Thinking about rules

I'm thinking about my rules...what constitutes a true locavore to me? Idealy, I'd like to be a 90% local foodie. The only non-local items would be stuff that just doesn't happen in the 100-mile foodshed around Newtown, Connecticut.

Those who have been reading along know that I haven't been doing this long enough to have significant stores. I got more serious about puttin' by at the beginning of the Fall. Somehow it hit me that the bounty party was about to end. You also know I never planned on puttin' by. I was hoping to be able to find what I needed as I needed it. Well, you can't get there from here.

The Farmer's Markets are done. The Brewster's Farmer's Market stayed open until the weekend before Thanksgiving, but all the other ones in my area were long closed. Holbrook's Farm Stand is winding down, and once Christmas comes, it's closed for the season.

I'm not even in the bad months yet and I can't even hold 60%. Today (fairly typical mix), I had (not in this order):
- Sliced fennell bulb (from the world)
- Beef loin steak (local, Stuart, Bridgewater)
- broccoli (worldly, California)
- chestnuts (local, Cherry Grove, Newtown)
- Macoun apple (old, falling apart, but local! Blue Jay, Bethel)
- hard-boiled egg (local, Holbrook's, Bethel)
- coffee, Kona and Sumatra (worldly)
- milk (some from who knows where and some from the CT Farmers)
- tea (worldly)
- honey (Cherry Grove, Newtown)
- leftover turkey (worldly--Butterball)
- leftover mashed potatoes (local, Holbrook's)
- sauteed red and yellow peppers (local, Cherry Grove, Newtown)
- sauteed mushrooms (worldly, California)
- wine (local, McLaughlin's, Sandy Hook)

I really don't want to drop below 50%. It's going to be an experience for sure!

The Marco Polo Exception

It turns out that there's already a locavore phrase for those foods that don't grow locally: the Marco Polo exception. Bill McKibben coined the phrase:

And I made what might be called the Marco Polo exception—
I considered fair game anything your average 13th century
explorer might have brought back from distant lands.
So: pepper, and turmeric, and even the odd knob of ginger
root stayed in the larder.

While I'm drinking my coffee, mixing cinnamon into my granola and apple cider, enjoying vanilla ice cream, and sautéing with olive oil, I'll be sure to call out "Marco Polo!"