Hunters And Gatherers In The Garden City

By Arlene Kroeker

Photos by Philip Solman (Bridge to Westham Island & Spot Prawns)

My house smells sweet. I am roasting garlic, tomatoes, and leeks: fresh ingredients that will form the sauce for spaghetti squash. Over the past few days I’ve roasted onions, potatoes, apples, and beets, but the story really begins in early summer, when I spied rhubarb in the neighbour’s yard.

I had read about the 100-Mile Diet, and as I watched the rhubarb stalks grow tall and thick, I wondered if a 10-mile diet was feasible. Sixty years ago, everyone ate what was grown on their farm, or on one nearby. A hundred years ago, Richmond farms grew grain on Sea Island (now home of the airport). Families gathered blueberries and wild cranberries in the bogs. They fished the river for salmon The island’s history is rich in agriculture, and despite the growth of concrete in recent years, farms are still producing food for the community. Could a person still eat locally and survive?

I wasn’t the only one in Richmond asking that question. I joined a group of Richmond residents concerned about farming and food security. Our challenge was to eat food grown within a 10-mile radius for 10 days. We interpreted the 10-mile radius literally, to include the UBC Farm and Westham Island farms. As we discussed the challenge, we started to sound like hunters and gatherers. We realized that much strategy would be needed to prepare a meal, and that we’d work better as a group, sharing our discoveries rather than hoarding them. We agreed on the concept of wild cards: up to five items from outside the 10-mile radius that would be impractical to produce locally and which we couldn’t live without. Water, piped in from the North Shore, was a given. I decided on coffee, olive oil, parmesan cheese, and salt, although I argued ineffectively that the pink alaea salt I brought back from Hawaii belonged in a separate category: “Foods We Import Ourselves”. I set the date for late August.

I grew up in Richmond, where picking berries was a rite of passage for young kids, as was walking to the farm at the end of the road for cabbages and lettuce (I often got them confused). Many of those smaller farms have disappeared, and the average age of a Richmond farmer today is 65. While the large cranberry and dairy farms have family succession, land prices make farming an unaffordable career choice for young adults. Concerned about protecting its agricultural land, the City of Richmond has acquired over 50 acres for small-scale farming, with an emphasis on educating a new generation and feeding the future. Richmond officials understand that farmland has to be forever. Unfortunately, there is no guarantee that land protected by the Agricultural Land Reserve (ALR) will be used to produce food. By challenging ourselves to eat within 10 miles, we hoped to let farmers know that we supported them.

The day before Day One of the challenge, I spent four hours and drove a total of 67 kilometers in search of locally grown food within 10 miles. My journey began on Westham Island, where I noticed signs I’d never seen before: Eggs. (Which turned out to be from Richmond.) Honey. (Gail Cameron of Westham Island Apiary sold me pumpkin honey.) I loaded up with fingerling potatoes, zucchini, and beans at the Herb Farm, and headed back to Richmond.

At Tai-On Farm on No. 5 Road near Blundell, I picked up baby bok choy, red leaf lettuce, cucumbers, cauliflower, corn, Napa cabbage, water spinach, carrots, garlic, blueberries and basil. On Blundell near Sidaway Road, I visited Jose at JPS Vegetable Farm. “Do you want a pound of arugula?” Yes, please. He left me for a few moments and returned with freshly picked greens, which he wrapped like a bouquet of flowers in newspaper. Across the street, at Sanduz Winery, I purchased blueberry wine, made with their blueberries. And at Cherry Lane Farm behind Costco, I bought beets, hazelnuts, and their homemade apple cider.

My fridge didn’t hold everything. Boxes overflowed with green fronds and my kitchen looked lush. The next morning, for my Day One breakfast, I pan-fried potatoes and scrambled eggs with green onions.

“Do you feel like you are eating local?” my daughter asked.

Yes. I was aware, with every bite, of where my food came from and who was responsible for growing it.

I remembered that Tarragon Foods makes pickles with Bill Zylman’s (Westminster Highway and No. 8 Road) cukes, so I bought a jar at Capers. They came in handy as an alternative snack to carrots. As for protein, I had stocked up on organically raised Giant Cornish hens from Gilmore Farm on No. 8 Road. My freezer also contained flash-frozen-at-sea spot prawns, purchased from local fisherman Paul Bevandick. (They might not have been caught in waters within the 10-mile radius, but he lived within that boundary, and I was willing to argue the point.) From the Steveston docks, I bought sardines. Others in the group asked fishermen on Dyke Road if they could buy their catch of the day and were rewarded with salmon. Some approached Steveston beef farmer Harold Steves (founder of BC’s ALR) and bought frozen parts of the recently-slaughtered Ernie.

For dinner I made a sweet and sour cabbage soup. I sautéed onions in olive oil, added sliced cabbage, squished tomatoes, chicken broth (made from a previously-roasted Gilmore chicken), honey (instead of sugar), and pickle juice (instead of lemon). I let it simmer for fifteen minutes before devouring half of it.

The question became, “How can I be creative with this?” There was produce I’d never tried before. Water spinach. What do you do with that? I researched online and found that it was part of the morning glory family and had nothing at all to do with spinach, expect for its nutritional value. I steamed it and added it to an omelette. I made mint omelettes. I made every kind of omelette imaginable, and ate them with hazelnut and arugula pesto. The quest for food heightened my curiosity, and I made salads using sunchokes and lemon cucumbers, vegetables I’d never heard of before. For a snack made “popcorn” from Bob Blumer’s Surreal Gourmet Bites. I cut the cauliflower into florets the size of popcorn, tossed them in a bowl with 4 tablespoons of olive oil and 1 teaspoon of salt, spread them on a sheet pan, and roasted them for 30 minutes at 450˚F, turning once or twice. They caramelized and tasted like candy.

By Day Five, I had spent more time in the kitchen than ever before. I scoured cookbooks, especially my collection of wartime cookbooks where the ingredients were few and local. I also flipped through my address book, looking for friends who had something to bring to the table.

I discovered champagne grapes in one friend’s backyard and plump purple grapes in another. I lived off those for a day. Friends offered up figs and kiwis. I remembered when backyards were valuable resources of food, with mothers discussing pie recipes over the fence. My neighbourhood suddenly looked friendly. During my walks, I became more aware of what was growing in my neighbour’s backyard. Some folk had ripped up their manicured front yard and planted tomatoes. I saw giant zucchini growing along a white picket fence. There’s no way I’d hop the fence, so I took another approach—I introduced myself and got to know my neighbour. That’s something that didn’t happen in the grocery store.

The thing with eating locally is that there were fewer decisions to make. “What’s for dinner?” became “How can I make spinach interesting?” I added some to potato pancakes.

My stomach growled at night. I woke up hungry, and stayed hungry most of the day, snacking on cucumbers or chicken wrapped in a lettuce leaf. But I had renewed energy, and my body rejoiced at the lack of flour and sugar. I acquired a new appreciation for the availability of honey, from raspberry to alfalfa. I held apples, pears, and plums in high regard and carried them home like treasure.

“What are you going to do on Day 11?” my daughter asked. “We should celebrate.”

That was her way of asking “What’s for dinner?”

“Eggplant parmigiana, salad with tomatoes, grilled zucchini, and chicken stuffed with figs and fennel.”

She thought I was joking.

Arlene Kroeker writes about food and culture. Her work appears weekly in the Richmond Review. When she’s not hunting down the freshest ingredients or peering into neighbour’s yards, she can be found playing in the dirt with the children of the Terranova Schoolyard Project.