Her shriek was horrendous, somewhere between Janet Leigh in the shower and a train grinding to a halt for the daily suicide. It did nothing to help my hangover. My head was throbbing as last nights drink-a-thon slowly and painfully rationed itself through my whole body. I was trying to keep down a carrot, apple, beetroot and ginger juice, and I almost spilled it all over the counter at the sound of her screams. Thinking that something horrible had happened, perhaps a horrific accident involving butternut squash - which were quite large and heavy during this season - I ran over the help her. She was standing over the potatoes, her mouth gaping open as if she had just discovered a corpse.
"Is everything alright ma'am?" I asked, trying to sound like the nice little shop girl and not an American with the hangover.
"These potatoes," she said, trying to catch her breath, "They have dirt on them!"
I find myself fumbling for words. "Well, uh, yes, I mean, they come from the ground..."
"So I am expected to wash these myself !?"
"Well, yeah, I mean, unless you want to keep the dirt on them, you know for flavour."
She didn't appreciate my attempt at humor. Then again, I am not sure what someone who is terrified of dirty potatoes would find funny. She shook her head angrily at me, declared she was going to Waitrose, where they apparently had sparkling clean potatoes, and marched out of the store.
Watching her sashay down the street, all Chanel shades and clicking heels, I wondered if she had ever touched a speck of dirt in her life. I, on the other hand, have dirt permanently under my fingernails from these damn potatoes. After having to pick slugs and snails off the lettuces, throw out moldy oranges and lemons and put the sprouting onions in a box and take them downstairs to see if our cook can use them, dirty potatoes fail to freak me out.
People want their food neat and tidy, dressed up like children going to Sunday school. It's the disconnection we have with food. Essential nutrients have to be sexy, runway ready. Even the organic foods are struggling to match up to this bizarre standard. You go into Tesco or Sainsbury's and the food is wrapped up in plastic on these neat little styrofoam trays, with labels depicting pastoral scenes of smiling young farmers with burlap sacks picking things off of trees. It's a lifeless, and environmentally challenging, standard. Our food is a living, breathing thing. An organism that we consume, that permeates every part of our body. It's basic and shouldn't be a trend.
As the assistant manager of an organic shop, I have become involved with an industry that is going through a massive change. It's like a band with a cult following that suddenly has a hit single. Not that this is a negative development. Organic farming, especially locally based, is an important industry to support. But as it grows its ethical and environmental standards must be upheld. I only hope, that as London gets a new health food shop on the corner every day, we as consumers don't forget that we might have to get our hands dirty while rooting through the potatoes.
First published 11 January 2007
"Is everything alright ma'am?" I asked, trying to sound like the nice little shop girl and not an American with the hangover.
"These potatoes," she said, trying to catch her breath, "They have dirt on them!"
I find myself fumbling for words. "Well, uh, yes, I mean, they come from the ground..."
"So I am expected to wash these myself !?"
"Well, yeah, I mean, unless you want to keep the dirt on them, you know for flavour."
She didn't appreciate my attempt at humor. Then again, I am not sure what someone who is terrified of dirty potatoes would find funny. She shook her head angrily at me, declared she was going to Waitrose, where they apparently had sparkling clean potatoes, and marched out of the store.
Watching her sashay down the street, all Chanel shades and clicking heels, I wondered if she had ever touched a speck of dirt in her life. I, on the other hand, have dirt permanently under my fingernails from these damn potatoes. After having to pick slugs and snails off the lettuces, throw out moldy oranges and lemons and put the sprouting onions in a box and take them downstairs to see if our cook can use them, dirty potatoes fail to freak me out.
People want their food neat and tidy, dressed up like children going to Sunday school. It's the disconnection we have with food. Essential nutrients have to be sexy, runway ready. Even the organic foods are struggling to match up to this bizarre standard. You go into Tesco or Sainsbury's and the food is wrapped up in plastic on these neat little styrofoam trays, with labels depicting pastoral scenes of smiling young farmers with burlap sacks picking things off of trees. It's a lifeless, and environmentally challenging, standard. Our food is a living, breathing thing. An organism that we consume, that permeates every part of our body. It's basic and shouldn't be a trend.
As the assistant manager of an organic shop, I have become involved with an industry that is going through a massive change. It's like a band with a cult following that suddenly has a hit single. Not that this is a negative development. Organic farming, especially locally based, is an important industry to support. But as it grows its ethical and environmental standards must be upheld. I only hope, that as London gets a new health food shop on the corner every day, we as consumers don't forget that we might have to get our hands dirty while rooting through the potatoes.
First published 11 January 2007
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