Maine seems to me a cross between Oregon and a cold-weather island. Wind swept shores lead into deep forest tones that rake up the hillsides away from the ocean over colonial homes and crab-apple trees. Plants grow, bugs flourish and the small towns creep up and down the sparse highways.
Despite the incredible back-woodsiness of Maine, there are hippies aplenty. The small town I am in, Belfast - population 3000, houses a Co-op, a farmers market, a fish market, a direct-from-farm worker-owned cafe & innumberable fruit stands. For a moment, when I first arrived, I took in this beautiful side of food and thought that this little coastal town might be a foodie mecca.
I'm staying in an apartment building with my mom on the working class strip in West Belfast. During a few porch sitting, beer swilling evenings her neighbors tell me about what food is really like for Maine folks. These locals, they know a thing or two of the grit and reality of food -- a potato processing plant houses most of the working class jobs in the county, an expired chicken processing plant sits nestled between a city park and the Penobscot Bay. Abandoned archaic seafood refridgeration warehouses stagger along the weeded railroad tracks. The tourists attend the farmer's market, swoon for local organic beers and spicy blueberry chutney; while the homestead families pull shifts at the plant, hoping the potatoes they grate and freeze for Mcdonald's don't go the way of the poultry industry.
The food and it's politics bear striking similarity to Oregon.
I am doing my best, thought not incredibly strict since i am on vacation, to go total local Maine, Vermont, NH style. But eating out is taking it's toll and the missing time committment shows. The bonus is that I get to eat maple syrup and salt. Although sea salt is absurdly expensive and maple syrup only goes well on so many dishes. Nevertheless, I have found yogurt, fruit, veggies, cheese, meats and beer here in my upper new england, practically canada, home.
Though fruit is limited to blueberries and russetted apples. California is still the fruit garden of choice. If I thought it felt bad before to eat fruit from California, when I was only one state away. It seems an ultimate travisty to eat California produce in maine -- 12 hours on a plane and a weeks drive away. That's a great deal of energy for such a little plum to bear. So I pass, despite my wanting variety desperately.
Now, blueberries, those are in abundance, of course. However much I'd like not to compare Oregon and Maine blueberries - i will. Maine produces millions of tiny dot blueberries. Not usuallybigger than a 3-D version of a nail head, they are small and lack-luster in appearance -- especially when stacked against voluptuous plump Oregon blueberries. They are so small, in fact, that i expected tartness and sour. Instead finding them little pockets of sweetness. These berries are delicious in their own way, I would never discount that. However, they seem almost heartier, less springy, less sun-drenched, sadly almost juiceless. But i think that may be the way they like things in maine, tougher around the edges.
Despite the incredible back-woodsiness of Maine, there are hippies aplenty. The small town I am in, Belfast - population 3000, houses a Co-op, a farmers market, a fish market, a direct-from-farm worker-owned cafe & innumberable fruit stands. For a moment, when I first arrived, I took in this beautiful side of food and thought that this little coastal town might be a foodie mecca.
I'm staying in an apartment building with my mom on the working class strip in West Belfast. During a few porch sitting, beer swilling evenings her neighbors tell me about what food is really like for Maine folks. These locals, they know a thing or two of the grit and reality of food -- a potato processing plant houses most of the working class jobs in the county, an expired chicken processing plant sits nestled between a city park and the Penobscot Bay. Abandoned archaic seafood refridgeration warehouses stagger along the weeded railroad tracks. The tourists attend the farmer's market, swoon for local organic beers and spicy blueberry chutney; while the homestead families pull shifts at the plant, hoping the potatoes they grate and freeze for Mcdonald's don't go the way of the poultry industry.
The food and it's politics bear striking similarity to Oregon.
I am doing my best, thought not incredibly strict since i am on vacation, to go total local Maine, Vermont, NH style. But eating out is taking it's toll and the missing time committment shows. The bonus is that I get to eat maple syrup and salt. Although sea salt is absurdly expensive and maple syrup only goes well on so many dishes. Nevertheless, I have found yogurt, fruit, veggies, cheese, meats and beer here in my upper new england, practically canada, home.
Though fruit is limited to blueberries and russetted apples. California is still the fruit garden of choice. If I thought it felt bad before to eat fruit from California, when I was only one state away. It seems an ultimate travisty to eat California produce in maine -- 12 hours on a plane and a weeks drive away. That's a great deal of energy for such a little plum to bear. So I pass, despite my wanting variety desperately.
Now, blueberries, those are in abundance, of course. However much I'd like not to compare Oregon and Maine blueberries - i will. Maine produces millions of tiny dot blueberries. Not usuallybigger than a 3-D version of a nail head, they are small and lack-luster in appearance -- especially when stacked against voluptuous plump Oregon blueberries. They are so small, in fact, that i expected tartness and sour. Instead finding them little pockets of sweetness. These berries are delicious in their own way, I would never discount that. However, they seem almost heartier, less springy, less sun-drenched, sadly almost juiceless. But i think that may be the way they like things in maine, tougher around the edges.
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