I just finished re-reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver in preparation for this week's book club. The premise of this novel is Kingsolver and her family moving back to her family farm in the Appalachian Mountains and eating seasonally/locally for a year.
The first and second time I finished this book, I set off with a sense of purpose, determined to only buy local and seasonal goods. The first time, it was the dead of winter and I didn't get that far before succumbing to purchasing spinach for a salad. This time, I reasoned, would be different.
This time of year at the farmer's market there are plentiful greens available, and not much else. I decided to make an arugula pizza. I felt so smug as I purchased a pizza crust made by a baker, mozzarella cheese that was made last night, and arugula. I wondered what else I should put on the pizza, and as I walked towards Whole Foods, I googled it on my handy dandy smart phone.
It turned out that the pizza called for four different kinds of cheese, and a sprinkle of lemon. I guiltily purchased the remaining types of cheese and the lemon (from Columbia I might add), and scurried on home. I'm sure that Barbara Kingsolver is judging me right now.
The first and second time I finished this book, I set off with a sense of purpose, determined to only buy local and seasonal goods. The first time, it was the dead of winter and I didn't get that far before succumbing to purchasing spinach for a salad. This time, I reasoned, would be different.
This time of year at the farmer's market there are plentiful greens available, and not much else. I decided to make an arugula pizza. I felt so smug as I purchased a pizza crust made by a baker, mozzarella cheese that was made last night, and arugula. I wondered what else I should put on the pizza, and as I walked towards Whole Foods, I googled it on my handy dandy smart phone.
It turned out that the pizza called for four different kinds of cheese, and a sprinkle of lemon. I guiltily purchased the remaining types of cheese and the lemon (from Columbia I might add), and scurried on home. I'm sure that Barbara Kingsolver is judging me right now.
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