an open cupboard

Salon.com recently ran an interview of Peter Singer, an ethicist whose latest book “The Way We Eat” examines modern agribusiness and ethics.

In the interview, Singer brings up an interesting point regarding the local food movement:

“California rice is produced using artificial irrigation and fertilizer that involves energy use. Bangladeshi rice takes advantage of the natural flooding of the rivers and doesn’t require artificial irrigation. It also doesn’t involve as much synthetic fertilizer because the rivers wash down nutrients, so it’s significantly less energy intensive to produce. Now, it’s then shipped across the world, but shipping is an extremely fuel-efficient form of transport. You can ship something 10,000 miles for the same amount of fuel necessary to truck it 1,000 miles. So if you’re getting your rice shipped to San Francisco from Bangladesh, fewer fossil fuels were used to get it there than if you bought it in California.”

Of course, part of eating locally is supporting local farmers, artisans, small businesses, and the local economy itself, in addition to reducing the use of fossil fuels. Singer touches on this issue as well:

“My argument is that we should not necessarily buy locally, because if we do, we cut out the opportunity for the poorest countries to trade with us, and agriculture is one of the things they can do, and which can help them develop. The objection to this, which I quote from Brian Halweil, one of the leading advocates of the local movement, is that very little of the money actually gets back to the Kenyan farmer. But my calculations show that even if as little as 2 cents on the dollar gets back to the Kenyan farmer, that could make a bigger difference to the Kenyan grower than an entire dollar would to a local grower. It’s the law of diminishing marginal utility. If you are only earning $300, 2 cents can make a bigger difference to you than a dollar can make to the person earning $30,000.”

Singer reminds readers that sustainable agriculture is more complicated than it seems, balancing myriad issues such as local production and trade, fuel conservation, green farming practices, the fair treatment of animals, fair trade, and so on.

Update: A midwestern reader comments on Singer’s statements regarding the local food movement.

Like death and taxes, it’s a generally accepted truth that tofu is bland. Tofu is considered a flavorless block of protein, providing texture and nutrition for vegetarians, hippies, and trendy hipsters. Rarely is tofu considered an ingredient on its own. Most often it’s a substitute for the animal-derived foods it replaces, such as chicken, beef, and pork. An unfair analogy, if you think about it. Why do we compare the flavor and texture of a bean-based food to those of an animal food? We don’t equate black-eyed peas with chicken, hummus with steak, Boston baked beans with pork chops. Tofu is a food in its own right, we ought to treat it as such. And–don’t laugh–I’ve always been convinced that tofu has a distinct flavor of its own, if a very subtle one.

Today I tested my hypothesis. Despite my natural proclivity to spend Saturday morning lazing around the house, I finally managed to get to the Berkeley Farmer’s market. (As soon as the sun shows its face, the good citizens of the Bay Area have no choice but to immediately engage in all forms of outdoor activities, before the warm rays disappear behind another unseasonably overcast sky.) I was just in time to buy the last two little blocks of tofu from the Hodo Soy Beanery, a local organic producer of all things soy. Among other things, I also purchased a block of lightly salted Spring Hill Jersey cultured butter (so good, you can pretty much eat it on its own).

Back at home, I decided to prepare the tofu very simply so as to bring out its natural flavor. What could be more honest than sliced tofu cutlets cooked in butter, seasoned with salt and pepper? Almost not a recipe at all, frankly. The result was creamy on the inside with a slightly crisp golden crust, and a pleasant soybean flavor. Quite good. And tasting quite distinctively of tofu.

Not Really a Recipe for Fried Tofu

1 small block of the freshest, yummiest organic tofu you can find, sliced
1-2 TBS butter
salt and pepper to taste

- Fry the tofu in the butter until golden on both sides. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Serves 2-3

I’ve been jonesing for a fire-roasted eggplant with yogurt and tahini sauce ever since I left Israel. This dish appears in myriad variations at almost every trendy Middle Eastern fusion restaurant in greater Tel Aviv. And with good reason–it’s delicious.

Ordinarily, the dish is prepared with a “baladi” eggplant, an Arabic word which roughly translates to “grown the old fashioned way,” according to a greengrocer at the Carmel market in Tel Aviv. Baladi eggplants are smaller than globe eggplants, usually about half the size. They’re squat and appear sort of cloven, with three to five grooves extending from the base towards the top of the fruit. Think of a slightly more squat looking globe eggplant, with multiple–ahem–cleavage. Baladi eggplants are wonderfully delicate and sweet. They’re great sliced and fried in a little olive oil, with a sprinkling of sea salt and freshly ground pepper.

A fire-roasted baladi eggplant is even better–still sweet, yet slightly smoky tasting with a creamy texture. Cow, sheep, or goat milk yogurt adds a cool tanginess to the eggplant, tahini sauce keeps the whole thing grounded and earthy, while pine nuts add texture and, well, a piny flavor that spices everything up. My favorite recipe for this dish is tucked away in the pages of a cooking magazine, lying in a box in storage way over on the other side of the planet. Here’s my attempt at reconstructing it.

Fire-roasted Eggplant with Yogurt and Tahini Sauce

1 medium sized eggplant
coarse sea salt
freshly ground pepper
1 TBSP tahini
1 TBSP freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 TBSP water
1/2 cup good quality cow, sheep, or goat yogurt
toasted pine nuts, lightly crushed or chopped
1 TBSP finely minced fresh herbs such as wild oregano, coriander, or parsley

- Light the smallest gas flame on your stove and rest the eggplant directly on the grate. If you don’t have a gas stove, use a barbecue or hibachi outdoors.

- As the eggplant darkens and starts to smell roasted, you’ll want to turn it over. Keep an eye (and a nostril) on it. If you notice large patches of still purple eggplant skin, turn the uncooked area to the flame.

- While the eggplant is roasting, mix the yogurt until it’s creamy. Try to whisk out the lumps, if any.

- In a small bowl, mix the tahini, lemon juice, and water until well combined. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

- Remove the eggplant from the flame. You’ll know it’s ready when its skin is no longer purple and it is fairly soft. The skin should not be charred (like used coal), just blackened.

- Let the eggplant rest for a few minutes, and drain any liquids that escape.

- Split the eggplant open (careful, it’s hot) and run a fork along the flesh like a rake. This will make the flesh easier to eat as you won’t need to work at separating it from the skin. Season each half lightly with salt and pepper to taste.

- Spoon some yogurt on each half. Drizzle tahini sauce over the yogurt. Sprinkle with pine nuts and minced herbs.

Serves 2

Variations:
- Instead of yogurt, use labaneh, a kind of tangy yogurt cheese of Middle Eastern origin.
- Instead of crushed pine nuts, use black sesame seeds, or nigella seeds.
- Sprinkle roasted cumin seeds on top.

Rose Levy Beranbaum has some words of wisdom on her blog regarding the purchase of cake pans. Apparently, manufacturers of cake pans have been shrinking their products, so your 9 inch loaf pan may not actually be 9 inches long. Worse, its volume may be less than that of a traditional loaf pan. If your recipes produce too much batter for your pans, this could be the reason. Berenbaum recommends shopping for kitchen products with a tape measure. Excellent advice, and something I’d never have thought of.