Dream come true

For ages we have chatted about what we would serve if we had a restaurant. I fantasized about a customized menu geared toward my way of eating of the moment (gluten-free, vegan, now keto). He fantasized about locally sourced foods featured in unexpected ways. For the most part this was the kind of mindless dreaming we reveled in: buy a camper (or wagon, if you have a handlebar mustache and penchant for mules) and travel the country a la Nick and Rinker Buck if you are him, or Steinbeck if you are me; move to the town with the hot springs and spend our days in sulfur cloud stupors; fill the backyard with miniature farm animals (did you know there were miniature longhorns?) - definitely me; have a team of big horses to feed cattle with. We are excellent dreamers. Creative, detailed. Meanwhile, I pursued my education and stayed the course with my job at the college. He remodeled the house, sang in the church choir, and dabbled in local food.

This year the dabbling led to business cards. A board of directors. A business plan. Presenting to legislative committees. A podcast.

And now, a restaurant. The Local Food Exchange opened about a month ago with a vision, a prayer, and a lot of community support. Suddenly we are shifting gears from lackadaisically imagining what life would be like if... (cue chewing on straw in the front porch swing) to bumping around in the midst of confusing logistics, learning how to tread water a little more effectively each day.

Today, a load of locally-grown potatoes was delivered that will soon become french fries. A little more efficient than the half-day trip out to their farm we did last time. He let his new helpers open for the first time without him today so he could come with me to the blood draw. Our city manager has been up every morning this week for his breakfast.

I keep joking to people that he is failing at retirement, but look at him, peeling boxes of local apples I made into pie that he later traded for a Google business listing (a born trader!): Happy, invigorated. The brain atrophies in the kind of disuse I plan for my retirement: porch, hammock, book. Researchers recommend constant learning, and not the kind of learning that comes from reading an article or two. The kind that comes with trying new things, trying to be something different, stretching who you are.

Norman Mailer wrote: "Every moment of one's existence one is growing into more or retreating into less." We all know that growth and discomfort are inextricable. No growth happens in the comfort zone. Turns out Jack's growth zone comes with a side of gravy and pie for dessert. Come and get it!

Meat, Meat and more Meat

I was a vegetarian for 10 years. Jack's livelihood all of his life has depended on the production of meat. On our first date we wandered into a restaurant in the basement of a historic house in Independence, Missouri. We were supposed to have visited the Truman Library that day but he hijacked me and instead we went to the National Historic Trails Museum. It was fitting: we were our own kind of pioneer, after all. In the restaurant I ordered a salad. He ordered chicken livers and gizzards. I was appalled. Disgusting. He might as well have ordered the dredge from the bottom of the mop bucket.

Last year I found my way to a ketogenic way of eating, which has been life-changing. No more the inner angst, grinding weariness, and persistent frustration with life in general. Oh, and I lost some weight, too. Keto means mostly protein and virtually no carbs. I find I do best when eating virtually only eggs and meat. So here we are. I didn't even plant a garden this year. We have gone through several sous vide wands this year and half our back porch is occupied by a giant smoker. Jack feels quite vindicated since this seems to have worked out better than my forays into veganism and raw food. Even after 14 months I still flip outside myself and look back, incredulous.

When he tells people he converted me (not true!) to meat eating I respond that I'm making up for lost time. Ten years of meat for me! And thankfully he IS the source to find all local meat in our town (and working to develop that market for others) so I have my very own Butcher Box supplier who even cooks it just the way I like it. This pork steak (from our pig) was sous vide and smoked!

We have three freezers full of mostly protein in the garage, though one has homemade stock of all varieties (even buffalo!) and half of another is full of offal: the unmentionables no one else in town wants. Word has gotten out that Jack wants it! Chicken livers and gizzards were nothing, as it turns out! He and a few friends are threatening to start an offal lunch club. When a man at church had a kidney removed, Jack baked him a steak and kidney pie. He even cut out little kidneys in the pie crust top. I don't think anyone ate it but him, though.

So, dear, what kind of protein do you require today, he asks while pouring his coffee. I have smoked roast beef, pulled pork, turkey breast, bacon, and grass-fed tri-tip in the fridge beside the three dozen local eggs. "I think I'm fine for today, thanks!"