Installment #26 in Monolisticle's Ongoing Campaign Against the "Internet of Endless Listicles."
Way back before there was such a thing as “genetically-modified organisms,” or “organic food,” or “processed food,” there was something called “food.”
A carrot was a carrot. A head of lettuce was a head of lettuce. And a leg of lamb was a leg of lamb. There was no question whether the seafood you purchased was caught in the ocean or raised in a farm.
Food didn’t need to be classified into categories or accompanied by ingredient lists that rated its healthiness or policed “food” manufacturers, and kept them from adding things to food that are bad for us.
Having grown up in the country, and having parents who limited processed and junk foods in our house, I was lucky to eat food that was actually food. I also spent every possible second of my childhood on my great-grandparents’ farm in Virginia.
The meals my great-grandmother prepared from meat and vegetables harvested from their land yielded rich, vivid flavors. Collard greens simmered in fat back. Fried eggs with deep orange yolks. Braised chicken that was earthy and flavorful.
But unfortunately, that all changed as I grew up and ventured out into the world. I began eating more often at restaurants. I noticed that meat, eggs, milk, and vegetables seemed to have somehow lost their flavor, as if diluted. I was aware of organic foods, but never connected the dots that "organic" and "taste" were somehow wonderfully interconnected.
It wasn’t until I lived overseas in France during college that I began to fully understand the distinctions. I started educating myself on the tenets of the organic food movement—no pesticides, no GMOs, sustainable farming, and so on.
Living for several years in Austin, Texas, and literally working right across the street from the Whole Foods headquarters, I started shopping regularly for organic foods. Work took me all over the country and I shopped at organic stores wherever I traveled.
Then a couple years ago, I lived for several months in the epicenter of the organic food, environmental, and sustainability movements: Marin, California. It's there that I discovered Good Earth. While I applaud any grocery store (chain or otherwise) that champions organic and sustainable food practices, Good Earth is on a whole other level.
Good Earth was organic before most of the country even knew what organic was. In 1969 they helped start, and lead, the movement. They've educated their customers and community. Pushed for stricter labeling laws. Even helped to found the Non-GMO Project.
To the people who work there, organic isn’t a trend. Organic isn’t a growth market to be capitalized on. It is a deeply-held principle. And a way of life.
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Located where it is, Good Earth is clearly a product of its community and the values of the people who live there. It's the result of an ongoing and dynamic dialogue between its owners and its customers. They educate each other. Challenge each other. And together raise the standards of the organic food industry throughout California, and throughout the country.
The stores also function as a meeting place and sort of town square. A fire pit outside their Mill Valley store is always occupied and lively. Someone is usually playing an instrument of some kind. People discuss issues. Or greet friends who pass by. Or simply hang out.
The other thing that elevates Good Earth within the organic movement is its prepared organic foods. Whether it’s chicken salad or chili, pizza or seafood, their meals and sides are as good as anything you’ll find at local restaurants. And Marin has excellent restaurants.
Many organic stores seem to think that if they simply use organic ingredients in their prepared meals, the flavor will take care of itself. Not so. Good Earth demonstrates the full possibilities of what fresh local organic ingredients are capable of, in the hands of talented chefs who view what they do as a cause, not just a job.
It would be wonderful if we could ever reach a time again where food could just be called “food,” and a grocery store could just be called a “grocery store.” Where a produce section isn’t divided into organic and non-organic sections. Where we can trust that the stores that sell us food care as much about the source and cultivation practices of that food as we do.
Until then, there’s Good Earth.
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