The Night of the Funky Chicken.

There once lived a veggie loving fruit queen named Lucinda who birthed a little pixie named Fiona. In the kitchen of their castle was an abundant supply of fruits, vegetables and butter.

They were carnivores by definition but their meals consisted primarily of vegetables. This is because the queen is a budget conscious woman and produce is economical. Furthermore, both the pixie and the queen prefer to eat meat produced in a way that it was given a life worthy of it's sacrifice and a steady supply was not available at their castle in far far away from farmtown.

Then one day the queen crossed paths with the King of Carnivores. He wooed her with his knowledge of agriculture and his home made meat smoker. And when he took her to farmer's markets and gifted her with farm fresh eggs she knew that he was a man after her own heart.

The King's meals consisted mostly of meat and a meal was not a meal to him without a large portion of animal protein. Why? Because he is carnivore hear him roar.

The Queen took domain over the produce and the King was in the charge of the meat. The little pixie was official taste tester and cookie monster.

All was well in the Land of Food...

Then came the night of the funky chicken and best intentions gone awry.

The Queen was in her chambers working away and the King decided he would make supper for his fair lady. Smoked Chicken on a Beer Can.

He labored away on the chicken making sure the temperature was perfect on the smoker and even incorporated produce into cooking the chicken.

When complete the flavor was wonderful but the queen, being an expert in the taste of good ingredients, did not need to see the empty Purdue packing in the trash to know that this chicken was a funky chicken. Although the King cooked it to perfection, she explained to him that part of the meal was the experience and eating tortured chicken did not make for happy hearts.

She was grateful for his efforts but respectfully requested that he refrain from purchasing funky chicken. He reluctantly agreed but in his adolescence ways could not refrain from leaving clucking noises on her voicemail with the message, "it's the funky chicken calling."

Emotional Eating.

I am an emotional eater. I use food as a way to bring full circle an emotion I may be feeling or to take me to a place I want to be. Food, to me, is a gateway for expression and an experience.

If you come to my house for dinner and find that I have made something creamed (peas, turnips, and even asparagus) then you can be assured that I am home sick for my grandmother - she makes the best creamed peas.

If creativity strikes me then you will find some sort of off the wall creation or a new twist on an old favorite (like adding bananas to my chocolate chip cookies - YUM!).

With that said, this week I have been yearning for a bit of stillness. Fiona and I spent last week in North Carolina cooking traditional Midwestern holiday cuisine for my Uncle, my beau, and their/ our collective friends. Yes, even Fiona helped. She is an expert noodle maker (picture at the top of this post).

I returned home Sunday only to step full force into a hectic week.

I must admit that I have been taken aback by the overwhelming feedback as a result of LivingSocial. I have been showered with kind words of encourage and cute little organic love notes which, without fail, make me smile big and occasionally do the happy dance- not to be confused with the potty dance. Then, of course, as with anything in life, there have also been the occasional rants and haters...but such is life. At any rate, all said and done I have had more emails/ voicemails/ phone calls than the total population of my hometown which means I have been chasing my tail trying to catch it since the word go. :-)

So my stillness and zen this week has come through food. One night, Fiona and I ate sliced tomatoes with salt, corn cut off the cob , fresh berries, and this amazingly wonderful cheese made by Organic Valley. No, I didn't put much effort into the creation of the meal, but the result was effortless communion between mother and daughter. I could have spent more time laboring away to enhance flavors, but instead I let them stand on their own and spent that extra time chatting away with Fiona - she loves stories, so I spent that particular evening telling her about the people that grew her tomatoes.

So, what is cooking in the Clark kitchen? Simplicity. Time to stop and smell the fruit. :-)

Cheers and Happy Eats!

Lucinda

What happened to humanity? The Daily Bread.

I was slated to meet Dylan and David at 8:15 and so my day began with an extra sense of urgency to get Fiona fed, dressed, and out the door for school without an extra moment to spare. We had oatmeal with fried apples for breakfast. I was in a rush so I didn't finish mine.

Dylan, one of my dear friends and pseudo assistant, had arranged for me to take a tour of the Daily Bread facilities with his father David, who sits on their board.

Unbeknownst to me before the tour, the Daily Bread is in a highly heated battle with the City Council about expanding/moving their facilities. In fact, it was the day after an extremely intense council meeting that we were touring the facilities. The issue seems to be that the council, area business owners, and community surrounding the Daily Bread soup kitchen facility doesn't want the Daily Bread to expand operations in their neighborhood. The same is the case for the new location that they are looking at moving to. The council’s position is that there are drug dealers, prostitutes, and low-lifes attracted to such a facility and it decreases the safety and economic value of the area that it inhabits. A raid had been performed at the Daily Bread soup kitchen a few weeks prior in which swat teams rushed through the facility and arrested 9 drug dealers on the premises. Press cameras were in attendance and captured the entire ordeal for the 11:00 news.

At the council meeting videos of lewd sexual acts being performed by prostitutes and drug deals were shown, as well as the findings of the raid discussed in detail. The assumption made from the material provided was that "those people" were in the neighborhood because of the Daily Bread and therefore if the Daily Bread were allowed to expand it would increase such activity. Furthermore, the area on Sarno Road that the Daily Bread wants to move to would be in jeopardy of "invasion" by such people.

I was filled in on this information briefly by David prior to our tour for the sake of explaining that I might be walking into a situation of intense emotions by Daily Bread volunteers and employees (The organization is run by 500 volunteers and only 5 paid employees).

We started with the warehouse facilities which is where food is initially brought before being distributed to various charities and food pantries throughout Brevard County (there are about 30 that rely on the Daily Bread to stock their shelves). The operation was impressive to me: highly organized, smoothly run, and exceptionally clean. The volunteers were all too happy to explain to me how the process works. Different organizations pick up food from the facility and if there is an abundance or shortage the volunteers get on the phone to help get the food to the right place or solicit new donations. Here at the warehouse is where they coordinate with the chefs at the soup kitchen to decide what will be on the menu in the upcoming weeks based on what food is available and donations anticipated.

Our next stop was the soup kitchen facility and I can assure you that I was in no way prepared for what my eyes would see and heart would feel. When we pulled into the parking lot there were about a dozen or so people in the "yard" waiting for the one hot meal the kitchen provides on a daily basis, even though it wasn't to be served for a few more hours. My first thought was of my brothers and uncles and how they congregate in the kitchen around the table waiting for the women of my family to put the finishing touches on a meal at the holidays. As soon as I got out of my car I realized that this was no holiday because the overwhelming joy I associate with such was nowhere to be found.

As we made our way inside, Ed Welch, the assistant director, kindly took on the task of showing us through the different parts of the operation. The impact the prior night's council meeting had had on him was obvious. He seemed flustered, protective, and maybe even a little defensive - justifiably so considering those less fortunate that he felt so passionately about had come under such scrutiny without, what he felt, was ample enough opportunity to defend themselves.

He and David discussed the subject and Ed made some very valid points. He explained that he has no authority to arrest anyone and that signs are posted everywhere about unacceptable behaviors and consequences thereof (being banned). Furthermore, he has no authority over the sidewalk directly outside the premises and has often felt like his requests for help from the police have not been followed up with the sense of urgency they require. After all, as he pointed out, the ones that are a threat to the neighborhood are also a threat to the majority of the people that come to the soup kitchen with honest intentions. He feels that those he considers to be in his stead are at their most vulnerable and that they unfortunately make easy targets to those who would prey upon them. He also explained that some of the tapes that were shown at the city council meeting were not taped on the Daily Bread's premises and was at a loss at how to respond to accusations that the Daily Bread be held responsible for such crimes.

Through cramped quarters we made our way into the "hub" of the facility where volunteers could be found coordinating logistics and doing day to day tasks such as background checks on potential volunteers. We then saw the laundry and bathroom facilities, which combined were still smaller than my very modest guest bathroom. Ed explained that the showers are on a first-come, first-served basis and a set of clothing (shirt, shorts/pants, underwear, and socks) is provided if someone chooses to shower. When finished, their dirty laundry is washed then recycled back through for the next person in need. All of the clothing, travel size toiletry, female hygiene products, as well as blankets for when it gets cold are stored in an extremely small storage room next to the mail room.

The mail room in and of itself was something that made me stop and ponder the plight of the homeless. The facility offers a place where the homeless can have a mailing address, which is an obvious necessity once you think about trying to get a state I.D., receive Social Security benefits checks, VA benefits, or Disability with the address of "park bench #2."

As we moved through the small dining area I learned that each person must check in to eat and a small camera takes their picture so the next time they check in, their identity can be confirmed. This helps for the staff to keep banned people off the premises. Of course, I wonder how effective they are at getting people to leave with words as their only weapon and without the police there to back them up.

The previous day’s count of people served was listed behind the check-in desk and was nearly 300. It was explained to me that not all of the people that come here for a hot meal are homeless. Some are just barely on the fringe of being homeless and the one meal a day helps them keep from becoming such. The clients are also varied with the elderly, middle-aged, families, and even children coming through the line. As I absorbed all of this I thought about my unfinished breakfast and felt shame like I had never felt before.

Walking back toward my car at the end of the tour I made eye contact with a gentleman sitting alone at one of the tables. The gaze we held for a moment told of humiliation, heartbreak, remorse, regret, and sorrow. His eyes and the emotion they enveloped cut through me to make a resonating sound against my soul, because I had seen them before in my own reflection. I felt shame for the second time that day. Although I have never suffered from a drug problem, been homeless, and prostitution is definitely not becoming of me, I have visited the deep darkness of my own personal hell a time or two.

In spite of my past regrets, I stand where I am today not on my own accord, but because in my time of darkness a friend, a stranger, a family member put their hand in mine and helped me find my way. I felt shame that this man was not afforded that same right -the right to be treated with dignity and respect despite past transgressions.

The Daily Bread is not asking for us to condone criminal activity they are merely asking for us to see that we are all bound by the common strand of humanity. It is not your world or their world it is our world.

If you are one of the few people that have not felt the weight of sorrow, or the humiliation of defeat, if regret is an emotion you are not familiar with then I ask you to realize your blessings and not allow vanity to be the downfall of humankind. With your blessings you have a responsibility to reach your hand to those less fortunate.

Furthermore, if like me, you know what it feels like to have your confidence shaken and your faith falter, can you not see that you are best equipped to help another who has lost their way because you have been down those dimly lit roads of life?

Progress cannot begin until the fighting ends. Pride must be set aside and common ground be stepped on so that the real issues of homelessness, hunger, and crime can be dealt with. We must join together and create an environment in which the police respond quickly to criminal activity, the citizens do not turn a blind eye to the plight of others, and the Daily Bread has the freedom to provide for those in need. In the words of Abraham Lincoln, “A house divided cannot stand.” However, banded together with our fellow humans we can overcome any struggles we may face either as individuals, communities, nations and eventually our world.

Lucinda

Citrus Royalty

The first thing I noticed about Mary Mitchell, owner of Eagles' Nest Organic Citrus grove, was the power of her commanding presence.

As Rodney Scaman (one of the owners of Goodness Greenness Sustainable Foods who had flown in especially to facilitate my introduction) and I walked into the restaurant, I had no doubt as to whom we were meeting. Her posture was nearly perfect but not so stiff as to be unapproachable. Seated at the table, she was flanked on either side by men who worked with/for her and their body language told me immediately that she was not one whose wrong side they or anyone else would ever want to be on.

She hails from Paducah, Kentucky, having been a city girl before her husband bought the grove about 30 years ago and as she says, "didn't have a damn bit of sense about how to run it which means I had to figure it out because all our money was tied up in it." He passed a way a few years ago but "run it" she has.

Over lunch I was mesmerized as she told me her story and the 30-year journey she has had in the organic industry. You can't help but yield the floor to this woman as words sounds like honey when spoken with her southern accent. It is because of Mary that organic citrus in the state of Florida is where it is today. In the 80's she fought in court to overrule fumigation laws that made shipping organic citrus across Florida state lines illegal. She stood her ground when state inspectors were sent to shut her operation down because they felt organic was a threat to other citrus growers whose money lined their pockets. John Mackey, the CEO of Whole Foods, started in the industry by selling out of a garage; Mary was one of his initial growers. Her roots in the industry run deep and she is on a first name basis with all the important power players.

She is a woman in a man's world but this isn't something that bothers her. She holds her own and holds it well. I pity the man who attempts to speak to her with sexual inneuendos as she will put them in their place and shame them without ever raising her voice or looking away. She once told a buyer from a large grocery chain, "I am flying up next week to take you to supper because I need to find at least one thing I like about you or you won't be buying from me anymore." I asssure you it wasn't an empty threat considering she has been known to stop selling to companies even as large as Whole Foods or Albert's because their buyers didn't respect her. She doesn't care how big they are or how much money she stands to lose, her dignity is not for sale. She lives alone and is often targeted by thieves and low-lifes having even been kidnapped at gun point, but she has a solution for this - her Smith & Wesson or shot gun which she not only knows how to use but has a track record of not being afraid to.

After lunch we headed to the grove and I learned that they paint the trunks of new trees with organic milk to keep them from getting sun burned. I ate a fresh Honey Bell off the tree and was convinced I had ended up in orange heaven as it was so full of juice and by far one of the sweetest oranges I have ever tasted. Traditionally, citrus is picked green and gassed to be made orange, but not Mary's. They are tree ripened and not picked until naturally orange. She tests her citrus on a regular basis for acid and bricks levels using some sort of complicated math formula with the two numbers to find out the exact perfect time to pick and ship the fruit. She has seasonal help that works in the packaging house and picking but does all the tree maintance herself such as pruning and picking tree moss by hand.

Back at her house she offered us some of her homemade orange cake and oh, my soul was it wonderful! It was there, in her modest home, that I got to see the other side of Mary's personality. She made sure my coffee cup was filled to the brim and that I felt welcome. She had a conversation with Rodney about how to best help me get with other growers in the state, offered sensible advice about how sticking to your convictions is the key to success, and gave words of encouragement about my new business.

As the day came to an end Rodney and I strapped our precious cargo into Fiona's car seat and headed back south.

I am a firm believer in making the family farm the story behind our food and Mary is a perfect example of what story I wish my food to tell.

Cheers and Happy Eats!

Lucinda

A Girl on a Mission

For those of you that have been following the "Lucinda World" saga over the past few years, (If you don't know me personally you can find an abridged version in this post) you know that I am in Florida working towards opening my new business.

Launching Fresh Box Organics isn't just a career move, it is also personal endeavor. Even if I didn't have two mortgage payments, massive medical bills, Fiona's school tuition, and rent to pay thus making it necessary for me to work, I would still spend my free time doing what I do. My work is my passion.

When I started my first business in Kansas City, it was almost on accident that it became a success. Of course, I wanted to create something wonderful and make a difference but I didn't know if I could or not. This time around, not only do I know that I can make a difference, I feel I have the responsibility too.

With knowledge comes responsibility. I have seen what differences a company like mine can make for small family farms and consumers alike. I understand that in the long run, if the logistics of our food supply aren't massively overhauled, we face serious troubles as a nation and as a people.

In terms of helping the small family farm, there is one common issue that they face: the infrastructure is not in place to allow small scale organic farmers an outlet to move their products from farm to table. When a conventional farmer grows row crops such as corn or soy they are guaranteed a place to sell it. They merely need to take it to the local elevator, and although the price may fluctuate, they are guaranteed a buyer. This is not the case with produce, or small scale organics. If a person were to grow only 5 acres of tomatoes, who would buy them? They could take them to a farmer's market, but there is no guarantee that what they take will be sold. Shouldn't farmers who grow food we can consume in it's natural state (not the case with field corn) be afforded the same right as a conventional farmer? I think so. So that is where I come into play. As was the case in Kansas City, and now in Florida, I am able to leverage the collective buying power of my customers to create a market infrastructure for the farmer. They can grow 5 acres of tomatoes knowing that they have a place to sell it

When it comes to social issues, I make no qualms about being a flaming liberal. (I'm a fiscal conservative..."By all means, do what you want, as long as I don't have to subsidize something I don't agree with." OK, tangent over.) However, and this is a very big however, I do believe that one should at least look at a situation from all view points before jumping to conclusions about anything. For example, after reading this article about how children in Africa are dying from Malaria because insecticides are banned in the farming communities that provide organic cotton to Walmart, I was nearly sick to my stomach. Kids dying so Americans can have organic clothing? I was ready to go naked. Then I thought about it more and did some research. If Walmart actually gave these organic cotton farmers a reasonable price for the cotton they produce, their community would benefit economically, and then they could buy mosquito nets. I would pay a few more cents for a shirt if it meant I could save a child. Wouldn't you? If a consumer understands who grows their food, who is profiting from their purchase, how it is produced, and how far it has traveled from farm to table but still chooses conventional products, it is their choice. I just want to make sure you know all the information, alternatives, and opinions on the subject before you make your choice.

One of the comments that I hear time and time again, after I explain the motives of Big Ag to people, is that they don't like that they support companies like Cargill, Monsanto, or even Walmart. However, it is too difficult for them to find other options and when they do, it is out of their budgets. Once again, that is taken care of with companies like mine - the price is reasonable and we deliver. It can't get any easier than that.

When you have an infrastructure in place for the farmer and an educated consumer with easy access to big agriculture alternatives, what you end up with is a force to be reckoned with. When corporate giants start losing market shares, they have no choice but to take notice. Want to send a message to a large corporation? Speak their language - dollars.

I have been diligently working on the the nuts, bolts, and infrastructure of the company. I have overhauled my website three times (the newest and most up to date version will be live at the end of this week), been visiting local farms, recruiting the right employees, finding the best location for my warehouse, and mulling over every little detail.

Being as I am within a few weeks of starting deliveries, I decided last week that I was ready for the next step in the process. I needed to head to Washington to see what, if any, connections I have left in that city. After all, if one really wants to overhaul the food system in this country there are many laws, corporate subsidies, and programs that will need to be scrutinized and changed. Furthermore, there is a very specific person who lives there that I wanted to get on board with my team.

So Saturday morning, I got on a flight and headed to DC.

To be continued...

Cheers and Happy Eats!

Lucinda