Running Press believed in New York a la Cart, I received word that I had been accepted into NYU's Food Studies program (I was literally in a car in traffic in the rain trying to get to this event. There might have been a little screaming and tears.) It had taken me three years to get up the nerve to apply, and even then I sort of half-assed my application due to certain life circumstances. And here is what I've learned so far....
Snug Harbor on Staten Island to help with the inaugural farm season there.
Battery Urban Farm (they already put me to work one day when I got off the ferry ridiculously dirty from the farm) before I head out to middle of nowhere, Nebraska for a week this summer. To hang out with cows. I love cows.
Kansas, I was almost constantly thinking about the farms and economy out there, and how they need to be saved too; how it's great we have rooftop farms and community plots, but how much impact is that really going to have in the long run. I want to let those farmers be farmers too, for them to have a living wage and good working conditions, and ultimately have the better part of our animals raised humanely. It's why, despite the costs to my pocket, I've bought almost every bit of meat for my half of the recipe testing from The Meat Hook or Heritage Meats (there was a pound of ground pork bought at Fairway, but that was only because The Meat Hook didn't have chorizo and I had to make my own). I have to practice what I preach, plus supermarket meat quite frankly skeeves me. It's doesn't hurt that the butchers do great things like meticulously cut a few pork loins for me, or freshly grind the meat I need even though I'm probably the night's last customer, or let me taste each salami to pick the perfect one, or call me when they realize they do in fact have lamb shoulder and yes it will keep until I can cook it.
Carolyn Dimitri's blog (she's one of my professors and she's awe-some) or if you want to know more about the program in general, feel free to drop me an email. I'll be down to chat, especially if you bring me sausage. Once the book's in, of course.
Dear Local Pizzeria: Ranch is NOT Tuscan.
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