Category — shopping

It snowed this weekend and it was beautiful. The white fluff piled up and up and up around our doorstep and in the street, disguising cars as white lambs, peaceful and chill.

We were warned that people in Washington couldn’t hack it on the roads in the snow, but still, we were determined to make the trek out to Falls Church, VA to the Korean superstore for provisions.

I was craving chili and strange smelling greens and products made of rice and tapioca. I wanted to rest my palm on the spikes of a durian and gape at a tank of geoducks and wrinkle my nose at the dried fungus. I wanted to stare at bewilderment at the choices of nori and buy bottles of soy sauce: light and dark and maybe some variations in between.

We were fairly warned, but still, the two hour trip (in fairer weather, 20 minutes or so) was long and I got cranky, but tried not to be because DC has been so beautiful so far that I didn’t want to ruin it over some ice and silly drivers.

And in the end it was worth it because H-mart had everything I wanted and banana flowers.

That’s them on the right up above. And they had all kinds of greens like the funny long Thai “parsley” and the shiny lemony leaves that look like they come from a tree, but are soft, and all kinds of basil and mint.

And, yes! Back there, in the plastic wrapping, there’s fresh turmeric and galangal and other hard-to-find, but totally awesome items.

Which means that I can go back there soon and get everything I need to make NOAM BAN CHOP, also known as Cambodian’s national dish — noodley goodness atop banana flower, cukes, topped with a fragrant, fishy, lemongrass, galangal, coconutty goodness and finished off with beansprouts and all kinds of fresh greens.

H-mart also had a fantastic selection of prepared foods, including crunchy, spicy pickled Daikon with sesame seeds that is so ridiculously yummy and refreshing that I could live off that and rice and a wee bit of egg for days straight.

That’s new roomie Chris on the left, eating one of the fresh rice cakes from H-mart — the kind that don’t taste like cardboard, but more like sweet, crunchy, light melty yumminess. According to this Washington Post review, the rice cakes are made by Suk Pyo Choi and his wife, Hae Young out of rice, soybean, water and a little bit of artificial sweetener. I wonder if it would ruin the recipe to add some stevia instead? Perhaps I’ll suggest it to Mr. Choi next time I’m there.

Twas a good trip and when the snow melts again, I plan to take my bike out there for a little adventure. I wonder how a whole striped bass would look strapped over my back rack. Too great for words? Perhaps.
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This year, my lovely mum made a commitment to only buy secondhand clothes (special exceptions for underwear and other “intimates”)… Before I left for the farm, mum and I went on a crazy thrifting spree, hitting up 3 or 4 huge warehouses in one day, and getting bags of goods — jeans, work shirts, cute coats, shoes, and more.

So when I went to the Friday Harbor thrift house this weekend with Lucy, I couldn’t help but think of her. People on the island are probably bigger than my 100lb mom, so she might not have had any luck except in the kids section, but I still felt a wave of nostalgia and missing as I clicked my way through the plastic hangers on the racks.

Apparently, the rich San Juaners who summer on the island tend to leave behind all kinds of awesome goods. Lucy scored some ridiculous boots a few weeks ago, listed at something around $300 retail. Ridiculous. We’ve heard September is the ideal month for shopping because that’s when all the summer folks head off and make their annual drops. Needless to say, we will be back at the thrift store (likely before September) again.

I’m most excited about my new sick kicks. — two pairs for a total of $6.50

How does the size of a farm and the depth of community involvement relate to the quality of food produced and/or the quality of external products like land stewardship?

Just read this on a great blog:

“Locavorism isn’t about free-range, its about getting closer to the source; shaking the hand that feeds you and thereby knowing, even seeing, where your food comes from. The reason there are no worthy studies [showing more disease in free range pigs] is because grass-fed farmers often run size-manageable and responsible operations. They don’t cut corners precisely because they are held accountable by the community.”

It might be beside the point of the rest of Paula Crossfield’s article, but this benefit of locavorism surfaces again and again. Local is better because you can see the farm and the farmer and that makes them more accountable. This seems to make so much sense. But the social scientist in me (yes, one of my more loathed parts, but a deep-seated one nonetheless) wonders what kind of research has been done to detail the relationship between size of farm, depth of community involvement, and the extent to which farmers “cut corners.” In fact, this could really be applied to any kind of organization or business — how does scale and community ties affect some relatively objective measure of “quality?”

It seems like a very difficult thing to study given the observer effect — people changing as a result of their actions being observed — but I’ll bet someone’s tried. I’m going to ask some sociologists for help thinking about this one.

My amazing mum sent me two galangal stems & tubers, a few stalks of lemongrass and a piece of turmeric from the fridge. I planted them all a few days ago and have been keeping the kitchen steamy and hot in the hopes that they’re tricked into thinking it’s tropical.

Unfortunately, the turmeric rhizome got moldy, so I think it’s going to have to go in the garbage. Perhaps I’ll be able to find a replacement in Bellingham or in Seattle if I ever make it out there.

That’s one thing that gets me about this “eating local” business. In general, I love love what “local” stands for. Eating what’s near you makes sense — it can be fresher, it takes fewer resources to transport, it’s technically easier to involve yourself with your food by actually talking with the farmer or (gasp!) going out to actually visit the farm where it’s produced. Plus, I understand and support strengthening local economies — I do believe when you buy food from your neighbor, you’re ultimately doing yourself a favor.

But then how do I get things I love without guilt? I love cooking Thai, Cambodian, Vietnamese, Burmese foods. Let’s say my little indoor pots of tropical tubers don’t work out or they don’t produce enough for all the lovely curries I want to make. Do I eschew curry or make adjustments that essentially change a dish? I’d say neither.

I’ve certainly been eating differently since I arrived, less meat, more gorgeous produce, and that adjustment has been wonderfully delicious. But I miss curry and spice and tropical fruits. So when do you draw the line between practical, ethical, joyous eating and overzealousness tied up with guilt? Especially when what’s practical and “right” for me and practical and “right” for you is so different.

The NY Times columnist Mark Bittman says we should avoid labels and just strive to eat “wholesome,” “good” food. I agree, but here you bump up against the problem of definition — some folks have been brought up with very different standards for “good,” and folks have different levels of access to “good.”

I guess it really does come down to a question of ethics and making complex moral tradeoffs. I’m going to see what some of these books have to say on the subject and get back to you.