New York missive no 115 - What’s the point in a bunch of cilantro that does not smell of anything?

That’s what I thought when I picked up a bunch of cilantro that didn’t smell of anything, at our local supermarket. Bemoaning the tasteless (which goes with smell-less) food that results from its mass-industrialized production is nothing new. But there are some moments when it really strikes you and this was one of them. On the same supermarket trip I was disheartened by the lifeless lettuces and the huge bunches of equally-sized bananas that looked perfectly yellow and firm but that I knew would be brown and fluffy within a day or two of bringing them home. (This New Yorker article provides a detailed trajectory of how the Cavendish banana came to monopolise the market, for those interested).

I compared those food products with others that I have had recently, foods that did taste and smell of something. What a difference. For example the fish we ate at a beachside shack in Las Galeras, on the Samaná Peninsula in the Dominican Republic this Christmas – on a weekend getaway while visiting tía D in Santo Domingo. Straight out of the sea and then skillfully prepared by the women who worked there it was delicious, and made me wonder if the tilapia and salmon we get from our fishmonger in Queens has anything to do with fish at all by the time it reaches our plates. There were the orange cherry tomatoes picked from the plants in our shared backyard. And there was thick ham in the paninis I bought from Il Bambino on Astoria’s 31st Ave: one of the many newish places in the neighborhood that prides itself on ingredients.

Not that on a budget it’s possible to avoid tasteless mass-produced food all the time. What to do then? At a structural level, there's challenging big agribusiness’ influence in the political system. On a day-to-day consumption level, there's seeking out food close to its source with minimal interventions having taking place in-between, and savoring the times you find it. Where possible, it also means growing your own, whether in backyard, windowbox or allotment, or by indulging in a little guerilla gardening.