of great pith and moment

There’s a farmer’s market in the parking lot across the street. I have to obey myself today and not buy anything… well I’ve told myself I’m allowed one exception. But if they don’t have it, I… well, I just don’t have room in my refrigerator for more produce right now.

It’s a new addiction. Fresh produce. Like somehow growing up with a mother who planted her own vegetable garden every summer had no effect on my sensory memory. I suppose it is the maturity of my senses, or the pickiness that comes with age… and knowledge of food chemistry. Or tastes… just change.

I think the awakening to my tastebud reprogramming was when I went picking strawberries last summer. Again, this is something I’ve done over the years… but somehow… forgot. I was seduced by those big, red, luscious berries sold in the grocery store, packed ever so neatly in their plastic boxes arranged in copious displays. I didn’t even pay attention that they were all appearance… and no real substance. They were big, shiny, and perfectly formed. But bite into one of those genetically modified things, and it’s all watery, pithy, flavorless waste of calories. I realized this when I went to a farm last summer and picked my own. They weren’t as pretty. They were on the ground, covered in dirt and requiring a little more work to get them. But, in the end, the fresh picked local strawberry had more flavor than five of those pretty berries I find in the store. No chocolate or whipped cream or shortcake needed to go with them. 

There really is something to be said for local flavor. And there is something to be learned, I think, of this notion that I need to have the product that is polished and dressed to look pretty, certified by a name headquartered far away. I suppose we seek out the tried and true branding because, well, they have standards. Standards that have to be guaranteed to some degree. Even if the standards water down the good qualities in the mass production. In the desire to make it look good in one way, at the cost of all other value.

I think about this not just in terms of food – although I think my strawberry story is a perfect summation of flavor lost through appearance perfecting. Certainly, one could raise these questions about any product, be it food or clothing or furniture… or art.

I have long waged a war in my mind about professional versus ‘amateur.’ About independent versus corporate approval. A polished, well styled piece versus a rough flawed cut. Is it better to gloss up a creative product – a play, a novel, a photograph, a sculpture – so it stands out and looks appealing to the eye in a display? Obviously… if the artist wants to sell it. But… what gets lost? Does it lose flavor? Or just the sweetness?

I think I’m starting to realize I would rather have a sweet strawberry than a pretty one.