It’s not easy, if you live in London, to eat healthily these days, although it is probably easier to eat healthier, but that’s not the same thing. I’ve been a vegetarian for many years, eating predominantly organic produce. But just recently, whilst walking down a supermarket aisle, I had a Eureka moment. The organic fruit and vegetables had been haphazardly shoved onto shelves and all of it was wrapped in toxic plastic packaging. Labels informed that most of these edibles came from other countries. Their lack lustre and sad appearance suggested their journey had taken its toll, and possibly the mass marketing growing tactics too. They appeared to me, at that moment, rather unenticing and surely not as nourishing as organic food is meant to be.
Ultimately, there’s nothing like growing your own, but this city dweller no longer has the outdoor space to do that. I considered signing up to a company that delivers a box of pot-luck goodies once a week, but I have never fancied serving- up vegetables that I haven’t personally chosen. To me, food is a sensual experience. I like to see, smell and yes, touch, and be attracted to the food that I take home. So, I started to check out the local farmer’s market and discovered a sensuous array of organic stalls (one of them, even specialising in bio-dynamic farming), and a variety of fresh, colourful and happy, tempting food, some of which had won prizes and none of it weary, jet-lagged and infected by the character of artificial wrapping.
Such raw produce is inspiring to prepare, and cook with, and the taste is a divine experience.