Southern AND Sustainable?!

I first heard of Dan Barber's book The Third Plate on NPR the other day. The fact that Southern food was singled out as the only truly sustainable American way of farming and eating was exciting. No, not the Foodtopia and epicenter of sustainable everything in the Pacific Northwest. Yes, The South. I have yet to see Hoppin' John on a menu west of the Mississippi.

In the American South, it was beans, collards and some ham. "In a dish, you had everything that supported that ecology," he says.

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A view of Dan Barber's Stone Barns Center field and barns in Pocantico Hills, N.Y.

Nicole Franzen/Courtesy of Blue Hill Farm

But American tradition has fallen out of touch with the land. "There's no cuisine you can point to that has a 12-ounce center cut protein for dinner. ... That is an American phenomenon," Barber says

From an article in The Atlantic, I read Dan Barber's explanation of how farm-to-table practices in America aren't enough to be truly sustainable. The only place within the United States that has actually had a cuisine that fit the ecology of place was in the South.

That meat-centric plate is a great disservice to our soil, and to our ecology. It’s also a disservice to the rest of the world—because we’re exporting that model in a way that, in the truest sense of the word, is unsustainable. But we can find an alternative—what I came to call the Third Plate.

You find that in Southern cuisine, too. Hoppin’ John—a quintessential southern dish—is rice, but it’s also cowpeas. That leguminous crop was so important in the south, because it allowed the southerners to preserve their soil well enough to get them rice. Then, they mixed in collard greens, because collards helped desalinate the soil. (And some bacon, because pigs were also part of the agriculture.)

Last weekend I read a review of the book in the WSJ in Eugenia Bone's article "The Future of American Eating." Of course, it being a newspaper based in New York (damn Yankees), it doesn't mention this Southern connection. But what he does mention relates to my life in wine country. In the first of four sections in the book, "Soil"

Explores how some farming practices deplete the soil of nutrients by killing microbes and how others build healthy soil by feeding microbes. He compares industrial versus organic approaches to weed control and explains the role of grazing animals in soil health. 'How soil is managed,' writes Mr. Barber, 'and how a farmer negotiates weeds and pests, is the single best predictor of how food will taste.'

I've recently started a new job at Omero Cellar's in Carlton, Oregon, and I interviewed our new winemaker, Mr. Chad Stock about his winemaking philosophy in order to write a press release. What he said deeply related to what Mr. Barber is saying.

Stock explains that transparent winemaking, “allows wines to speak for themselves in a pure and true fashion. Pinot noir is all about nuance and it’s extremely adept at showing the subtleties of place.  Personal style preferences and winemaking additives blur the natural expression of the vineyard.“

Organic, and more importantly, biodynamic principles are important to Stock and the trajectory of Omero wines. He clarifies the joint importance of farming organically and implementing biodynamic principles in the vineyard and winery: “A vineyard is above and below the earth, so we want to farm the soil. We seek to show the significance in soil types and express the soil differences in the Willamette Valley. I’ll show you what your vineyard tastes like.”

By working without additives, using organic and biodynamic principles, Stock and Omero seek to create wines with distinctive character, authenticity and aromatic complexity.

While I am relatively new to the biodynamic farming and winemaking philosophy, I'm really eager to learn more. Like the John Muir quote that originally inspired Barber,  I find that everything is connected, from ideas to dirt:

When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe.

Drinking Like Our Founding Fathers

I'm a little behind the times in documenting yet another cross over between my Southern roots and my Pacific Northwest presence in wine country. Turns out Southerners, including our Founding Fathers, liked vintages such as Sherry and Madeira.

At a recent blind wine tasting, Madeira was on the menu. I brought my trust copy of Garden & Gun from October-November 2013. This edition included the article, "Southern Vintage: Making the case for Madeira, Dixie's original drink" by Jonathan Miles. 

Just the introduction sucks a good Southerner in:

Not until distillers in Kentucky and Tennessee perfected the process did the link between the South and whiskey—especially bourbon—take hold. No, the South's original drink—the first beverage that pro to-Southerners embraced as their own, and the first to become associated with the region—was a wine (yeah, a wine) that you may never have tasted (but should, immediately): Madeira.

The qualifying parentheses and italics is spot on. I can just hear Southern family and friends clamoring the absurdity of claiming that a wine is a Southern drink.  Just another reason I love this magazine. It urges you to read on and be convinced or repulsed.

Unlike, say, red table wine, Madeira tastes refreshing in the tropical heat, and doesn't suffer from sweltering storage. Mitchell credits the wine's high levels of acidity and sugar for that refreshing quality, which might also explain its affinity to the Southern palate—acidity and sugar, of course being the defining characteristics of the later blockbuster Southern drink, cola.

But we all know Mr. Miles is referring to Coca-Cola. According to Bufford Calloway, that's Sweet Dixie Champagne.

Back in February at the wine tasting I attended, we tasted seven different Madeiras, including two of the three mentioned in the G&G article. Not surprisingly, we missed the $150 bottle suggested from 1971. Even with the wholesale price tag, that's too spendy for a weekly meeting. The Broadbent 10-Year Malmsey and Historic Series Savannah Verdelho were all around favorites, however. Good suggestions G&G! Not only that, but I may have upped your readership in the Pacific Northwest.

We snow how you feel, Atlanta

Day 5 of PDXsnowpocolypse

Snowpocolypse. Snowmageddeon. I typed those words into Google, resulting in mentions of Portland as well as Atlanta. You're not alone Atlanta. Elsewhere in the United States are places ill equipped to handle a winter blast. Both of us are ridiculous in the face of frigid temperatures and precipitation. I love the absurdity that results.

With plenty of friends still in Atlanta, I kept tabs on how snow went down. I absolutely loved the SNL skit with Buford Calloway

"flakes of devil's dandruff"  

"climbed into my white Escalade and headed to the safest place I could think of…the Interstate."

"sweet Dixie Champagne…I am referring to Coca-Cola"

"The skies parted and the fair Georgia lady shone her golden radiance down uptown the Yankee Slush! And I knew…in that moment…that the SUN WILL RISE AGAIN!" 

One of my favorite Yankee newscasters continued to needle Hotlanta later on the Daily Show.
and Jon Stewart's needling of Hotlanta.

I have been trapped by the "Connecticut Cocaine" here in Portland for the past few days. I haven't been able to go to work for the past 4 days. I actually drove to Government Camp to cross country ski on Thursday, barely making it back in my southern vehicle in time for things to get really nasty. I was sliding around on the ice and traffic was already sorely affected. Little did I know I'd be able to XC ski for the next few days right outside my door.

Portland has it's own issues: lots of people who know how to drive in the elements; lots of people who have cars that should be able to navigate but can't; lots of people who have cars that can't make it and who don't know how and still try. Yes, all those people on the roads make for nasty business. Of course Portland has all those irritatingly fit people who continue to run and bike in it. One of my friends just posted this interview on Facebook. I'd say Portland is just as ridiculous as Atlanta, just in a different world of silliness.

This winter precipitation has made watching the Winter Olympics in Sochi a bit more interesting.

How do you stand the rainy winter months?

Gorgeous Oregon, but kind of Mordor

It's not the rain it's the darkness. That's what I always tell folks who ask me about the hardest part of Oregon's winter. Even if we had a full day of sunshine, the shortest day of the year in Portland, Oregon, is a almost an hour and a quarter shorter than Charleston, South Carolina.

Having just returned from a week in the Lowcountry, I'm more cognizant of this than ever. Having an entire week of longer days at the darkest time of the year is one of the best parts of traveling east for the holidays.

I recently read an article from Garden and Gun magazine about an artist— Fireworks: Betsy Eby's blowtorched canvases evoke the rhythm and flow of nature. As I'm always looking for connections between The South and The Pacific Northwest, I was delighted to read that Eby hails from Oregon and now lives in Columbus, Georgia. She's quoted in the article as saying, "The difference in the light is so extreme from the Pacific Northwest…It's so abundant and warm here. There's more information in the light…Being in the South allows me to split those hairs of color."

I can't say that I wholly agree with her assessment about there being more information in the light, but I can agree to the extremes in differences. Both entice me to wonder at the nuances of nature and revel in the joys of color and form of the great outdoors.

Lowcountry winter light

Oregon in winter time is muted, brooding and mysterious. Some days it can feel as if time stands still. There's no apparent difference between eleven AM and four PM. It's easy to forget oneself in the muffled, indistinct light. Because the day only lasts about 8 hours in the winter, this light is precious and indoor lighting, colors and spaces perhaps have more detail and attention paid than in The South.


The scarcity of light and the vicissitudes of the sky make me more attuned to the light in Oregon. I love watching the weather patterns shift atop one of the highest hills in Oregon wine country, just outside Dundee. Recently in the winter months, I've emerged from a sea of fog and cloud to see a dazzling blue bird sky. I can later watch little tufts of cloud skirting across the tree line and hovering over the vineyards. The tasting room can be totally shrouded in a thin layer of cloud, only to have the blazing bright sun illuminate it from behind. It's as if an alien spaceship has set its sights on us. It feels as if we're about to be beamed into a wormhole to another dimension. I've never seen light like that.

I think I can appreciate the light in The South so much more now after living in the Pacific Northwest. Perhaps that's what Eby is trying to say. But she's a native Oregonian living in Georgia, and I grew up in Georgia and am living in Oregon.  It's not the rain; it's the light.

Southern Courtesy

You catch more fruit flies with honey.

It's fruit fly season in the Willamette Valley. We get so many visitors into the two winery tasting rooms (Domaine Serene and Amity Vineyards) from all over the state, country and world. I can always count on my Southern folks to be polite, courteous and convivial. I rarely feel as if I'm "serving" them; instead, I feel as if I'm welcoming friends into my own home and we're catching up on old times. That's not to say folks from other areas of the country or world aren't the same way; it's just to say I can depend on them to always be positive interactions.

I can count on them to say "please" and "thank you." I can count on them to treat me like a human being and not like a wine-pouring automaton. I can count on Southerners to gush about Oregon's beauty and what a spectacular trip they're having. Even when I know they didn't particularly like a wine, I count on Southerners to sing the praises of the wines they DO like. The worst I've heard is, "Oh, that one's not my favorite." Read Guy Martin's explanation on how to Mind Your Manners in the "Southern Handbook" from Garden and Gun Magazine.

I can also count on Southerners to tell (and listen) to good stories. They talk to me and include me in their conversations as I pour their Pinot Noir. Usually by the time they leave, they know a few of my choice yarns and I know some of theirs. Read Roy Blunt Jr.s account of how to tell a good story from the same Handbook

I salute you Southern courtesy and company!