We in the West with more money than sense have made religion out of things local. Like buying indulgences, that carrot at your farmer’s market or grandma’s un-labeled jam make us feel like we have done our part.
Yes, directing money back into the native economy slices out the middle-person. Yes, things grown from the same soil, sun, waters, and hands tend to synchronize well with similar products (see terroir).
But let us not fool ourselves. At some point we get tired of underripe tomatoes, botulism, and local IPAs. At some point we crave adventure. This is why Oregon Pinot Noir bores me. I live a few minutes’ drive from some of the Willamette Valley’s best vineyards. I obsess daily over the finer permutations of Yamhill-Carlton or Dundee soil types. But Pinot is (pretty much) all we grow here.
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