Californian bell peppers. Peruvian asparagus. Snow peas from Guatemala.
Browse the produce section much? Not a lot of what you find comes from close to home. Refrigerated trucks deliver whatever we want from whoever has it so stores can quench our every craving.
But there's a kind of eater whose way of life lets them choose trips to farms over trips to the grocery store. They call themselves locavores.
Locavores mostly eat food grown and picked or raised and slaughtered within a 100-mile radius of their homes.
It's the new buzzword among socially conscious eaters, because really, should you be eating a tomato that had to take a plane to get here? The movement manifests in Barbara Kingsolver's Animal Vegetable Miracle and Plenty by Alisa Smith and J.B. MacKinnon, and in restaurants like Tupelo Honey Cafe in Asheville, N.C., and Woodfire Grill in Atlanta, and at farmer's markets all over the Tampa Bay area.
Local food tastes better, they say, and eating it is better for the local economy, and for you.
The downside? When there aren't restaurants around to do it for you, you have to prepare food yourself. And you sometimes have to go without.
For a girl who grew up in a generation of convenience lovers, that would be way too hard, I thought.
See, I've never minded making salads or eggs, but — regrettably — I barely cook. Thanks to grocery stores and cafes, I've never had to. But the smorgasbord of out-of-state food I usually purchase left me wondering what life would be like as a locavore. What would I eat? Where would I buy it? Would the effort of cooking be worth it?
Earlier this month, I decided to spend seven days eating only locally produced food. Nothing but water, oil, vinegar or spices would meet my mouth unless it came from within a hundred miles of my house in Spring Hill.
My first challenge? Find a local farm. Part 1: Meat
The farm terrain felt funny under my flats. My sweater screamed suburban girl. But I ignored the sticks that poked my feet and endured the heat I hadn't planned for while Dee Blaha took me on a tour of her Masaryktown farm, 11 miles from my house. Blaha owns and runs the farm, Rabbits, Etc., with her husband, Mike.
We walked through her hydroponic garden, where earlier that day, she'd picked vegetables for my future salads. She also showed me where she raises the animals I would eat.
I could handle the chickens. Free-range and chemical-free, they're cooped in a pretty spacious enclosure. Also, they aren't cute, so I had no qualms about eating them. The cows were not all that cute either, thank goodness.
The pigs, who rolled willy-nilly in mud and stuck up their noses to snort in my direction, were adorable. Glad I'm not a big fan of pork.
But when we walked into the barn where the Blahas keep the bunnies, my impending experiment seemed like a mistake.
"Oh, not the rabbits," I said.
We stared at some 3,500 of them, mommies and daddies and babies who will eventually become dinner.
After the tour, we filled my cooler with what I'd chosen. A bagful of romaine lettuce, and bell and banana peppers, all picked that day. The biggest green onions I've ever experienced. Two dozen eggs. Two chickens, who'd gotten the axe the week before. Four pounds of ground beef from a steer slaughtered in September. And, not without hesitation, one rabbit, dead about a week.
The fuller my cooler became, the worse reality hurt. Not only would I have to eat the animals I'd seen, I'd have to spend time cooking them. Part 2: Hunger sets in
Back at home, I got the heebie-jeebies squeezing the cold, wet — and thankfully headless, footless and hairless — rabbit out of a Ziploc bag and into a pan.
"Oh, snap!" I said. "It has organs!"
I used a fork to fling the organs into the trash, and covered the carcass with salt, black and red pepper and powdered garlic and onion.
It turns out rabbit tastes like chicken, with a ginormous side of guilt. But I was hungry enough to ignore that, and still hungry enough after I ate to head to Publix to look for local snacks.
"I have a question," I said to the produce guy. "Can you tell me if anything you sell here was produced within a 100-mile radius?"
We walked the produce section, where he pointed out bell peppers from afar, oranges from out of state and orange juice from the East Coast. Too far. But he stopped in front of the tomatoes.
"These," he said, shaking a small carton of grape tomatoes, "are from Plant City."
Sold! To the really hungry girl who came up with this caddywumpus idea. When I got home, I ate a bowlful with grapeseed oil.
That night, before heading to a friend's party, I tried to fill up on rabbit so I wouldn't be tempted by all the food I was sure to find at the party. Unfortunately, I learned rabbit never makes me feel full.
Starving, I scanned the party food. Salads. Fried shrimp. A chocolate fountain. And a platter of something that looked like big chicken nuggets.
"That?" a friend said. "That's gator. And it's local." Trapped no further than Pasco County, processed in Trilby and cooked in Brooksville.
"Well," I said, "I've already eaten rabbit."
I loaded a plate with local gator and considered it a lucky break.
Part 3: The going gets tough
By Day 2, I was left to fend for myself. And I was really hungry. So I consulted the guidelines on locavores.com and decided to apply them.
"If not local," the guidelines said, "then organic." Works for me.
And for the sake of staying as local as possible, I kept it simple. For snacks, I'd eat organic yogurt or apple sauce, local tomatoes, organic sunflower seeds. I picked up a block of organic Swiss cheese and a carton of organic rice milk. For breakfast, I ate local eggs or leftover meat, sometimes with local peppers and sometimes with organic toast.
Lunch for the first few days was rabbit and salad. I made burgers for dinner. And it turns out I make a really bland meatloaf. That's after accidentally leaving 2 pounds of raw beef out all night, and screwing up my schedule for an emergency stop at the farm to replenish my supply.
Becoming a locavore, I learned, meant that I'd need to spend more time planning my meals, care more about preparing food and care less about eating whatever I want whenever I want it — a huge change. I'm used to instant access to ready-to-eat food from restaurants, I'm used to eating whatever my parents cook and I'm used to buying whatever sounds good regardless of where it's in season.
At first, forsaking that felt impossible. But some experts say there are good reasons to try.
Part 4: What's the point?
"If you want the region's economy to build, you have to spend money inside the region," said Bill Weida, president of the Socially Responsible Agricultural Project, retired regional economist and eater of food that comes mostly from near his home in McCall, Idaho. "If you're a locavore, that's a big help."
Buying chain grocery-store food sends money out while buying from local farms like the Blahas' keeps it close to home, Weida said. He also said being able to see where your food comes from is better than blindly hoping you'd approve of how it's raised.
For example: For a chicken to be called "free range," it must have access to the outdoors. Some farmers arrange coops in such a way that chickens technically have access to outdoors, but the path to get there is so difficult they might never see the light of day. As a result, chicken labeled free-range might not have been raised any differently than the chickens that are cooped tightly together in cages.
That, Wieda said, is why being able to get to know farms and farmers isn't a bad idea.
"Your eyes are a far better judge of what's good for you than reading a label," Weida said.
And Jean-Pierre Emond, co-director of the Center for Food Distribution and Retailing at the University of Florida, confirmed some locavore hype for me, too.
It's simple, he said. Not every fruit or vegetable can be in season here at once. But when we buy food from afar so we can eat what isn't locally available, it may take weeks for the fruit or veggie to make it from the farm to your grocer. That, he said, could pose problems for freshness.
"Once you harvest your product, we cannot improve the quality," Emond said. "We can only try to slow down the loss of quality."
A veggie headed for Florida from California is cooled after it's harvested, refrigerated in a truck that takes it to a distribution center where it stops before it gets to your grocery store, Emond said.
"Do we really need to have (whatever we want) 365 days a year?" Emond said. "It's a decision you have to make yourself."
Locavores like Dede Sampson, who helps run locavores.com, and Blaha, whose farm I'll continue to frequent, decided the variety of food found in grocery stores isn't a necessity.
"You get used to it," said Sampson, who lives in Santa Clara, Calif. "My body doesn't even crave New Zealand pears in the summertime anymore."
And Blaha said farm life is totally worth it.
"I am fortunate to raise my own food and know what I am eating is safe, never exposed to chemicals or hormones," she said. "I have two large freezers. That's where I shop for dinner."
Part 5: At week's end
Seven days in and 3 pounds lighter, I'd spent about $30 more on food for myself for a week than usual. But what I bought was enough to also sometimes feed my family, with enough left over for a dinner party with friends.
I'd planned to cook for the party alone, but Sonia Kumar — whom I've known since high school — came to the rescue. She sliced and seasoned one of my local chickens with black and cayenne pepper, paprika, garlic, onion and salt. Friends Abby Dix, Erin Edwards and I sliced local veggies — picked at the Blahas' farm just a few hours earlier — for salad.
We had the sweetest local corn on the cob and canned mixed veggies, also from Rabbits, Etc. I used organic dressing for my salad and we snacked on organic chips, salsa and cookies. I baked a whole second chicken and saved it for family. Nobody left the house hungry.
The leftovers lasted a day, and when I ran out, I indulged immediately. I ate cheeses and chips and cold cuts and pretzels. I'd missed out on a family dinner during the week, so I took advantage of the off-limits leftovers. Mostly the pie. But indulging just made me feel overweight. I quickly began to miss the simplicity of eating local food, and the grateful feeling that came with it.
I've never thanked God harder for tomatoes than when I scored local ones at Publix. I never imagined being interested in a plate of gator. But I also never noticed how much I took food for granted until being picky stopped being an option.
By the end of the week, I was happy to eat whatever I had, no longer yearning for things I didn't. Even in a culture of convenience, I found that spending time cooking can be completely worth it. And I also learned a little something about sometimes going without.
It's really not that bad.
Contributing: Sharon Kennedy Wynne