Sourcing Local Food

If a chef wants to make good food, he or she has to use good ingredients. That statement sounds intuitive, but it is difficult to convey exactly how much effort chefs make sourcing ingredients. Chefs spend an enormous amount of time searching out trusted purveyors, examining food shipments that come in, tasting samples from food company representatives, and checking out different markets. They spend time sourcing their ingredients because chefs know that good food starts long before they cook it in their kitchens.

We now designate some restaurant ingredients as “farm-to-table”, or “locally-sourced, seasonal” produce. Our new vocabulary comes from an old concept, spending our food dollars with small farmers and food producers in the local region. Many chefs advertise their buying habits on their menus or in their restaurant. “Farm-to-table” is a buzzword in the industry.

But what does “buying locally” actually mean for a chef? And when you know that a restaurant buys locally, what does that mean to you?

First, though a lot of lip service is paid toward the local food ethos, what most chefs are talking about, at the end of the day, is flavor. Many chefs certainly want to support local producers. And these chefs are actually supporting local advocates’ ideals, by putting their dollars into the local economy. But they are, first and foremost, concerned with flavor. Local, in-season food generally tastes better. Local ingredients make menus impress. Local products help them be great chefs.

Local ingredients on the menu mean that the chef is committed to flavor. But the story doesn’t end there- it’s not just that the chef is buying ingredients from somewhere new, and they’re fresher. Buying locally also requires a commitment from the chef to adjust the way a kitchen typically runs.

A restaurant, with many moving parts, is a logistically difficult enterprise. There is a pipeline of expectations, starting with customer demands for a full menu, at a certain price point, every night. Stable menus, with fixed plates and fixed ingredients, make a chef’s life easier. With a stable, unchanging menu, a chef doesn’t need to track a broad inventory or print new menus with last minute changes. Line cooks don’t need to be as specialized, and food costs are generally lower. Many restaurants choose this model for their kitchens.

Local producers sometimes cannot fit into this mold of predictability. At a former restaurant, I remember a chef’s frustration as a pig farmer delayed and postponed a delivery of a whole pig, until he finally arrived at 4:30pm on a Friday. An hour before a busy weekend service, the sous chef was frantically slicing the pig down into cuts that we could store in our small cooler, until we had more time to properly butcher the cuts we wanted.

We never did business with that farmer again. The meat was wonderful, the fat creamy and flavorful, and we eventually made delicious pulled pork, bacon, and sausage. But the chef could not stomach an unpredictable vendor, not when he needed to buy product so regularly.

At my current restaurant, we work with extraordinarily talented and reliable farmers and small distributors. But even for the most professional, there are unpredictable storms, improper storage in outside facilities, early frosts, or family truck issues. Their small businesses cannot absorb disruptions as easily.

It’s a trend that repeats itself in many industries: large food purveyors compete on their reliability, cost, and uniformity, and small producers compete on quality and locality. Many chefs, pushed toward low food costs, rapid deliveries, or customer expectations for fresh tomatoes in February, find it easier to buy from large food purveyors. The chefs who do opt for local food must be flexible in their menus, and have the creativity and commitment to respond to unforeseen changes.

Local products also can be more labor-intensive to work with. The large food-system apparatus that transports food from faraway places to neatly refrigerated trucks is an efficient and terrifying machine. This machine delivers uniform, sanitized, well-packaged ingredients that are easy to prepare. Lettuce is clean and dry; meat is neatly vacuum-sealed. Heads of cabbage have no dirt between their leaves, the garlic can come pre-peeled, and all the eggs are uniform.

Farmers and local food producers, on the other hand, tend to deliver a different product. In my kitchen, we spend an enormous amount of time scrubbing, soaking, and washing produce that comes in from the fields, because it is literally dirt-y. We shell field peas and fava beans by hand, because some of the farmers we buy them from don’t own expensive shelling machines. We buy foraged mushrooms, using small paintbrushes to brush forest dirt off of their stems. Cooks must be a bit more specialized and thorough in all of their preparation. All of this extra processing, before we have even started cooking, adds to the kitchen’s labor cost.

Let me be clear: the quality of produce we get from local food producers is extraordinary, and the pre-packaged ingredients pale in comparison. Fresh, local, in-season produce is beautiful; it is what real food tastes and looks like. It is better for our health, it is better for our environment, and it is better for all involved. I am in no way advocating for the sterilized, mass-produced food that comes from large purveyors.

But I do want to point out that the fixed menus and the food and labor costs that we are used to expecting in restaurants are, in part, due to reliance on large food purveyors. Standardized, mass-manufactured ingredients provide stability, cost-efficiency, and uniformity. These massive food systems are the easy option for restaurants, and chefs, when they need to meet customer expectations.

When chefs buy locally, they are making a choice to do what is not easy. Buying locally comes with its challenges, namely, logistical stress and higher food and labor costs. Chefs who buy local food, not just paying lip service to the “farm-to-table” aesthetic but genuinely spending a large portion of their food dollars in the local food economy, are admirable to me. I want them to be admirable to the dining public as well. They are taking the challenging route, going against what the economics of a notoriously tough industry tell them to do.

These chefs are sourcing good ingredients, and cultivating relationships with the producers of good ingredients. And these good ingredients wind up on your table, on your plate, in your stomach. They do this even though it means needing to adjust a menu when the local distributor runs out of shishito peppers, and even though it means paying line cooks like me to brush the dirt out of locally foraged mushrooms for a couple hours a week.

These chefs are buying their ingredients consciously, for flavor, for local economies, and for the sake of good food, and they are making adjustments in their restaurant to do so. Buying locally changes the way restaurants are run, the kind of food we eat, and the experience customers have. Chefs are in the middle of the local food movement, examining the trout bellies, savoring their farmer’s fresh cherry tomatoes, and making conscious choices about what they put on your plate and why.


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Much has been made of the way that Instagram, by emphasizing the visual, has affected food trends and restaurants. There are countless accounts devoted to beautiful food, showing plate after plate of photogenic meals. I myself follow quite a few chefs and restaurants on Instagram, watching what they’re cooking and how they present it.

It’s easy to complain about the new obsession with appearance rather than taste, or to label Instagram as “good” or “bad” for food. Instagram is shallow, of course, but it is also just one tool among many to connect with customers. As one of my former chefs would remind me, if my plating grew sloppy, “customers eat with their eyes first, mouth second.” Popular food-centric accounts reflect the fact that the visual has always mattered in restaurants, and especially in fine dining.

Enter Rick Venutolo.

“Pepito mixto – grilled chicken, grilled steak, cheese, potato, sauce.” 
“Queso dip. Chorizo enchilada. Al pastor, barbacoa, and chicharron tacos. Esquite.”

Someone recently pointed me to Rick’s Instagram account, a subversive take on the perfect Instagram-worthy plate. Rick posts photos of his meals, after he’s eaten them. His feed is a series of empty plates, baskets, and bowls. There are bones, containers, and dribbles, but no recognizable food. His Instagram bio tagline self-deprecatingly sums it up: “This is so dumb. Why would anyone do this?”

Rick’s photos push back against prioritizing aesthetic over taste, or stepping out of a moment to document the moment. But there is something else in his feed that is more beautiful, more laudable to me: all of his photographed plates, baskets, and platters are clean. There are tidy piles of bones, or scraped out sauce cups, but for the most part, he has eaten everything on his plate. He is visually documenting his membership in what my mother used to call “the clean plate club”.

“Beef rib. Death row last meal good mac and cheese. Baked beans.”
“Burrata (with a great tomato jam). Cacio e pepe. Porchetta. Panna Cotta with peaches.”

At my restaurant, I get a glimpse of who, exactly, is in the clean plate club. I cook your dish, and then I watch it walk out of the door. I never get to see you eat the food. I don’t hear what you say, how you react, or what you grab first. But, later, I see your plate come back in the kitchen. There will be a server balancing it on his arm as he unloads the leftover food and dishes into the dish pit.

It’s then that I see what you did, or didn’t eat. I always talk to the server, because I want to know if there was something wrong with my cooking. What made them avoid all the olives? Why did they leave those greens on their plate? Why didn’t they finish the snapper? And why don’t they want to take any leftovers home? The server frequently has no constructive criticism; more often than not, the customer simply seemed sated with what they had eaten and then left the rest.

There is food waste in every step of the restaurant industry. Food spoils, or fails to meet certain standards during harvesting, packaging, transportation, storage, and preparation. Some food waste is seen as inevitable in our current system, the product of long supply chains and unrealistic expectations in the industry. But food waste is an enormous contributor to methane emissions, food insecurity, and misused natural resources. There are so many ways to cut down on food waste in the restaurant industry, from buying more locally to composting food waste during kitchen prep. It’s is a pressing topic worth examining in detail (anyone want to see Wasted! with me?), because food waste can be stymied at many different points in our food system.

But, tonight, as I watched servers throw away meticulously prepared vegetables or the last delicious bites of uneaten pork, I kept returning to that last link in the long chain of food production to food consumption: the customer. Who is reminding the customer that they are part of the food system as well? And that, by being conscious of what and how they eat, they can affect a change?

“Finish your food” is something you say to children, to picky eaters and spoiled youngsters. Rarely is it promoted as a value for adults. After all, we can make our own decisions, order our own meals, and act on our own dietary preferences.

But our choices, as diners, as consumers, matter. The pursuit of a clean plate will change the way you eat at a restaurant, how much you order and how you think about your meal. It will change your food waste footprint. This is why I love Rick’s Instagram account: this man is glorifying, and beautifying, cleaning your plate. Perhaps he is just one very, very hungry man who finds it easy to finish his meal. But he also makes it look enviable.

The next time you’re at a restaurant, take a moment to think about what you are going to order, and what will be left after you are full. See if you can visualize yourself, as an adult, being a member of the clean plate club. If you need some motivation, do like Rick does, and take a picture afterwards for Instagram. Write what your meal was, in the caption. Make everyone you know jealous of a meal so good, you had to eat every last bite.