Yesterday afternoon, I was in the middle of a peaceful lunch (whole grain bread topped with thinly sliced apple and crumbly goat cheese, shoved under the broiler for a minute or two and accompanied by a simple salad) when I innocently began thumbing through the latest edition of the Economist. I turned a page: “Monsanto, corporate sinner or saint?” the title asked. I read on, hopefully. Gradually my blood pressure began to rise, lunch turned to ashes in my mouth, and I found myself physically shaking with fury. Far from being a balanced and insightful report on the doings of this agri-giant, the author passes softly by the hoard of howling skeletons in Monsanto’s closet and paints a picture of a benevolent beacon of innovation and advancement. Not an infallible creature, but on balance a solid force for good.
Now I will not go into the details of why this portrait of the world’s dominant seed company caused me to erupt into anger and frustration—its reputation is well known. To delve into that closet of dishonesty, corruption, political arm twisting, and fundamental bad manners that Monsanto has displayed over the past decade or so would take too long. Do the research. After my exploration, the verdict appears self-evident: Monsanto is a serious sinner. More importantly Monsanto represents the pinnacle of all that I find despicable about corporate agriculture: the co-opting of power from individual farmers and a spectacular disregard for the importance of biodiversity being just two examples.
By the time I’d reached the end of the article my mind was consumed in anger and frustration. I couldn’t even think about a menu for the evening’s feast. Food, in its pleasurable sense, was farthest from my mind. I stared glumly at my shelves of recipe books unable to pull my brain away from dispiriting thoughts of genetic homogenization, topsoil depletion, and tomatoes bulging with fish genes. Count me out of a world such as that.
And so, in an unusually constructive channeling of anger I went out for a run and tore up the roads. But I didn’t stop thinking about corporate agribusiness. On the contrary I had one of those moments out running, the wind tossing the trees, the sea and my hair. I stopped abruptly at the bottom of a dip, just by an old scraggy apple tree. The road ahead rose steeply. What can I do? I begged my mind. What can I do? And then the words of one social activist—I don’t remember who she was—but when I read her words they took root. I vaguely recollect that she was going to campaign for the rights of Australian aborigines, but before actively storming the fortress, she spent two years living with these people. When questioned about her extensive time in their community, her response ran something like this: “In order win, you have to know what you’re fighting for.” And that is what my feasting is about: the feast is not the real work, it is not my aim. But strangely, as my love of food and feasting deepens, so too has my commitment to cultivating the sort of world in which these simple pleasures are possible for all. Feasting is simply a constant reminder of what I want to spend my career doing: fostering sustainable food systems. And I am inching towards that goal.
It is time for fifty-two feasts to grow up. From now on it’s not just about feasting but fighting. In the best sense of the word: I’m going to fight the way I sometimes fight to drag myself out on a drizzly fall morning for a run; the kind of fighting that reaps plentiful rewards. And yet my aim is never to lose that center, that hearth around which the battlers nourish themselves. It’s like that social activist was saying: you need food before you fight; you need to feast before diving into the fray.
What does fighting mean in the context of these feasts? Well, to start I am going to use more local, seasonal, and sustainably produced ingredients; more plants and less meat. I’m going to spend more energy on sourcing and learning the stories behind the foods I love. The great thing about a fork is that in the same moment you can use it to nourish your body, to make your taste buds squeal in delight, and to change the world ever so slightly for the better.
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