Six months ago I made a choice. A choice that would improve my quality of life. A choice that would force me to be aware of my foods origins and, in turn, make me a more conscious consumer. No longer would I peruse the brightly lit aisles of the grocery store, instead, I would buy only from local farmers markets. Gone were the days of processed cheese and waxy apples. Fast food? Bite your tongue, sir. I would sooner starve than pollute my body with that filth. I would be a slave to convenience, no more! For I had made the decision to go local and organic, and nothing was going to stop me.
So, armed with the knowledge of the evils of "conventional" (the least offensive way to suggest a product is not organic/natural) foods and a grocery list, I marched into the market, determined and steadfast. The smell of earth and the sounds of bargaining filled the air. And as I pored over the various stands, I couldn't help noticing the deep purple hues of the beets, the vibrant reds of the bell peppers, the rich oranges of the carrots...and the absurd prices of absolutely everything in sight. Four dollars for an apple?! Were these people mad?!
Surely there was a rational explanation for the exorbitant costs. Perhaps I had stumbled upon an underground bazaar in which all goods had been touched by Midas himself. Or, quite possibly, I walked in on a fund raiser in which the prices of all produce had been increased 400%, and the profits were to be donated to a local charity. Of course, it could've been that it just wasn't the proper season for...well, for anything. But upon closer inspection I realized that no, the jicama was not made of gold, and no...there would be no ill-equipped children's choir benefiting from my purchase. Alas, I accepted my fate. I would not be going organic that day, not with my lucre.
And so, I continue to devour the most deplorable of vittles. Irradiated radishes, pesticidal plums and antibiotic rich, rump roasts. Yet, I have not fallen ill. In fact, I have been in perfect health...neither a sniffle nor a belly ache in over a year. Could it be, that a Chilean grape is just as nourishing as one plucked from the vine of a small farm on the Finger Lakes? Is it possible that as long as we eat well, it doesn't really matter if our avocado comes from this side of the Rio Grande?
That's not to say I condone the consumption of such culinary missteps as canned vegetables or precooked meats, but rather suggest, that choosing a locally grown, organic rutabaga over one shipped in from Canada, may not leave you susceptible to disease. And while I am no financier, I'm pretty sure doubling ones grocery bill on a weekly basis, could make for a less cushy savings account.
So, don't let the high cost of organic foods deter you from eating well. Because while your reusable grocery bag isn't overflowing with locally grown lemongrass...at least you're not that lady with the "Hungry Man" meals spilling out of her cart.
