This passion and hard work is something I understand and appreciate as a small-scale food producer. We still live in a country dominated by the fast, easy meal. That approach doesn’t jibe with Lu’s culture, and it doesn’t jibe with mine.
A growing number of people like us recognize the value of good, fresh, “slow” food. We’re willing to work a little harder and pay a little more to put food on our plates that represents who we are and what we value.
Even during economic uncertainty, some things are certain. People must eat. And people need community. I have faith that sharing food will be what sustains our communities and our country.
“[Food] is a good chance to bring people together during good times or bad,” Lu said, and I realized how seriously that simple statement should be taken.
When we don’t take food seriously, when we don’t really care how or what we eat, or where or from whom it came, then we lose an important part of our identity.
I am not a McNugget. You are not a Cheeto.
When Lu looked around her new home in 1968 and found precious little that truly represented her culture, she protected it. She tended its growth. Then she invited others to share in it.
If we neglect to do the same now, what right do we have to feel at home here?