When I left Wilmington, I generated a new version of the 100 mile diet circle.  Gone is the vast expanse of salt water; in is a nice chunk of rural Virginia and a bit of country in South Carolina.  Many of the farms included in the old map are still in the new map.  After all, I did stay in the same state.

All that said, I have to admit that my local food habits hit a rut when I first moved.  I was eating peanut butter and canned crap for a good four week period before I realized that I was missing out on what the new circle held.  I started eating five mile salads and thirty mile meats.  Locally grown and milled flours, grits and rice made their way back onto the table.  I also found my way back into a box of Carolina Ruby sweet potatoes.

Through Eastern Carolina Organics, I also have access to produce from the entire state of North Carolina, from Valle Crucis to Ivanhoe, Edenton to Hurdle Mills and back to Bakersville.  Occasionally things get culled due to poor quality and I of course get my hands in the boxes just like back in Wilmington.  My scavenging eyes are returning and - without my staff discount from the coop - I am looking for ways to slim down the food budget.

Basically what I am getting at is that I am back in the food bubble.  I am also looking forward to producing more of my own food in the coming year.

The photo shows a stereotypical farmer, plaid shirt and overalls front and center. In the background, a table full of young professionals gathered around a laptop. Welcome to the new picture of a locavore…

An article in the New York Times details a growing trend in local eating, a trend that many would call the Lazy Locavore movement. More to the point, this trend is based on disposable income more than laziness, and injects an unneeded class distinction into local foods.

The article picks up the false argument that local food always costs more, therefore it should be in the realm of the upper classes to purchase it or have it grown for them. Installed gardens (with maintenance packages), home deliveries of pre-cooked local stews and personal chefs may unnecessarily become the new faces of local eating. Attempts to build community based, income-irrelevant food systems have to stay above the class divide and focus on ways to bring local eaters together and make local food attainable to anyone who wants it.

This post is part of the week long Eat Carolina Food Challenge where participants are asked to submit a blog post every day of the challenge. Posts from all the other participants are aggregated on the Carolina Farm Stewardship website.

I try and eat a pretty good breakfast during the work week, but the meal is often scattered over the course of a few hours. It isn’t until Sunday that I get to have a good sit down breakfast at a most unreasonable hour of the day (breakfast at noon?). Tomorrow I am looking forward to a big pile of pancakes, a pile of bacon, a pile of scrambled eggs with sweet peppers and goat cheese, a pile of blueberries, a pile of melon, a pile of toast and jam and butter, a pile or rice and honey — just huge piles of breakfasty stuff inches from my coffee rinsed eyes.

I didn’t always have a good relationship with breakfast. During most of my working life (read: most of my life) I have skipped breakfast entirely, preferring to start the day with a billion ounces of various caffeine shots. When I was an apple inspector for the USDA my breakfast was a Jolt cola and a half dozen cigarettes. When I packed trucks in a shoe factory, my breakfast was the yammering on of the forklift driver and a gallon of coffee. When I…well, you get the point.

It wasn’t until a few years ago that I really started to get into breakfast as the basis for the day. I would start making rice in the morning and pairing it with various preserves or pour a big bowl of crunchy granola and top it with berries. Or fry up some eggs and potatoes and have at it.

On occasion breakfast became some sort of calming mechanism. Afterwards I’d listen to local morning radio or read a farming magazine or pet the cats. Then on to work in a relaxed state of mind.

Breakfast changed my life so much that I kind of like to eat it for dinner sometimes as well. “Breakfast for Dinner” is a pretty well used phrase around here, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. So yeah, I’m looking forward to breakfast tomorrow…

This post is part of the week long Eat Carolina Food Challenge where participants are asked to submit a blog post every day of the challenge. Posts from all the other participants are aggregated on the Carolina Farm Stewardship website.

Flat tire — check. Torrential downpour — check. Lightning — got it. Bike basket full of melting ice cream — unfortunately, got that too. With that setup, let’s start today’s post…

It hasn’t rained here for awhile. In what is amounting to a continuation of last year’s drought, we begin our days scanning the weather reports and hoping for the best. Any sign of clouds is cheered, any drizzle welcomed as, well, something at least, a sign that the atmosphere is at least still capable of recycling evaporated water into rain. Yet when it does rain I am usually cursing because I am most likely somewhere on my bicycle. It just seems to work out that way.

I am a bicycle commuter, so it has to happen that the commute occurs no matter what the weather conditions. If it isn’t humid it’s cold; if it isn’t windy it’s burning hot. And since I commute, whatever food I buy must stand up to at least thirty minutes in the elements, just like me.

Today we received a shipment of ice cream from Maple View Dairy. I had my eye on the pints from minute one, and decided to bring home all five flavors. The logistical nightmare for keeping ice cream cool is figuring out how to pack an extra bag of ice in the rear bicycle basket along with everything else. Today the “everything else” included the dishes from today’s lunch, a gallon of water, a package of bacon from Rainbow Meadow, a few veggies and my rain gear.

The clouds had been blackening as the seconds to my departure ticked on. I usually ride really fast, but downpours bring visibility to zero and severely extend the ride time. The clouds made me rethink the ice cream, but the thought of an after dinner bowl full of Carolina Crunch overruled rational arguments.

With everything wrapped up, clouds coming full on and the snap of thunder making its first appearances, I set the pace of a maniac, two wheels smoking, racing towards a dying sun. Perfect.

Then a flat tire. Then the realization that there wouldn’t be time to fix it properly before the storm came in full. Then the irritating thought of putting on non-breathing full-body rain gear in the saturated hot air. It always feels like a punch in the face to greet the humidity with full sleeves and hood.

The rain came hard. My back stung under the fat and fast drops. My glasses immediately fogged, becoming useless for navigation. Visibility was less than ten feet anyway, so I had to ride slowly and carefully. Street drains immediately clogged because it hadn’t rained in so long, the flotsam of a litter bug culture plugging up the grates. In some areas the water was too deep to even ride through. An hour later I was on my porch pouring water out of my waterproof boots (that just means the boots hold the water IN) and checking on my cargo.

The label on the bacon had washed away. The tomato had a soft spot. The gallon of water - well, who cares about that after riding through thousands of gallons of the stuff. The ice cream was the important part of this story anyway, and it had melted halfway. Tragedy and arrogance. I could have sent the pints home with a friend in a vehicle or just waited a day, but I had to have Heath Bars and Butterfingers and caramel sauce bathed in hormone-free sweet cream.

I tried to refreeze the ice cream slowly in hopes of fending off ice crystals. Hopefully it worked, but I’ll let you know after I down a couple bowls of hot homemade chicken soup (made from a Grassy Ridge chicken). Ride on…