PART ONE: VEAL--Time to change attitudes and misconceptions

This is the first in a series of posts regarding veal production for small-scale farms and why educated eaters dedicated to local foods and sustainable agriculture should be eating veal more than beef. 

Inevitably, not a week goes by at market when someone openly remarks, "How can you be so cruel and eat those adorable babies!" Suppressing the desire to reach across the table and shake some sense into them, I counter.

"Do you each chicken? Harvested at six to eight weeks. Pork? Five to seven months. Lamb? Less than a year."

"Oh no, I don't eat meat. I'm a vegetarian."

Again, I respond, "Do you eat butter or yogurt or ice cream?" and if they answer yes, they're busted. I consider one of the biggest highlights of my market days to have been a pair of militant vegetarians who had openly threatened me online and then showed up to picket my stand at a popular DC market one Saturday morning. By the time I was done educating them, they actually purchased a piece of veal scallopine as their eschewing of meat stemmed from the egregious treatment of commercially-raised livestock.

Most folks know that I raise veal because I live in the heart of dairy country and have incredible access to bull calves, which are indeed a by-product of the modern dairy industry.  Some have even heard the story about how I fell in love with veal kidneys in green peppercorn sauce after a visit to Bistro Jeanty in Napa Valley years ago, but refused to commercially-raised veal. And I openly admit to not letting animals on the farm surpass three hundred pounds as that's about my limit for loading an obstinate pasture pal on the Sausage Wagon by myself.

But the real reason you should be consuming veal raised by local farmers, especially small dairies and creameries, is sustainability.

I've been raising cattle in one form or another since 1988 in both the west and the east. I know the amount of resources--land, water, infrastructure, fuel, time--it takes to make a profit with a beef cow, a dairy cow and a veal calf. And while some of my fondest memories are of pushing cattle through the morning mist in the walnut grove of the Flying H in the upper Ojai Valley, the truth is way more resources went into getting a steak on the table than what it takes to raise a calf to a harvestable weight.

Beef cattle grazing on hay fields in the upper Ojai Valley after they hay has been harvested.

As more new and beginning farmers enter into livestock production, raising veal is a way to maximize profit (and reduce risk) on smaller acreages. Let's do some math....

Since cow-calf beef operations require large acreages in order to be self-sustaining, smaller diversified farms often purchase "stockers" or "feeder" which are basically well-started weaned calves weighing 700 pounds or less.Typically running $1.25 lb., a farmer has to lay out a significant investment up front to feed out a single animal to harvest weight which can take a  year or longer, especially for purely grass-fed animals. Keep in mind that the farmer has little control of how that calf was reared until the point of when it was purchased. That means it could have been raised in a dry-lot, given antibiotics or hormones and fed grain for nearly half of its life.

In comparison, three day-old bull calves straight from the dairy often sell for less than a hundred dollars. Smaller-framed breeds, such as Jersey and Guernsey, go for as little as ten bucks at regional livestock auctions. My entry into the veal business began after a local Jersey dairy gave me their calves for free because the market was so depressed at the time it actually cost them money to dispose of their unwanted bull calves when they shipped them to auction after paying the hauler and the commission fees.

But here's the part most folks don't consider. By purchasing a very young animal, producer have much more control over the full production cycle of that animal meaning they can attest to the way it was raised from start to finish. This means that even calves purchased from conventional dairies can still be raised organically and humanely, meaning using non-medicated, milk-based formula or nurse cows and rearing the calves on pasture instead of chained or crated.

In one season, this two-teated Jersey cow reared three calves who yielded approximately 1,100 live weight from only her milk and pasture.

Let's talk about risk. For math's sake, let's assign the cost of a single feeder calf as $500 and that of a bull calf of $50. That's 1:10, meaning as a new and beginning farmer (who make mistakes that result in mortality, it's part of the learning curve) if your animal dies, you have 100% loss, but with calves, out of that same initial investment it is possible to have an 80% mortality rate (four out of five croak) and you may still not incur a total financial loss. 

Another risk many consumers don't think about when choosing between a veal loin chop and a beef T-bone (same cut, by the way) is the physical risk to the farmer. As a woman farmer, I am extremely cognizant of how quickly larger animals can injure me. That's the last thing I want. A few years ago when making the switch from raising Jersey calves to Holsteins I was unprepared for the larger calves. Walking into a pen with individual bottles for three strapping black and white calves, I was instantly knocked to the ground and trampled into the mud by ravenous 'babies' that were double the weight of the little doe-eyed, buck-toothed Jersey boys at birth.

That's a mini-Tbone (aka veal loin chop) that is perfect for feeding one person.

Along that same vein, by starting with calves within days of birth, a farmer can determine just how tame they want their livestock to be where as with stockers, many have been reared on the cow barely handled by humans and can be downright wild. This often means investing in some type of handling equipment, be it a set of swing gates or a specialized squeeze chute, especially if the animals were purchased intact (uncastrated). Veal are harvested long before the calves exhibit any aggressive male behavior, castrating and exposing the animals to additional stress and risk of infection is unnecessary and they are small enough to be restrained with the help of another person using a cotton rope. 

Similarly, raising beef animals, even for a modest herd, can require dozens to hundreds of acres as compared to as little as an acre to sustainably raise veal for both personal consumption and market sales.

Why such a small acreage?  Simple--smaller animals require less space and will consume less pasture, especially since milk or formula will constitute the majority of calories consumed during its lifetime.

And finally, calves are harvested long before beeves. This is particularly critical to new and beginning farmers as it is a product with a shorter production cycle, thus a quicker return upon investment. Just as the infamous Joel Salatin of Polyface Farm has preached poultry as the gateway livestock for beginning farmers, I highly suggest first timers with limited resources to start with calves before over-capitalizing with a beef operation, especially those with little or no experience handling larger livestock or with animal husbandry (breeding & birthing) skills for small ruminant production.

Throughout this series of posts, I'm going to chronicle what I have learned from raising, harvesting and direct marketing veal through farmers markets, restaurants and boutique butchers these last eight years. I'll be covering:

• Breed types, acquisition, transportation, equipment and facilities
• Handling, Care & Feeding
• Harvest, Processing & Packaging
• Sales & Marketing

As the local foods and sustainable agriculture movement continues to grow, it is my hope to see more consumers and producers taking advantage of this much maligned meat. 

Follow Sandra throughout the rest of the series at these links:

PART TWO of this series can be found at this link.

PART THREE of this series can be found at this link. 
PART FOUR of this series can be found at this link.
PART FIVE of this series can be found at this link. 

Traditional Delights from the Ottoman Empire

Move over Huevos Rancheros, you've just been replaced as my new favorite with the spicy egg & tomato concoction--Shakshouka, which is a traditional northern African dish popular in Morocco, Algeria and Tunisia as well as Israel. Introduced to me by one of my regular egg customers in the city, I quickly realized that the staples needed for this spicy amalgamation of garlic, onion, peppers, tomatoes and spices are just coming into season at the local markets, I couldn't help but pass along this recipe to everyone. Best of all, it's an extremely healthy meal, especially for all you Paleo/Primal eaters! {hint: make a double or triple batch and then just spoon out a few scoopfuls each time you want to cook up a few eggs)

Yes, one of my friends actually sent me a postcard from there.

Shakshouka

Tunisian breakfast dish of eggs poached in a rich, spicy tomato sauce  

Ingredients:

3 tablespoons olive oil                          1 small onion, sliced

2 garlic cloves, minced                         1 bell pepper, sliced finely

2 cups tomatoes, cubed                         1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika

2 teaspoon ground cumin                     1/2 teaspoon ground coriander

1/4 teaspoon harissa or cayenne         1/4 teaspoon turmeric powder

Salt & ground black pepper 6 eggs

Directions:

In a large frying pan or saucepan, fry the onions, garlic and peppers in olive oil until they become glossy and soft, about 10 minutes on medium-high heat. Add the spices and stir, cooking for about two minutes to release the oils. Add the tomatoes and simmer for about an hour, or until the onions and peppers are very soft (your patience will be rewarded). Add a splash of water here and there to make sure the sauce doesn’t burn. Crack in the eggs and let them simmer for about five minutes, or until the whites have set. Alternatively (making it menemen), dribble in whisked eggs and cook until set. Serve with warm flatbread and a sprinkle of parsley. 

At the suggestion of my customer, I began by charring both the peppers and tomatoes using my gas burners to remove the skin and lend a roasted flavor. This can also easily be done on the grill.

Delicious and easy to make with a few simple ingredients from your local farmers market or your garden.

 The next step is to add artichoke hearts, potato and fava beans and top with a good feta. And of course, adding in any of Painted Hand Farm's sausages (or any others from your local farmers market) would fare well with this recipe. 

An Ethical Omnivore

 Breakfast: Guinea fowl eggs with lambs quarters, pig weed, onion and chicken hearts

What is it that makes my breakfast this morning so 'ethical'? 

Let's start with the eggs...

I use Guinea Fowl on my farm to control the pest population. No Frontline for the cats & dogs because thanks to these feathered dinosaurs who voraciously hunt down bugs and eat them so there is no need to poison my pets. However, because of their free-roaming nature, they tend to lay there eggs in places I may not find them immediately, therefore, I rarely sell Guinea eggs unless I know exactly when they've been laid. Coming across a nest of these conical little beauties is, indeed, a treat as their yolks tend to be large and extra-rich as compared to a chicken's egg due to the fact Guineas forage up to 90% of their diet as opposed to a chicken's 40%. 

When I find an errant nest, I place the eggs in a bowl of water. Those that float get tossed out, but if they stay firmly on the bottom, they'll become breakfast. By the way, this test works on all types of eggs. 

The heart of a good meal....

What else? Heart! Raising animals from conception to customer, after all these years I've learned there is precious little that ever gets wasted. But there are a few key items that seem to languish in the freezer (or are such delicacies), I tend to keep them for myself. One of these are chicken hearts. Out of a fifty bird batch, I may end up with a pound of hearts. I've cooked them all sorts of ways, but my favorite is to simply fry them all up at once in their own fat with just a little black pepper and then cut up a few at a time and saute them along with greens and onions or garlic for a quick breakfast. They are also quite good on bamboo skewers and grilled until crispy. 

Eat those weeds!

Let me tell you, there are plenty of weeds in my garden. But what is a weed? As a meat goat producer, I LOVE weeds! Why? They are extremely high in nutrients and weed-fed goats grow faster & taste better. After attending a Weed Walk with the renown Grace Lefever of Sonnewald Natural Foods, my mind will forever be changed about what I see as a weed versus what I see as food, not just for myself but for my animals.   

While I may not chow down on poison ivy (which weighs in at 26% protein and is high in vitamin C) like my goats do, this morning's breakfast straight from the rows between my planted crops is Lambs Quarters and Pig Weed. 

Eating weeds is much preferred to spending money on expensive herbicides anyway. 

By the way, being an 'ethical omnivore' is also cost-effective. Even shopping at the trendiest of farmers markets for these ingredients still puts this breakfast at less than a $1.50 as long as you pick your own weeds and you'll stand in line longer at Starbucks than it took to cook it. 

My Lucky Day

It doesn't matter what type of food you grow--meat, veggies, fruit--there are two critical pieces of equipment one should never skimp on or be without: gloves & a knife.

One of the challenges most women farmers face are finding a good pair of sturdy leather gloves that will fit our smaller hands. Over the years I've found two types--deerskin and goatskin--that are pliable, yet thick enough for rough jobs.

Small leather work gloves, however, are difficult and expensive to come by. Sure, just get them off the Internet I've been advised, but even the same size in the same brand can vary widely in fit and quality from pair to pair. Similarly disappointing, when I do find a pair worthy of purchasing, they're usually the obligatory smalls on the rack. Even companies specializing in tools for women, such as Green Heron Tools, don't necessarily carry gloves with enough gumption to pass the rigors of ranch work as I found out after shredding a pair of $30 work gloves in less than a season. I knew I shouldn't have trusted anything with the word 'vegan' in the name for working with livestock.  

Parting with a well-worn pair that have molded to the unique curves of my hands is met with trepidation as I often toss them into a fire so as to force myself to use the newer, stiffer, unfamiliar set waiting in the wings. One pair in particular, kidskin gauntlets with heavy canvas cuffs that extended well past my wrists, where particularly difficult to bid adieu. I justified their continued use despite the fingertips being completely worn through after borrowed by one of my Crossfit friends who wore them while picking up and hefting overhead a hundred pound round stone that was once a ballast ball on Spanish galleon that sank in the Santa Barbara Channel.  Eventually the succumbed to the flames after I had cut off the finger tips when the leather began to bunch up just past my first phalanges when my fingers poked through the holes.

My latest lovelies were a pair of white kidskin with dual stitching around the thumbs and fingers that were short and narrow enough not to slosh around. Wrangling stock, wrapping chain, running wire--it didn't matter, those gloves warded off all sorts of evils to my flesh...until they disappeared along with my beloved Buck knife.

Given to me by Ol' Cowboy Jack at the Flying H one year for Christmas, he barked "Don't you ever lose that knife, ya hear? It's a good that should last you a lifetime."  The following spring I took it along on a class field trip to Yosemite and broke off the tip trying to pry up a small flake of granite off Half Dome. Fortunately at the time I was working in the kitchen at a fancy mountain hot springs resort restaurant in Ojai and the chef had the professional knife sharpener dude 'fix' my blade by grinding it down to a new tip albeit, shorter in length.

This modification came in handy during a trip back east when I was stopped at the boarding gate to my flight back to California. The security agent spied the knife in my backpack as it went through the X-ray machine.

"You can't take that knife with you on the plane," he said.

"But I flew to Pennsylvania with it in my backpack," I countered. Keep in mind this is pre 9/11.

"Only blades three inches or less are allowed in carry-on and that's a three and three quarter inch blade," he told me. And with that, I whipped out my knife and asked him to measure the blade. Verifying that the blade was in fact exactly three inches, he handed it back to me allowing me to board the plane. And to think that last time I flew TSA confiscated my nail clippers while my knife lay safely on my dresser at home.

For nearly thirty years that knife had been my constant companion, castrating calves, cutting baling twine, stripping network cables, slicing artisan cheese and charcuterie, digging out slivers of errant wood and metal embedded in flesh, slaughtering goats and lambs, field dressing deer--whatever life put before me that needed a sharp blade.  I knew the familiar clunk it made while still in my pocket as my clothes hit the floor at the end of the day as well as the loud thwacking when it would sneak into the dryer after a thorough cleansing undetected in the laundry.

I was territorial about my knife, rarely giving it up and when I did, badgering the users for its return until it was safely back in my possession. A former companion had a Chinese knockoff he'd often try to trade out with me only to be met with a growl, "Where's my knife?" When he moved out, that Buck was one of the few things I hid just to be certain he didn't abscond with it out of spite.

But now they were both MIA. I knew they ran off together as they were never far from each other. For days I looked at all the familiar spots where I might have laid them down together--the cab of the truck, throughout the barn, by the gardens, in the basement, stuffed in the tool crock in the kitchen--nowhere to be found.

As Christmas approached, I thought of the previous year in which the holiday card I had always sent to Jack came back in the mail Return To Sender. I found out he had passed away at Thanksgiving. At least I wouldn't have to write this year and tell him after all these years I had finally lost that knife.

Throughout the winter I thought about replacing my Buck with the same model, but upon inspection of the new knives at the local hardware store I found their quality lacking in comparison to my original tool. There was the smaller model with the mother-of-pearl handle for $129. "Splurge," I thought to myself justifying the purchase since I don't buy fancy jewelry or handbags, but the thought of that much falling out of my pocket left me walking out of the store empty handed and resorting to old steak knives, linoleum cutters and cheap scissors stashed throughout the farm in various places.

While the gloves and knife are year-round items, some of my gear is seasonal, especially outerwear. Up until yesterday I'd been using my winter wet weather wear. If it's one thing I can't stand it's being cold and wet. With the unusually cool spring, I'd held out with my insulated rain coat until the impending summer's rains turned warm enough to break out my summer rain coat.

It was heavier than usual. There was something causing bulges in both pockets. Thinking they were stuffed with baling twine as a few strands of jute hung from one pocket I began cleaning out the detritus from last season when I realized I had found my treasures. Despite being covered in dried manure, mud and the gloves sporting a fine green hair-like fungus stitching together the fingers, I had hit gold. And best of all, when I opened the blade, I found it still had a sharp edge on it thanks to the gal at one of my markets who runs a mobile sharpening service a few stands down from mine who keeps all my blades in good working order.

"Oh no!" she had exclaimed upon returning to the market this spring when I told her I had lost the Buck. Now I'm really looking forward to giving it to her for a tune-up. Some days it's the simplest things that bring us great joy, even if it's a pair of moldy gloves and a dirty pocket knife.

The Economics of Farmers Markets

How would you feel if you were asked to pay for something yet got little or nothing in return for your money? Not too good, eh? Or worse yet, were required to pay for that very same little or nothing three times over? Bet you'd be hopping mad by now.

Well, folks...that's what I am faced with this market season in my attempts to serve my community by providing local and sustainably raised meats at the North Square Farmers Market again this year. 

For many years I worked on steering committees and boards of organizations with the mission to promote and facilitate local food systems. Month after month, year after year until low & behold the whole thing began to gain steam and catch on fire. Every town suddenly wanted their own farmers market and they began to compete for vendors.

At the same time, farmers began to run themselves ragged over trying to balance the demands of cash flow and profit between serving smaller, local community markets and those of larger, regional (often metropolitan) markets. Actually, I got my start in going to market when a fellow farmer decided that the smaller markets--both local and in the city--just weren't worth her effort. But I was just getting started so I put in the time, week after week, year after year until striking off on my own.

First, I split my time between local and city markets, then a few years of concentrating on to more lucrative city markets. But then when fuel prices spiked, instead of making that trek to Maryland and DC three times a week, I chose to finally practice what I'd been preaching and stick close to home.

Imagine my surprise when on the opening day of the market in my own community, the sanitation inspector showed up demanding my paperwork and a check for $82.

"What? When did that happen?" I asked incredulously as previously the fee had only been $21 when I attended an indoor market and had a permanent freezer on the premise where I stored product.

"Last year," said the inspector as he stood in front of my stand during the busiest time of the day, deflecting customers while he conducted his business.

Only a few  years earlier when I had been part of the original crew setting up and launching Farmers on the Square, a producer-only market in downtown Carlisle that replaced the ill-fated and mismanaged indoor market only a block away, we paid the Pennsylvania Department of Agriculture a single fee as the market to have the Food Safety Inspector make sure everyone was following food safety laws. His name was Stan and he was a nice guy who would show up with his cool little on-the-spot printer and issue our certificate that said we were following the rules. I was issued my permit three years in a row at no cost since the market had already paid as a single entity. But then the state of Pennsylvania got greedy.

"All farmers market vendors have to pay the $82 fee every year now. Plus, if you're selling prepared foods or sampling, you need to have a SafeServ certification," said the new inspector. On top of that, he wanted me two draw a picture of my market stand to be 'approved'.  He was not impressed with the box and two lines I drew representing my tent and two tables. "That's not acceptable. I need to know exactly where your coolers will be placed and where your sanitation station will be."

"Sanitation station?  But I'm selling raw meat that has been processed under USDA inspection, vacuum-sealed and flash frozen. My product has a federal stamp of approval," I countered.

"Just have a roll of paper towels and some hand sanitizer handy in case one of your packages leak and I'll approve your permit," he said. "I'll be back next week to collect your site plan and your check."

Ironically, when he returned the following week, he complained about having to visit all the new farmers markets on top of his regular case load. It was then that he let it slip that the cavernous warehouses that have proliferated the Interstate 81 corridor raping once fertile farmland are also subject to inspection if they store food.

"Really?" I asked, "How much are those permits?"  Expecting them to be in the hundreds of dollars given the millions of square feet and the constant flow of products, I was floored when he said $35.

"Your permit is good for any market within the state. Theirs is only good for a single location."

This did little to push down the anger I felt at being unfairly charged for my meager 100 square feet of public retail space I use for four hours a week half of the year.  Attending two markets in Pennsylvania helped justify the cost as I wrote him a check before he disappeared never to be seen again for the remainder of the season. 

Gearing up for the North Square Farmers Market I was posed with paperwork asking for my permit and SafeServ certification.

When I submitted my paperwork from the state as well as a copy of my two million dollars in liability insurance (remember that fertilizer plant that exploded last month? It was only required to have half of what farmers selling at farmers markets need to carry), I was again asked for my SafeServ certificate.  I explained that I do not sample cooked food or serve ready-to-eat products--the requisites for a SafeServ certification (that I might add would have cost me $300 and full days of my time), yet the woman at the borough insisted until I contacted the Pennsylvania Department of Agriculture and had them verify in writing that I was exempt because my product was processed and packaged under federal inspection. Similarly, since my product was federally inspected and I did not have a permanent meat counter, I was exempted from the borough's permit. All parties paid and satisfied, I spent a market season serving my local community.

The North Square Farmers Market had great customers and was well-managed, but building a market takes time and dedication. I had built successful markets previously and knew that it can take as long as three years to develop a dedicated customer base, but after the first year at a market, it's fairly evident if it's going to sink or swim.

Sadly, even if a market is well-managed doesn't necessarily ensure success, especially for a meat vendor.  And poorly-managed markets....well, the season's end can't come soon enough. North Square was extremely well-managed and had lots of potential to grow. I was excited to return after many of my North Square customers made the trek out to the farm over the winter months to purchase meat.

But then the borough of Chambersburg got greedy. On top of all the expenses and fees for which I had already budgeted, this year the borough was insisting I pay their Health Department as well.

"Our hands our tied. The market needs to be in compliance with the borough and the borough wants you to buy a health license..." came the ominous email from North Square.

And to that I replied enough was enough. I am forced to pay for liability insurance (although they let this slide for the plain folks who are 'self-insured'), a health inspection permit fee to the Pennsylvania Department of Agriculture and an application fee plus a percentage of my weekly gross income to the market. The additional fee to the borough was the straw that broke the camel's back.

So today I stood up and said, "I'm not going to put up with this crap anymore."

We all crow about local foods, sustainable foods, grass-fed food, foods raised without hormones & antibiotics, non-GMO foods....but let someone try to produce and sell these types of foods on a local level and we're slapped with every sort of fee and regulation known to man!

In my grief and frustration, I turned to one of my mentors for solace who admitted they don't do farmers markets anymore for the very same reason.

"Every time we turned around, there was someone with their hand out and you know what we got for paying them? Absolutely nothing!" they told me, even admitting that they were contemplating dropping their Certified Organic certification due to increased fees and paperwork. "We've been busting our butts for twenty years to produce healthy, clean and locally raised foods, yet it seems everyone is getting paid for it but us."

I began to listen.

"If you customers truly believe in what you're doing, they will support you regardless of where and how you sell your product," they went on.

And so with this advise, I tearfully declined my participation in the North Square Farmers Market this season because I will not allow the market, the state and the borough to all charge me for the privilege of selling locally-produced food to my community. Oh, how I am going to miss seeing all my fellow vendors and regular customers each week. Furthermore, I wonder if the borough of Chambersburg realizes that with a pocket full of cash, as a vendor I reciprocate by patronizing local businesses....the bookstore, Tito's, the Cod Father, Gypsie, the Bistro and Roy Pitz to name a few.

I didn't want to do this, but the numbers told me I had to. None of my other markets--past or present--have every dug that deeply into my pockets.

Most people reading this may just be thinking, "aw, just shut up and pay the MAN," but the reality is I raise living animals. I've put $20 of seeds in the ground and netted $500 in sales. It doesn't work that way with livestock. There's a significant investment in my product before it ever hits your plate. I'm the one who watches as your dinner is conceived, born, grows and then is loaded on to the trailer. I'm the one who takes one last look at them as they stand on the platform at the processor, both of us knowing their fate. I'm the one who listens to mothers cry out for their young as they pace the fence lines in vain. You know, there's a reason that industrial agriculture has turned living, breathing animals into production units. It's easier not to recognize that animals, indeed, have personalities and are living, thinking organisms not much different than ourselves.

I will not longer tolerate my animals giving their lives to satisfy a redundant seal of approval for some bureaucrat who is more interested in a cleared check than the actual food safety. 

Enough is ENOUGH! Those of us who have been in this business long enough now realize that although local foods and sustainability have become hot new thing, for every farmer out there toiling to get their product to market profitably, there are ten more who have little or nothing more to do with the actual food production standing in line with their hands out.

So with this, I'm asking for my local customers' support by coming out to the farm on Open Farm Sales Days twice a month here at Painted Hand Farm. In the mean time, I'll continue to look for alternative avenues of product availability that does not necessitate redundant and unfair costs. It may not sound like much to most people, but to this farmer it's a new pair of shoes, it's getting my teeth cleaned, it's an electric bill, a phone bill.....

I don't like raising my prices any more than you do, but as inputs increase, I am often left with no choice, just like every other farmer who struggles under balancing our complex and busy lives. I  hope you'll understand.

Additionally, I would like to commend the metropolitan markets and municipalities for being consistent and fair in their market fees to the local outdoor vendors who travel the distance to ensure food security.  You have no idea how much this means to us.

Local, Seasonal & Grateful

 Call it Food P0rn, nudie rooster, 50 Shades of Chicken, but the truth is it's seasonal and local. Happy Earth Day, folks. This is what it's all about. Friends & feathers flying on a windy Saturday afternoon when the fate of the young roosters (who should have been laying hens) comes calling.

I call it the law of the land...if you're male, you're meat. And brutal as it may sound, they can't all grow up" to be the...errr, rooster. 

 "You're smiling way too much in this picture," was the comment. Really? Is there too much happiness in knowing that I, indeed, was responsible for the mayhem that would ultimately be my dinner as well as the other five feathered fowl who were cooked up this week in other kitchens?

Truth be known, that if most people were charged with the processing of their protein, there would be many more vegetarians in the world. Even my right-hand teenage deadly shot who has put venison & squirrel on my table cringed at the sound made by the popping meniscus as I dismembered the feet (which I would like to add, went to a lovely local restaurant for stock-making, but I won't mention it's name because I know there are some folks out there who are still a little squeamish about the cock's comb to toenails thing with cooking poultry). Although I must give her credit for bringing along her boyfriend for an afternoon of chicken processing. If ever there was a litmus test for dating, I'd say holding a pair of chickens while plucked by hand ranks right up there.

"How do I cook my chicken?" she asked. I handed her some fresh rosemary from the greenhouse of the woman with whom she shared her first season at market and a can of crushed tomatoes. I split the bird with my handy-dandy Pampered Chef Poultry Shears Mom had given me (BEST tool ever) and told her to toss it all in a pot with some fresh garlic, salt & pepper and bake at 325 until it smelled good and the wing tore off easily. She was pleased with the result.

For me, I had to kick it up a notch. This is the difference between a seasoned foodie and one in training. 

 People often ask me, "How long can I keep this?"  As a veteran of eating locally and seasonally, I can tell you that with the right conditions, some things keep for months. Take the wonderful fresh ginger from Shawna & Attila at Mountain View Farm I stocked up on last summer at the Bloomingdale Farmers Market. Given the bounty of their generosity as fellow vendors, I peeled and sliced my extra storing it in a mason jar covered with dry sherry. Every now and then I'll pick out a chunk and mince it in the awesome kitchen gadget my sister got me for Christmas along with a few cloves of garlic from the lovely braid Anna and Brooks from North Mountain Pastures brought to my Goat Roast last Labor Day. 

Tossed in a skillet seasoned with a slice of salt pork from Truck Patch Farms (again, this stuff lasts for months in the fridge) and a fresh sprig of tarragon from my own kitchen herb patch along with the lovely winter vegetables from Nicole at Two Acre Farm I see each week at Central Farm Market's Bethesda I simmered everything with a cupful of Toigo Orchard's apple cider (even if the jug was bulging a bit) until is was all gooey and tender. "Take whatever you want," she always says to me at the end of market and I try to only take what I know I will eat until I see her again. In return, I try to keep her son, Wyatt, well-fed with his favorite, goat chorizo.

And as the steam gently escaped the lid, the aromas melded into gratitude as I think about all the hands, all the hours, all the toil & soil, all the love and all the friendships that have gone into my simple meal. How sad I feel for people who are reduced to consuming faceless, nameless calories slung on a plate or into a bag by someone who could care less.

So, in honor of Earth Day, love your farmers because I sure love all of mine.

Eggs & Ammo

Last week I received a request by my market customer and friend, Cathy Barrow (Mrs. Wheelbarrow's Kitchen) asking her fellow food bloggers  "to shine a light on the appalling truth of hunger in America."  As a food producer who sells directly to my customers at farmers markets in the mid-Atlantic region, I get to witness first-hand what people purchase and how they react to healthy, local foods.

What I'm seeing today leads me to believe that our society has gone completely bonkers.

One can not turn on the television, log on to the Internet, listen to the radio, read a newspaper or engage in conversation without some visceral opinion as to the state of firearms, gun violence, or personal rights. If our elected officials devoted a fraction of the time they give to this issue to the REAL threat to our children and our society--food safety and security--we wouldn't have the problem of people going hungry while diet-related maladies continue to sky-rocket bankrupting our nation with soaring healthcare costs.

We don't have a hunger problem.
We don't have a gun problem.
We have a PRIORITY PROBLEM.

Last week a friend of mine who is the quintessential American wife and mother made a comment on Facebook about how she went to Walmart to pick up some ammunition for her husband and son. They like to hunt and I would by no means lump them into the "gun nut" category.

"I guess Uncle Sam is trying another something else. We can have our guns but no ammo for them. Times are getting scary, I tell you."

That very same week, another friend who is in the sporting goods business told me that the demand has become so high, the price of .22 ammunition has skyrocketed and people are still snapping it up like there is no tomorrow, which leads me to believe it's not the government messing with the supply, but everyday Joes who have fallen victim to fear-mongering much like a run on bread, milk and toilet paper when an impending snow storm in announced. Store shelves can be cleared in minutes when people are threatened with impending doom--real or perceived.

I use a .22 here at the farm. It's a single shot bolt action rifle that belonged to my grandmother. She she shot snakes and turkeys with it. I use it to humanely dispatch animals for harvest, on ones who are are injured or ill, for vermin such as pigeons, and nocturnal wildlife seen during the day that is quite possibly infected with rabies. There are little boxes of .22 bullets sitting around all over the house--on my office desk, on the bookshelf in the living room and in a glass dish in the dining room. Most of my coat and jacket pockets have a few bullets (and spent casings). I'm sure there's even a one or two hiding under the agitator in my washing machine where they tend to collect. I'll admit, I'm a little careless with my ammunition, but having quick access to my .22 is an integral part of job and I have absolutely no fear that someone is ever going to knock on my door and demand I hand over one of the valid tools I used for my chosen vocation of feeding others.

You really think times are scary, huh? 

Yes, every time we turn on the news it seems there's been another shooting. Everyone is squawking about gun rights, gun control, registration, limitations, and outright bans. But let's look at this scenario now in terms of food. 

Are you with me here? Do you believe that we, as Americans, should have access to fresh, healthy food just as much as we should have access to guns and ammunition?

My .22 ammunition comes in two basic sizes--boxes and bricks, a brick being ten boxes each containing 50 bullets. Last year before all this gun insanity began, a box cost around five bucks or less and at local weekend gun shows or large retailers, a brick on special went for as little as ten bucks. 

I sell eggs for $5 a dozen which means a box of bullets equaled one dozen or a brick for two dozen. That's breakfast for 12 days for one person or an afternoon on the range.

But in the wake of all the horrific shootings over the last year and impending gun legislation, the scramble for all types of firearms and ammunition has taken on a frenzy to the point of prices on basic, non-assault style ammo, such as the humble .22, has jumped 600% or more.

In hearing this, I wondered what it would take to make the price of  eggs increase to that degree and if they did, would people still clamor to buy them just as they are now currently doing with ammunition? If events would precipitate in this country that would drive the cost of a dozen eggs upwards of $60, I would most likely have to fish out those errant rounds from the washing machine to protect my flock from four-legged and two-legged predators alike.

There has been an ongoing debate about food security in United States, but now school security has pushed it once again to the back burner. Unfortunately, most Americans really aren't paying attention as we have our heads stuffed too far up our collective rear end over a battle that will be fought by lawyers in the courtroom for years to come, all while American citizens, especially children, go hungry. And still we keep fighting....

The First Lady plants gardens and has four-star chefs prepare meals to teach children about fresh and nutritious foods, but what good is it when children go home to witness their parents and the rest of society rushing out to buy guns and ammo out of fear they might somehow loose their right to go target shooting?Or they must past through locked doors, metal detectors and armed guards to attend school where inside they are fed junk that is just as effective as the bullets in the long run.

And then there is my personal favorite...food deserts. This term started gaining traction a few years ago, but I never gave it much thought until I went to a friend's house for dinner in the District of Columbia not far from one of my Sunday farmers markets.

They were out of butter. Keep in mind, this is a half million dollar home less than two miles from our nation's Capitol building and I was told it would take 30 minutes at the least to either drive or take public transportation to a store that sells butter and get back, longer if there was a line to park or traffic was bad. But there were restaurants, cafes, bars and liquor stores galore in the neighborhood.

This national crisis is being brought to light with a new documentary,  A Place at the Table, from Lori Silverbush following the plight of one in six Americans who don't have enough to eat. In the film, Silverbush points to over 6,500 food deserts identified in this country.

And just what is a food desert? Basically, a place where it's easier to buy booze and bullets than it is to buy broccoli or bacon.

Although the documentary and many articles about food deserts cite poorer metropolitan areas as being food insecure, in my experience, I have found that many low income urban areas predominantly populated with ethnic immigrants are not food deserts as many small grocery stores and bodegas carry culinary staples for that particular community, including an amazing assortment of meats, produce and dairy items.

So it leaves me asking the question, if we would spend money, time and resources on guaranteeing Americans, especially our children, had access to nutritious, healthy, fresh food the same way we clamor over firearms and ammunition, what kind of difference could we really make? Would people still be forced to stand in line at food banks only to be offered garbage doled out the name of generously helping others...helping to the grave faster, at best?

Which leads me to the point of feeding our most vulnerable populations--children, elderly and the poor--the worst possible foods, stuffed full of refined sugars, carbohydrates, trans-fats and chemical dyes, stabilizers and preservatives. And we think we're doing them a favor.

According to our own First Lady, "If we don't solve this problem, one third of all children born in 2000 or later will suffer from diabetes at some point in their lives. Many others will face chronic obesity-related health problems like heart disease, high blood pressure, cancer, and asthma." If our healthcare costs are already bankrupting our country, how are we going to pay for the maladies of this generation if we keep ignoring the issue of our SAD diets, SAD as in Standard American Diet?


As a farmer selling directly to my customers via regional farmers markets, I get to see first-hand how people shop, what they eat and what is important to them. I have set up EBT/SNAP benefit programs for farmers markets and participated in markets in "food deserts" believing I was doing something for the greater good, yet I'm almost ashamed to admit that those experiences have been some of the most demoralizing for me as a farmer. I can only imagine what it must feel like as a consumer.

So today, along with a band of other food bloggers throughout the United States, I'm going to weigh in on the reality of hunger in our country and as always, I'm going to be opinionated and not very politically correct in this post.

We don't have a hunger problem in this country. We have an ignorance problem. It's not the government's fault our children are nutritionally deficient while physically obese, it is their parents' fault. It is not the gargantuan industrial food corporations selling us empty calories Franken-foods, it is we who fill our carts full of them at the mega-grocery stores and eat a growing percentages of our meals from fast food joints because it is cheap and convenient.

You think there is any correlation between raising the price of fuel at the pump while at the same time peddling cheap food. When I was growing up, we bought gas at a gas station and food at the grocery store, but now they are one-in-the-same. Fuel up on hydrocarbons and carbohydrates at the same time. One kills the planet the the other, our bodies.

And it is 100% our choice. I've watched as farmers who produce some of the healthiest, organic, artisan, local, delicious foods would fuel up their trucks on their way into the wealthiest areas of our country and at the same time, load up on Starbucks drinks, Red Bull, doughnuts egg sandwiches and burritos (and they raised laying hens on their own farms!). I'm even guilty of participating in that insanity.

We stand idly by and give millions of dollars to shelters and rescue groups to feed "rescued" livestock and enact crazy laws that condemn and outlaw perfectly good foods, as programs that provide meals for children at school or for the elderly are reduced and eliminated.

We have a complacency problem in that people no longer make intelligent choices, opting for the easiest, what's personally desired or profitable for themselves instead of what is best for their community.  

In the film's trailer,  actor and activist Jeff Bridges said, "If another country was doing this to our kids, we would be at war. It doesn't have to be this way."

Sadly, Mr. Bridges, it is. We have the resources, but we have chosen to direct them (as well as our outrage) on knee-jerk reactions to horrific, high profile incidents in which a few dozen people tragically lose their lives while we ignore an entire generation starving to death in our own back yard.

But I think Ron Finley said it best when in this TED Talk he stated that the "Drive-thru's are killing more people than the drive-bys."

While the last thing anyone would imagine is me quoting the Old Testament on my blog, I believe it was written best in the Book of Isaiah.

And he shall judge among the nations, and shall rebuke many people: and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.