinced her daughter Rachel to move back from Istanbul and take on the task of making the amazingly delicious cheeses. Yep, it's a family affair. After meeting the milkgoats, I had the pleasure of sitting in with Rachel and Meredith (the other cheesemaker) for a couple of hours while they worked. As I perched on a stool in the cheese room listening and grinding black pepper for future chevre log rolling (and periodic tasting...quality control, you know), I found myself falling in love with this small family operation. Not just because the chevre they make is outstanding. That's only part of it. (For those wondering about hygiene, fear not: I washed my hands, changed shoes, and donned a headscarf and apron after the goat petting -- standard procedure here at Ripshin.)

Much like the famed Joel Salatin refuses to ship Polyface meats off-farm, the gals at Ripshin are determined to keep their creamy vittles local, only selling them at nearby farmers' markets and shops. I won't, for example, be able to buy their wares at Cowgirl Creamery's DC location. (I know this because I asked very specifically. I must have more of that feta some day!) I respect this desire to build a network of skilled producers, and to keep the special foods and talents within the community. Kind of makes one want to move there, or at least visit. This desire to keep things quite literally "local" flies in the face of our culture's fast-cheap-anytime-anywhere mentality...and I like it. Rather than being exclusionary, I think of it as developing a unique regional food system. And celebrating it, much like we used to celebrate seasonal eating.

Lenoir and Happy Valley are often overshadowed by nearby tourist destinations like Blowing Rock and Lake Lure, but with producers like Ripshin Goat Dairy in the neighborhood, it may, quite soon, become a food destination. I know I'm hoping to revisit the town, and particularly the dairy. Maybe even look into an internship at some point. Goats. Cheesemaking. Thoughtful people and conversation. Yep, I'll be baaaack....

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Born and grazed right here in North Carolina

I've met a number of farmers now who have come from non-farming backgrounds, folks who have chosen to embrace humble but fulfilling lives as organic produce and pastured meat farmers for all kinds of reasons. For some it's a sense of food injustice and a determination to make healthy food available where they live. For others, it's a distrust of the mainstream food industry practices (or the American consumer culture in general) that sets them on a path to sustainable farming. And for others, it's something they read that lights a fire under them: for Michael and Christy Underwood, it was an article in Gourmet Magazine (R.I.P.) on farmer Joel Salatin written back in 2002. To my former students who argued that something you read can't change your life, here's another example to the contrary.

Michael was finishing up a degree in History about seven years ago when he came across a feature in the now defunct food magazine. He was all worked up about what Salatin -- who has since been catapulted into farmer rockstardom when he was featured in "The Omnivore's Dilemma" (aka Ibti's Food Bible) as well as the documentaries "Food, Inc." and "Fresh" -- was doing in western Virginia. Michael wanted to be a part of this new, whole-ecosystem style of grass-based animal farming and broached the topic with his wife Christy, who was working on her own degree in English at UNC at the time, and she agreed it was a worthy pursuit. A farm internship at Polyface Farm (Salatin's operation) didn't materialize, but instead they worked with a farmer in Fairview, NC to learn how to raise pastured meat animals in their home state. A few years ago they began renting a plot of land and a house in Lawndale, NC and started raising pastured pork, lamb, and beef. And after I met Christy at the Charlotte Regional Farmers' Market last Saturday, they kindly agreed to let me work at their farm for a day or two as I made my way through western North Carolina (toward my impending third date with the Appalacian Mountains).

It's some intense work, especially in the southern summer climate, but Christy and I, and her two boys, Isaiah and Jeremiah, managed to water and feed the pigs before the real heat started. (Here's a pic I snapped of their boar as we went about our morning routine. He looked rather menacing at first, but then I sprayed a little cool water in the mud and I daresay he started smiling as he flopped over to wallow.) Then it was time to move portable electric fencing and herd the sheep and cattle to a new pasture. I tell you, anyone who complains about the higher price of pastured meat (vs. conventional feedlot fare) would sing a different tune if he had to trudge through tall grass and thorny blackberry patches in a pool of his own sweat to pull up and refence new paddocks every few days. (Yes, in case you're wondering, we did periodically stop to sample some wild blackberries as we fenced. It is *me* we're talking about here.) I was excited to at last see and help with a rotational grazing system that I'd heard and read so much about, and hot and tired as I was I felt rather proud when the ruminants calmly sidled into their new grassy salad bar. Our animal chores were, thankfully, completed by lunchtime, and after a lovely, veggie-filled meal the boys invited me to join them next door for a swim in the pool. Ahhhh.

Did I mention how HOT it was? I wimped out of helping Michael with tilling and weeding some of the vegetable patches in the stifling heat when he returned from working at his construction job midafternoon. I mean, how often am I around a swimming pool? But I did help Christy with dinner, which included a scrumptious, slow-cooked, herb-rubbed Underwood pork roast. It might have been even tastier than the stew I made with some Underwood beef last weekend at Laura's, but it's tough to tell. I think I was a bit biased by the lavendar-and-honey roasted carrots and homemade mead that their friends Jamie and Sara Jane -- the charming farming couple of nearby A Way of Life Farm -- brought to the meal. (More about my work with Jamie and Sara Jane coming soon.)

I can't help but marvel at the devotion and slow (but growing) success of these passionate entrepreneurs. They clearly love the land, the animals, and each other. Each day brings new trials but also new joys. And though it is not a glamorous or easy life, they seem happy. "At the very least, we eat well," Christy smiled during dinner. "It's one of the perks of the job." No kidding... Yum!

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