It’s becomes apparent around this time of year, at least at this latitude, that things are grim.  I start my day commuting in the dark, look out my office window to see grey skies, then trudge home in the dark.  My disorder does not stem from the lack of sunlight though… at least not directly.

The lack of sun plus the hard freeze leaves us depending on cold frame, hot-house, or imported produce.  Some of us don’t think twice about buying summer foods in winter like tomatoes, corn, and melon.  Others, who have a passion for eating seasonally grown food and patronizing local farmers are called locavores [ link ].  Failing that, those people who like the notion of eating local foods and are unable to find local growers, are encouraged to eat organic.

I realize that foods are most delicious at the height of their season, but ensuring proper provisions for the winter months requires canning.  The notion of fetching a jar of home grown something-or-other from the basement is delightful, but the last thing I want to do is give myself botulism.  As for practicing local or organic, take last night’s dinner:

Red-leaf lettuce and watercress salad (Mexico)
Mussels (Canada) with tomato (Florida hot-house)
Lemon (Chile) Spaghetti and Parma cheese (Italy)
Strawberries (Florida hot-house)

None of it local, none of it organic, and if we were counting the carbon food-miles, it’s a nightmare.

I don’t want to feel guilty, but therein lies the disorder.  We now have this responsibility laid upon us to eat well for ourselves, the well-being of the local economy, and the health of the planet.  Happily in the first world we can over analyze to think of a strategy for all of our neuroses and excesses.  The third world and industrializing nations have people out there are looking for clean water and food to buy let alone worrying about where it came from.

Food for thought? To me it’s food to agonize over… and don’t get me started on the politics of coffee.

The green grocer’s is a surprising recipe box full of ideas. Cultures meet to prod fruit, chat over the price of staples, and all ignore the tomatoes during the summer months. Listening carefully and sometimes asking politely will reward you with fresh ideas as well as deeply traditional methods of preparing food.

When it comes to those people who launch into unsolicited advice I tend to pay close attention, not to ascertain new facts no but to find out what kind of misinformation is being passed on. While picking through a bin of lemons (8 for $1.00), I overheard a conversation with a mother and son.

Mom: “You know how to pick a good lemon?”
Son: “Why?”
Clearly, this kid is on a path for a cocktail-shunning beer drinking future.
Mom: “Well, when I’m not around, you may need to buy lemons. Pick one that looks good and doesn’t have blemishes. See? Smooth skin.”

I wanted to whip a lemon at the woman. Either she’s been really lucky with picking juicy shiny lemons or she has not had a good lemon. I shook my head knowing if I yelled across the bin, I wouldn’t be heard. A lemon could be dry and pithy on the inside. Like a lot of fruit, it should feel heavy for its size. The lemon should be firm, but not hard. Blemishes are okay and shine may be because of wax. Like many things in life, do not take it at face value.

There’s a natural order to shoes. Well-heeled shoes stay useful and youthful into the ages with light duty; they enjoy pampering and sometimes a bit of a nip ‘n tuck to an entire undercarriage overhaul. Athletic shoes live only for their sport. Specialty athletic shoes are rendered useless in as little as one season or until they are retired as new agents are brought into the club.

It’s a quirky topic that can hook any straight man who mows their own lawn, “lawn-mowing shoes”.  There’s no such thing as new shoes for mowing lawns.  One starts with a pair of casual shoes – with use, the passage of time, and the purchase of new shoes there comes a point where these shoes are still viable albeit not presentable.

My trusty shoes that walked the halls of the Vatican, skipped along the canals of Amsterdam, and walked up an off-ramp on the Philippine National Highway after being dropped off by a PARTAS bus… now bear the green hue of lawn care. Though hardly the vision of the designer who labeled and marketed the shoes, it’s a testament to how versatile a fashion shoe can be. Though I doubt that the Milanese style houses realize where casual shoes go to die; I’m sure that there will come a time where a roughed canvas, grass stained rubber, worn-soled shoe will grace the glossy pages of magazines.

I am a trusting person and I hold a lot of faith in the good of mankind.  I trust that nobody wants to enslave or be enslaved, I trust that we all have it in us to resolve conflicts through compromise, I believe that there’s a surplus of kindness and love in the world that can be sourced to resolve all of our problems.  On the micro-level… I don’t trust anyone.  I was taught not to assume that help will come to me and the world is what I make of it.  Naturally, I have cultivated this into a careful blend of congeniality and sociophobia.

This afternoon, as I stood in front of the microwave waiting for my food, a woman walked in and retrieved her lunch from the refrigerator.  She produced a container of curried rice out of her lunch carrier then lined up the rest of her items on the table, I guessed to pass the time.  Visibly hurried she looked at me, looked at the countdown on the microwave, looked at her food, then back at the jicama salad I had in my hands.  She asked if I had to warm up the container that I was holding.  I shook my head, but before I could verbalize ‘no, this is just a salad’ she cut me off with both hands out like a mime feeling a wall.

Curtly, the woman said “Can you put this in the microwave for me?  Two minutes, I’ll be right back.” and hustled out of the room.

I wondered to myself, what is stopping me from messing with this woman’s food?  What is perfect revenge to being casually rude and assuming my benevolence?  Unfortunately, it’s not farting into the container or leaving any trace of vileness that could be submitted later for dna analysis. No the clear solution was blogging about the situation, learning to trust in people as much as they trust in me…  and putting bhut jolokia [link] extract on my shopping list.