Eating With the Seasons

I am absolutely sick of shrimp–boiled, grilled, chopped up and put in salad–I’m done.  By last Sunday night, when we’d had them two nights in a row, and still had two pounds left, I knew I’d had enough to last me a good long while.  Which is just fine–Shrimp Guy is finished for the year.  No more shrimp till fourth of July weekend, 2010.

That’s the dark side of seasonal eating, but it’s also the whole point:  eat what’s in season, and get your fill, then don’t eat it any more until it comes back in season.   It’s simple, really.  When I listen to arguments and conversations and philosophical treatises about the food industry and the environment and our poor eating habits, I think about what Laura Ingalls Wilder ate.  I know, that makes me a little odd (well, it’s not the only thing that makes me odd, but it’s definitely on the list).  But really, when you think about it, that’s the agrarian model that informs the current “local food movement.”

For the most part, Laura’s family ate what they grew.  They bought a few staples–coffee, sugar, flour–in town, and had the occasional store-bought exotic treat (oranges at Christmas).  Otherwise, they ate what was in season, and preserved as much as they could.

Obviously, I’m not a pioneer–I have access to pretty much any food I want, from anywhere in the world, any time I want.  There are at least five grocery stores within four miles of my house. I can even mail-order food and have it delivered to my door:  I have a Paypal account and I’m not afraid to use it.

But there is nothing better–and I mean nothing–than a strawberry that stayed on the plant until it was totally ripe.  Especially if I picked it myself and ate it while it was still warm from the sun.  Strawberries like that, deep red all the way through and just as sweet as sugar, can’t be shipped from Chile to the US in December.  They’re too fragile.  The only way to get them is to eat them when they’re in season where you live.  I realize that for some people, having a strawberry in December is more important than waiting for the perfect strawberry in May.  And that’s fine–to each his own.

But in December, when it’s cold and blustery and coming on winter, I’m perfectly happy to eat apples and dried fruit and things that I preserved back in the summer.  Then when the local strawberries are ready in the spring, I’m more than ready for them.  I’ll freeze some for smoothies, make a big batch of jam, and eat bowls of fresh berries till they’re coming out of my ears.  Then they’ll be gone, and I’ll move on.

On our refrigerator, amongst the coupons and school schedules and photos of cousins, is a chart I cut out of the newspaper years ago detailing the seasonal availability of a long list of produce here in central North Carolina.  I’m guessing agriculture departments in most states produce something similar–if you can’t find it, try your state’s extension agency.  I often overhear people wandering around the farmer’s market looking for tomatoes in April, or asparagus in July, and being surprised when they can’t find those things.  If you’re not familiar with the growing seasons where you live, you might be more surprised to learn what’s available (and delicious) at different times of the year.

I went to the farmer’s market the other day thinking I’d buy a big pile of corn to make corn relish (which I think is nasty, but Lee loves, so I humor him), and the corn was gone.  Just like that.  It was there on Saturday, and gone by Monday.  I was deeply bummed–I had waited to late in the season to preserve, and missed out.

If Lee really starts craving corn relish this winter, he’ll have to get it at the grocery store.  It’ll taste almost as good as mine.

ETA:  I found one last load of corn at the market yesterday, and Lee’s in luck:  the relish is in the canner as I write this.