I imagine a day that goes something like this….
Wake up late. Maybe 10 am, although if past experience is anything to judge by there will be animals that will make sure it’s earlier than that.
Coffee, breakfast, maybe a newspaper or something similar. Putter in the yard. Maybe go for a long walk. If needed, head into the closest town or village for shopping.
Lunch, which feels a lot like wine and cheese with some good bread on the patio.
Reading, writing, maybe a nap at some point.
Dinner, something that takes a long time to cook, with the absolute freshest and most delicious local ingredients, maybe some fish or chicken. More wine.
And cheese, from these guys – seriously, you need to go look at a their web site! Talk about a farmer out standing in his field!
But still, leave aside my smart comments and chuckles, and look at how these people showcase their products. Look at how there are three generations of farmers and cheesemakers carrying on a tradition.
Imagine any of the cheeses you find in Safeway or Save-On describing themselves like this:
Nous fabriquons des fromages depuis 1895, nos recettes n’ont pas changé mais notre savoir-faire s’est amélioré et nos méthodes se sont modernisées. Notre seul but : la recherche de l’excellence pour un plaisir intact.
Nous sommes fiers de fabriquer chaque jour des fromages authentiques, qui s’affinent avec le temps et dont les goûts et les arômes peuvent varier suivant la période de l’année.
Nous souhaitons décrire leur goût, retranscrire leur histoire et vous initier à leur fabrication afin de vous faire plonger au cœur de notre univers…
Admittedly there are some fine cheesemakers in British Columbia, and in Quebec especially, but overall cheese in Canada is the province of multinational cheese factories turning out tons of cheddar, mozzarella, Monterey Jack, and Velveeta each day. Bread is something manufactured in equally large factories, sliced, and packed in plastic bags before being shipped by the truckload to your local store. Eggs come from nasty. overcrowded factory farms, and need refrigeration because they’re scrubbed of their natural protection before packaging and shipping.
The best eggs that I ever tasted were actually from West Vancouver, from a family with a chicken coop on their property. This was forty years ago, and presumably was at a time when such things weren’t heavily regulated. The eggs that I was given were the result of a couple of days of chickens being fed with broccoli scraps. They were nothing short of divine, with yolks that were like something out of a van Gogh painting.
All of this leads me to believe strongly that having good, honest, unadulterated food around us will make our lives longer, happier, and more satisfying.