Today’s bluster and thunderstorm made me hungry for the soup I’d started at home in a way that summer storms never can.
This is a chili of sorts: 6-8 kinds of beans, tomato, onion, garlic, bay leaf, seaweed (arame and dulce, I think), nutritional yeast, with jackfruit, @mississippimushrooms maitake, and local zucchini sautéed in coconut oil, smoked paprika, a little chipotle powder, coriander, and cumin. I made a salsa to go with it: local tomatoes, onion, tomatillos, cilantro, frozen corn (fresh is already gone!), lime (the zest saved for my next granola batch). It’s pretty damn satisfying on the cusp of summer and fall, and close to zero waste; the jar from the coconut oil, the rubber band around the cilantro, the bags from the frozen corn and the tortilla chips being the single use packaging; everything else came out of the produce and bulk sections, jarred and bagged in my own containers.
I’m continuing to evaluate what it means for me to be a climatarian.
Being vegan is an easy label, but my dietary goal is preventing the worsening of our climate catastrophe—and that’s a complex tangle whose intricacies make it all the more necessary to puzzle through.
I’m curious about the beetles @mnforager was sharing a few weeks back, I’m imagining what a restorative urban diet looks like, I’m weighing the sustainability of so many of my fats traveling so far to get to me, I’m thinking about how I can help us get to carbon neutral in the next five years.
As I shop & cook & sate my autumn appetite, I feel connected to those who grow & harvest & process & transport & sell my food, to those who design & build & maintain the infrastructure that render its arrival and disposal unremarkable. How can I ensure that my life is not worsening theirs, destroying our shared future? How can I use my well-fed self in service to my kin who nourish me?