The Guilt of a Banana

I'm currently about two-thirds through Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle (written with her daughter and husband) and I thought I needed to stop and jumble down some thoughts. First, READ THE BOOK. It's marvelous. Kingsolver's writing is beautiful in its simplicity. In fact, I recommend all her writing, especially High Tide in Tuscon but with the exception of The Poisonwood Bible (not a fan, found it dry and unappealing, lacking the warmth and passion of her work). Right, enough of literary musings.

Second, be prepared to strive to seriously change your eating habits. Chris and I don't do that poorly. We try to buy organic, local food and patronise farmers' markets spending more than we should (but the buffalo mozzarella looked so damn good!). During the week, however, we're both guilty of last minute trips to Sainsbury's or Tescos, grabbing produce shipped in from thousands of miles away and wrapped in about a yard of plastic. I don't like this kind of shopping. I certainly don't enjoy it. Shopping at Treasure Island in Chicago or The Co-op in Bozeman is a joy, a nightly ritual that reveals the delicious possibilities of dinner. Shopping the in the UK supermarkets (even Waitrose, I might add) is miserable, a chore, a means to an end.

With this rushed, bleak post-work shopping, I often shop on an empty stomach and often fill my basket with items I don't really need that either to go waste (that second pack of tomatoes) or to my waistline (Pringles - which have been legally established as a potato snack, by the way) and always make a dent in the bank account. Basically, these midweek shopping habits were both unhealthy for the diet and for the pocketbook.

Delving into Kingsolver's world of living and eating sustainably has inspired a recent change. I've forsaken the supermarkets and started shopping at a local market during the lunch hour. This gives me the added luxury of escaping the office for some fresh air, while not the added cost of a lunch out. The market is fantastically stocked, and while some items are still shipped in (the green grocer today pointedly told me I was buying French potatoes) most are grown locally, organically and by smaller farms.

These noontime forays also force me to plan the menu ahead. I've always loved planning meals, but somehow at the end of the day it can seem like chore and I'll tend to whatever's easiest. As a result my repertoire diminished and my creativity faltered. There are only so many times a week you can have Puttanesca. This week, however, we're trying something new. I outlined the week's menu on Friday (what else are you supposed to do while trapped on a plane thousands of feet above France?) as well as what needed to be purchased each day. So far (and I'll admit, it's early days - we're just two in) the plan has worked like charm. I nip up to the market for ingredients at lunch, dash off to the gym after work and have a delicious meal by 8pm. Amazing. It's not only healthier and cheaper, but also more efficient. I have more time to savor the actual cooking, as well as the shopping and planning.

The Kingsolverian inspiration does come with a cost. Guilt. Even with this recent turnaround, I'm not doing enough. I used sausage from Tescos today, rather than trekking up to the butchers before it closed. I succumbed at the market and purchased gorgeous ripe mangoes (most likely flown in from some far away land). Mostly? I feel guilty for the pleasures of bananas. As part of a improving health kick, which also has the regrettable aspects of treadmills and rowing machines, I've started eating breakfast. A banana, each morning at work while I sort through emails and messages left overnight by people who fail to realise businesses close at regular times. I still indulge in a delicious vat of coffee (fair trade and locally roasted, thank you very much), but I've added a banana. My banana. And, I must say, it feels good. Or, rather, it felt good. Until Barbara Kingsolver made me feel personally responsible for the destruction of the rainforest and global warming. The guilt of a banana is heavy. Not so heavy that I've found an alternative yet, but with the weight of the world on my shoulders? That English apple is looking pretty damn good...