“The Maine potato”, “Vermont Maple Syrup”, “French wine”… As consumers, we are often attracted to these foods and prefer them because we think that they are better. However do we ever ask ourselves why? Why do we always choose “Vermont Maple Syrup”, but not “New York Maple Syrup”? It seems as if the entire term “Place+product” has been planted in our minds since young even though we never try to find out the truth behind its superiority.

More than that, we should see food as having an identity of its own. Like humans where we try to build an identity from our interests, our education and our jobs, food should also be respected and treated the same. As how we are told not to “judge a book by its cover”, we should not judge food simply as a product on a shelf or something from the ground. Often times, these foods represents an entire nation’s history and efforts and cannot be looked down upon.

I really liked Trubek tying his entire research on the French saying “le gout de terroir”. As I study French, I was very fascinated and immediately assumed that “terroir” meant “territory”, which makes sense, as maple syrup would then be the taste of the territory. However, Trubek proves me wrong. True, “terroir” includes the idea of territory, but also the people, the history and the culture. “L’affair Mondavi” showed how local efforts were able to repel decisions of a big business cooperation Robert Mondavi Winery to buy land in Aniane and create their vineyard and winery. His failure was a result of his disrespect to the “terroir”. At first people in Aniane were friendly to him, but soon turned their back after knowing that he was promised land by a politician. These farmers, who had slaved their life over creating the best wine, found out that they don’t have a say in protecting their own land. The politicians, who were not even in the fields, made decisions without consulting the people. The fact that “L’affair Mondavi” is a vital part of wine-making history, highlights that “le gout de terroir” does not simply mean the taste of where food comes from, but also the history, people, bodies and hard work that is put in the process of making the food.

I found it very interesting that Trubek used a very scientific approach for “Vermont Maple Syrup” as opposed to the historical and humanitarian approach that he used for “French wine”. He really highlighted how specific territory, composite, mineral content affected the taste of maple syrup. It’s very interesting to be exposed to such scientific approach to analyzing food after “L’affair Mondavi” and I would really like to dig deeper into the idea that food is more than just a taste of where it’s from, but also the people and history.

My initial reaction when I started reading Trubek’s account on L’affaire Montavi was some sort of combination of a smirk, an eye roll, and a head shake. Globalization. It reminded me of my visit to my friend’s house near the sleepy town of Blue Hill, Maine, where, my friend told me, there had been much tension and animosity because of a new Dunkin’ Donuts that would be opened. The conflict had the two sides one would expect: some neighbors concerned that their town would fall victim of American commercialism and others hoping that it would improve its social and economic life. I also thought of how salvadoran farmers have stood against large multinationals and are able to provide their own seeds reminded me of the importance of community organization and unity in the face of possible “threats” from large corporations.

When I was done with the reading, however, I was glad that they seemed to share a more positive connection, one that it’s easier and certainly more enjoyable to think about: food memories.

As Trubek points out, place has a very important role in our relations to food. Whether it’s french wine or Vermont maple syrup, there seems to be a feeling, an aura, that transcends the differences in qualities or properties that might render these varieties of these products better than others. I think it’s closely related to our personal perceptions of these places, and it’s increased by our own experiences and memories. The same applies to many types of foods. Eating a meal, drinking a beverage, or simply briefly inhaling the soft aroma of a plant or herb can open a window into our memory, allowing to hold on to something that’s long gone, or to connect with some part of our identity. This is the reason why I, too, enjoy the traditional recipes that my grand mother cooks. They take me back to places that I’ve left, and people that I’ve lost, but that I always carry with me.

Most millennials will remember a Mad-Tv skit from 2007 featuring an unaccommodating fast food employee named Bon Qui Qui. The video satirizes the American habit of customizing our meals at Fast Food restaurants. Customers casually approach the cash register and are immediately shot down when ordering anything that deviates from the specified menu item. Viewers realize that ‘Bon Qui Qui’, clearly will not be inconvenienced by a “complicated” order.

While this scene comments on many different aspects of the American cuisine and culture, the most interesting to me are the ideas of individualism and convenience.

Contrast, for example, the scene of Bon Qui Qui with the experience of grabbing a quick bite to eat, in a country with a strong cultural unity, such as Italy. For anyone who has ever spent time in Italy, you will find it easy to recall the process of ordering a panino (singular form of panini). The process is easy to recall because it involves only one decision. When ordering a panino, you simply select the sandwich, as is. Unlike for Bon Qui Qui, changing the defined menu item is not simply an inconvenience for your vendor, it’s a personal and social offense.

While traveling abroad as an American, my initial reactions to this experience were ones of outrage.  How could they tell me that I couldn’t add an extra meat? Who are they to say that mozzarella wouldn’t be better than pecorino? What if I don’t like the sauce, but still want the sandwich? I identified as an individual and wanted to assert my individuality! Not only that, I also wanted to be applauded for my ingenious sandwich creation! Although this outlook was hard to shake, I soon came to understand the greater implications of accepting a meal as it was presented to you.

It turns out, this concept is much related to the concepts of terroir and tradition, as described by Trubek and Berry. While being denied my individualism, by accepting a sandwich as presented to me I had become a part of something greater. While fast food gives us an instant gratification of our perceived personal needs, it is denying us a vital cultural connection to a history, a place and a people. I think Trubek said it well that “They don’t know where they come from or where they are going.” While I could not tell you the cultural significance of every panino I ate while living in Florence, I can say that there was a contentment in not having to make choices. There is something hauntingly lonely about constantly accommodating my personal desires and something indescribably inclusive about accepting a food item the way it is “supposed to be”.

To me, there is nothing better than a taste of real Vermont maple syrup. It is part of many Vermonters identity, daily lives, and general happiness. In my life, maple syrup has always been directly related to place, a place I proudly call my home. Though, after considering Amy Trubek’s understanding of Terroir, my understanding of the connection between maple syrup and place feels lost, or confused at least.

My first experience with the sugaring process was with a class field trip to Shelburne Farms early in my elementary school years. In the crisp spring air we walked around and learned all about the equipment, the process and the history of sugaring. The best part of course was the taste test at the end. We all had the opportunity to try a few grades as well as samples of fake maple syrup to differentiate them. When I tested the many varieties it made me proud to associate the best, most delicious syrup with Vermont. From an early age, it was clear to me that maple syrup is key part of the identity of the Vermont landscape.

Maple syrup is wild and has literal roots in Vermont earth. Every year it gifts sugar makers with a flow of sap from the heart of the maple tree. The land and  soil are its nutrients, the only factors that can affect the quality and flavors of the thick, golden goodness. I suppose it is just another product in our grocery store that you could compare to farmed beef. Though, beef are often labeled “grass fed”, or “grain fed”, and sometimes even include “pasture raised” to give insight into their living conditions. Clearly the food given to the beef and the environment the animals are raised in affect their flavor and it can’t be any different with maple syrup. So why don’t we differentiate environment and process in maple syrup labeling? Trubek brought up a good point when wondering, “are producers of Vermont maple syrup missing an opportunity to valorize the taste of place more thoroughly, to examine closely the variation in flavors of maple syrup made in the state, and ultimately link the tastes of maple syrup to process and place?” (223)

As I consider maple syrup as it relates to place, my mind immediately flips to fond memories of staring out the window in the morning after a sleepover at my friend Lydia’s house in the mountains of Ripton. In the windowsill tall jars hold her families latest batch of maple syrup. I gaze beyond the jars glowing in the sun, to see a thick forest reminding me of the earth and trees that created this sweet and powerful liquid. Lydia’s property is rich with character with ponds, streams, forests, fields, livestock, and tomato plants. Of course, it always made sense to me that the best maple syrup is born out of the beautiful diverse landscapes of Vermont. Now as I imagine the view from Lydia’s kitchen window I find myself wondering, and wanting to know more about the soil and the earth that lies below the surface.

Trubeks article made me reconsider Vermont culture and our relationship to the earth, something many pride themselves on. Do we lose a piece of Vermont culture when we associate all maple syrup with the same flavors and environment? Vermonters a great amount of state pride, I wonder how we managed to be brainwashed into giving up our unique and varied farming practices and earth to succumb to the generic, uniform food system. Have we lost the strong tie to the land that we pride ourselves on to become simply another farming state?

Reading Wendell Berry’s story made me not only think and remember, but also made me begin to crave a pie! He does such a great job describing this well known scene of a grandmother baking a pie.  I could almost smell my own grandmothers pie right in the dorm room. It put a big smile on my face to think of this.

I love his quote “But knowledge grows with age, and gratitude grows with knowledge”. This particularly makes me think and makes so much sense. I think he phrased that entirely too perfectly.  You learn so much as you grow up and age and you also develop a certain gratitude for things.  This is near and dear to me especially with experiences even this summer.

Working on an orchard and rooftop garden with no previous knowledge of planting, harvesting, and the work that goes into this process, I have not only gained so much knowledge which has come with the aging of days and hours spent at the orchard, but i have also grown a special gratitude in which I can truly be thankful and respect the fresh blackberries I got to take home this week and the a gratitude in the older lady I work with that can tell me what herbs exactly make a medicinal tea to help cure my sore throat, or which grass to rub on a blistering sunburn.  These ordinary facts of life for people like her, are almost a few years of knowledge and gratitude for me. Just like the grandma in this reading had such an ease and lifetime of skills that were a lifetime away from the grandson.  Its all a learning and sharing process through life, that a lot of times I think most people forget to acknowledge and think about.

Wendell Berry’s short but captivating and richer-than-life painting of his character’s grandmother is the best of the best writing there is to read. But it speaks to themes larger than me. After reading I was stuck in the middle of this piece, between the food writing. The piece is bookended by pie but the meat is in the middle.

“. . . I am troubled with love for her, knowing how she was wrung all her life between her cherished resentments and fierce affections. A peculiar sorrow hovered about her, and not only for the inevitable losses and griefs of her years. . . She was haunted, I think, by the suspicion of a comedown always lurking behind best appearances.”

The pie goes into the oven, and all of a sudden we are tossed into this flash-back inside a flash-forward inside a flash-back and here we find this deep emptiness. She was “wrung” like a rag, there is too much subtext to this for me to handle or analyze, I can only react emotionally. This is what happens while the pie is baking?

I need to read Paradise Lost, I guess.  Something to do with the war, I don’t have the context for this. But I want to understand this woman. Mr. Berry tells us more than we can even puzzle out through his words. He speaks of a generation of people.

I would really love to learn more about the themes, history and symbolism at play here, but for the moment it is beyond me. I want to know what the “lostness of Paradise” is. It is a “prime fact of her world,” Berry shows it to us, but it is lost on me. That hurts.

All I can do for now is enjoy the pie at the end like everyone else. Wow. Delicious beyond words.