A “local” apple at Honey Pot Hill Orchards during peak picking season last fall in Stow, Mass.
Our increasingly globalized world is undergoing some decidedly local changes. Many suburban towns sport their fair share of Chinese, Indian, and Thai restaurants alongside a seasonal offering of farmstand fruits and vegetables. We want the option of an international experience close to home, but we also want to be intimately acquainted with where our produce comes from when the mood strikes. Whole Foods (or Whole Paycheck, as we call it in my family) provides an astonishing variety of organic items, from pomegranates to cashew butter to Bulgar wheat. But eating organic is not eating local. Your weekly Thai take-out place might make the best green curry in town, but you’re not exactly having an “authentic” or “exotic” culinary experience as you scarf it down out of a plastic container while watching this week’s episode of Girls.
We’re all familiar with the term globalization as it applies, for example, to the international connections of production, trade, and media communication that link rural communities in Third World countries with the financial and cultural centers of the Global North. But glocalization is a little different. According to my trusty friend Wikipedia (inappropriate for research papers but not for blog posts!), the word was adapted from the Japanese dochakuka (global localization) as a business marketing strategy in the 1980s. Originally, and quite fittingly, it referred to how farmers would adjust agriculture techniques to be successful in new areas. When McDonald’s alters its menu in Hong Kong to appeal to local tastes, that’s glocalization. To me, glocalization refers to any cultural exchange that takes place in the processes involving our food and its consumption. Glocalization is everywhere, and many of us grew up “glocal” depending on who produced our food, how it was prepared, and the rituals surrounding its consumption.
Every bite of food we take distinguishes us socially and culturally, just as it marks a decision about production and consumption. Where does the food we eat come from? Who grows it, harvests its, packages it, transports it, and stocks it at the grocery store? Are we comfortable with the complicated journey an out-of-season tomato undergoes to reach our New England mouths? And, more importantly, what are we going to do about it if we’re not? Urban farmers across the country are attempting to answer this question with rooftop gardens and inner city farmer’s markets.
I want to ask a bigger question: When we consume food, what are we actually eating? An orange picked by a migratory worker in Florida. Pupusas made from a family recipe that taste completely different in Somerville than they do in El Salvador. A typical American cheeseburger made with South American beef. Eating is both a very private and public act, and in doing it we experience family recipes, colonial histories, racial stereotypes, and cultural values.
What is our food telling us? This blog will attempt to find out.