Sunday, July 20, 2008

Obituary For Darce Chriss


Workin' man's musician had a gift for healing listeners

Redding Record Searchlight
Thursday, January 17, 2008

Darce Chriss was a true working man in the classical sense, having spent most of his life as a professional truck driver in the Cottonwood area, but he was also an amazing guitar player, singer and bandleader.

He died at his Redding home Nov. 5 at age 78.

Born March 26, 1929 in Oklahoma, Chriss married Margaret Wilson Chriss in 1947 and the union bore three children -- Vickie Cutchen, Rick Chriss and Alana Northern. He had nine grandchildren, three great grandchildren and numerous nieces and nephews in the Redding area. He is also survived by his younger sister Lorraine Norton and her husband Walter. Margaret preceded Chriss in death in 2000.

Chriss took up the guitar as a boy and played with numerous stars like Johnny Paycheck, Merle Haggard and Buck Owens. He also nurtured many musicians in his music room, including Atlantic Records recording artists the Marcy Brothers.

He was a musical healer and he ministered to the north state's senior citizens at community centers between Sacramento and the Oregon border. Seniors would walk into his gigs, but after 15 or 20 minutes, the room was full of 18- and 20-year-olds. Aches would go away, pains would disappear, and spirits would soar. The music rejuvenated and healed; the crowd was reborn.

I first met Chriss in the fall of 2000 at a jam in Shasta Lake. It was late in the afternoon when we got there, and the jam was winding down as the orange afternoon sunlight poured through the windows and flooded the room.

Chriss was playing a solo on his black Stratocaster, the audible tap of his boots keeping time on the floor provided the back beat as the other five electric guitarists provided the rhythm and body of the song. He was backlit and cut an impressive figure with his black cowboy hat. The notes pouring from his guitar were beautiful and soulful as his hand danced up and down the fretboard with a lilting gait.

The music was profound. I was transfixed.

We became musical compatriots shortly thereafter and he invited me to join him at his weekly gigs at the Senior Nutrition Center. I was fortunate enough to play with Chriss intermittently for several years and he was the most giving bandleader for whom I have ever played. He was completely dedicated to his music, which he called "true country," to his band, and to his audience.

One rainy winter morning in 2002, I arrived at a gig to find him in terrible shape.

"I am so sick," he said with a hoarse whisper and watery eyes, "but we can't leave these people without music."

I unloaded the van and set up the equipment while he tried to nurse himself with a cup of tea. As we tuned up, his hearing aids began feeding back into the PA system and the sound was a terrible mess. We scrambled around turning dials and readjusting speakers, but no matter what we did the noise persisted faintly, just loud enough to drive you insane. We soldiered on though, because there was a crowd to entertain.

The terrible high-pitched feedback swelled with the music as we played the first few songs and the sound of the torrential rain on the roof of the building was nearly drowning out the rest of our sound.

However, as we launched into “Blue Eyes Crying In The Rain,” the rain began to subside. As Chriss soloed on his pedal steel guitar, the feedback became harmonic and eerily beautiful. He glanced over at me with a big smile on his face and continued digging into the song, playing a hauntingly evocative, angelic lead. Something magical had just clicked; someone else was in control.

The sun shined for the rest of the gig and the two of us were unstoppable. We could do no wrong and the crowd was delighted. As we loaded up the van at the end of the gig, I was filled with pride to have made such beautiful music against such long odds.

I mentioned that the sun came out just as the feedback went away. “If you care about it enough when you make it,” Darce explained, “music can do just about anything.”

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posted by Brian J. Kenny @ 8:35 AM   0 comments

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Interview In Edible East Bay Magazine

Walking the Talk



Interview With Brian J. Kenny, Manager, Hearst Ranch Beef

Although Brian Kenny is relatively new to the grass-fed beef business, he has a great deal of experience in both specialty agriculture and artisan food marketing. He is also a regular contributor to Edible East Bay. We caught up with him recently to discuss Hearst Ranch Beef (www.hearstranch.com) the growth of the grass-fed beef industry, the dynamics of the beef industry, and future of food.

EC: How long have you been involved in the grass-fed beef industry?

BK: Well, I started really paying attention to it while I was farming olives and producing olive oil just south of Redding, California in about 2004. This was right around the same time that Hearst ranch Beef was picking up steam. Anyway, I met some grass-fed producers at a sustainable agriculture conference and I was immediately struck by the principles that these producers used to manage their herds.

EC: What in particular grabbed you about their management principles?

BK: I really loved the idea that a herd can be managed by amplifying the innate, natural behaviors of the animals. That is such an intuitive concept but it really flies in the face of standard industry practices in a number of ways. At the same conference I remember hearing some mention of the fact that the Hearst Corporation was doing some work with grass-fed beef.

EC: What prompted Hearst to get involved in the beef business?

BK: The Hearst family has been ranching at the San Simeon Ranch, where Hearst Castle is, since Senator George Hearst bought the place in 1865. About six years ago, Steve Hearst, George’s great-great-grandson and WR Hearst’s great grandson, and Cliff Garrison, the ranch manager at San Simeon, had the idea to build their own brand while talking around the evening fire behind the bunkhous. So, after 165 years of selling cattle, they decided to try marketing their beef directly to consumers.

EC: I was reading your brochure and I was impressed by the position that you have taken with the program: grass-fed and grass-finished, sustainably produced, free range, antibiotic free, no growth hormones. What principles drive the Hearst Ranch Beef program?

BK: As Cliff Garrison explained to me on my first trip down to San Simeon in the Summer of 2006, “We just try to keep it as simple as possible. The cattle eat grass, which is what God intended them to eat. If we can provide them with a nice salad bar of diverse grasses they will eat what they need to be healthy and happy. The less of an impact we have on them the better.”

At the most basic level, our program is based on conservation-minded stewardship and it combines scientific analysis and cutting-edge genetic practices with idealistic, forward-thinking, innovative holistic management practices. While we embrace science, our directions are guided by common sense, within nature’s limitations, of course.

Cliff has implemented a state-of-the-art DNA identification process to target the genes that measure tenderness in cattle while also optimizing low-stress management techniques that allow Hearst cattle to be cattle. At the same time, Sonny Sanders, manager of the Jack Ranch, 2004 California Cattleman’s Commercial Producer of the Year, has consistently raised some of the most sought-after cattle in the Western United States.

EC: You mentioned conservation-minded stewardship. Could you elaborate on that a little further?

BK: Sure, but I need to give you a little more background first. One of the most staggering aspects of our program is its sheer physical scope. The ranches at San Simeon and Cholame comprise a total of 150,000 acres. The 80,000 acre ranch at San Simeon was part of a conservation transaction with the State of California in 2005 that made it one of the largest conservation easements in the United States.

When I asked Steve Hearst, who was the primary force behind the conservation easement project, what prompted him to preserve 128 square miles of the most beautiful real estate in California he explained, rather idealistically, that it was the right thing to do. Our grass-fed beef operation is run with the goal of preserving and conserving our natural resources. As a result of this conservation-minded stewardship, we can raise grass-fed beef in perpetuity: The resources on our property coexist because of our operation’s stewardship, not in spite of it.

EC: There has been a great deal of emphasis put on different certification over the past few years. Have you gone through that process yet or do you intend to in the future?

BK: Actually, we just received our Food Alliance certification for sustainable practices. I think certifications are important because they can give consumers a basis for understanding how a company operates. Steve has been very clear on why he chose Food Alliance. He has always been proud of our land stewardship and dedication to grass-fed beef and he felt that Food Alliance certification proves to our customers that we really walk our talk. I agree; we've had an independent inspector on our properties to verify the claims we're making.

We are also working on our humane certification. By the way, all of those adjectives of those adjectives we talked about earlier have their own weight.

EC: That is an interesting thought. Could you take that a little bit farther?

Sure. The basic adjectives that describe our program, grass-fed and grass-finished, sustainably produced, humane, free range, antibiotic free, no growth hormones, they are easy to say as words. However, they come with their own weight. For instance, antibiotic free is a simple concept. We have a never-ever program; if one of our animals is given antibiotics, it is no longer eligible to be in our program. So we have to sell it on the commodity market. It is still a great animal but it can’t be in our program anymore. The commodity beef market is driven largely by the price of commodity corn because that is largely what commodity cattle eat in feedlots.

Therefore, if the price for commodity corn goes up the price that a beef producer can get for their animal goes down. Even the most astute consumers would assume that grass-fed producers are able to work outside of the orbit of commodity corn. Unfortunately, this is not always the case.

Last month I had to sell a group of animals that got sick and needed antibiotics. I had to sell them the week that corn prices spiked so I took a hit. It was the result of what I call adjective conflict. We are a humane producer, we love our animals, we will not allow them to suffer even if it puts us at the mercy of the commodity market because we have an antibiotic free program.

EC: How do you feel about the commodity beef market?

The commodity beef industry feeds a lot of people and it is important to our nation. We are doing something that is a highly differentiated specialty food product. It doesn’t fit very well in the commodity market. Our costs put us out of that market anyway.

EC: Where do you sell Hearst ranch Beef?

We sell our prime cuts primarily through the internet at www.hearstranch.com, while we sell our hot dogs and hamburger and a few other middle meat cuts through our wholesale program.

I should mention that an average steer will only produce about 100 pounds of middle cuts and only about 4 pounds of tri-tip, 11 pounds of tenderloin, and less than 25 pounds of ribeye. However, that same steer will make about 300 pounds of ground beef. As a result, I spend a great deal of time selling hamburgers and hot dogs. One of my favorite customers is the Berkeley Unified School District. We sell our hamburgers and hot dogs to their sustainable lunchroom program. The work that Ann Cooper and Dede Sampson are doing for the school kids through that program is inspiring to say the least.

Our biggest customer right now is Aramark who features our product as part of their greeining initiative, Planet EVERgreen. I have been blown away by the support that the Aramark chefs and managers have given us. They are a huge company but they are doing some very cool things through EVERgreen. When a giant of their size takes even the smallest of steps, the reverberations felt in the field and in the market are enormous.

EC: Where do you see the food industry going in the next ten years?

I think the niches will continue to evolve. The organic adjective will become ubiquitous and lose some of its punch while organizations like Food Alliance will help define sustainability. I see sustainabile agriculture as the future and I think that farmer’s markets and organizations like Edible Media are pushing the local food movement forward as well. However, the mainstream commodity market will continue to dominate the industry. There are a lot of mouths to feed in this world so commodities can never go away.

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posted by Brian J. Kenny @ 11:55 AM   0 comments

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

Will Super-High Density Olives Go The Way Of The "Ripe" Olive?

This piece is scheduled to run in the Capital Press in the Fall of 2006

The feedback keeps coming in regarding my column of 9/1/2006, “Super High density Olive No Panacea.” One reader commented that the market for California table olives is “dead” while another mentioned that olive oil was really the only place for olive growers to go. Both of these points, which are strangely interrelated, are valid. However, both require some qualification.

Although they are still the best industrial “ripe” style olives in the world. The market for California “ripe” olives is both shrinking and mutating. In general, the ‘ripe” olive is a commodity and the California “ripe” olive exists at the higher end of the price spectrum.
The food service market for California “ripe” olives, especially the pizza and sandwich segments, has shrunk because this market has a high threshold for mediocrity and is highly price sensitive, while the household market has shrunk because of changing eating habits and growing consumer awareness of other styles of cured olives.

From a grower’s perspective, the price paid by the packers of California “ripe” olives has remained virtually unchanged since the 1940s. At the same time, there are currently only two major packers of “ripe” olives, so it is hard to see that price increasing much. The question remains, will super-high density olive production for olive oil provide a better return for growers? My answer is, probably not.

I hope that time proves me wrong, but my gut feeling is that the olive oil produced from the super-high density system will become much like the California “ripe” olive. It will be a great product but it will be difficult to differentiate and it will evolve into a commodity. It is also hard for me to see the price to growers increasing over time. In fact, with the paucity of major marketers in the state, super-high density growers will have very little leverage when it comes to price negotiations. In fact they will be hard-pressed to take anything more than they can get.

Finally, while growers of table olives can also produce oil from their fruit, super-high density olives are not really suitable for any use other than oil production. In addition, the jury is still out on whether or not they perform that well for oil production in this state. The number of 40 gallons per ton that is used as the standard yield for super-high density olives seems highly optimistic given the fact that most of the real numbers that have come in from the field tend to fall between 28 and 36 gallons per ton.

Although there have been a good many reasonable excuses for why the olives are not hitting 40 gallons per ton, even the most reasonable excuses don’t pay bills. The fact of the matter is that machine harvesting in the late fall and early winter will always be a tricky proposition in California. Table olive growers may have to depend on a shrinking pool of foreign hand-labor to harvest their crop, but short yields can be equally financially devastating to super-high density olive growers. Once again, my advice is simple; proceed with caution.

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posted by Brian J. Kenny @ 6:20 AM   0 comments

Monday, September 18, 2006

The River Of Adulterated Olive Oil Flows Unabated

This column is scheduled to run in the Capital Press in the Fall of 2006.

A Capital Press reader recently contacted me, requesting that I discuss the profusion of adulterated olive oil that has found its way into the US ingredient and food service markets. Here follows a brief account of the adulteration problem.

In the US, it is illegal to mislabel olive oil or to sell another oil like soybean oil as olive oil. However, it is legal to blend olive oil with other seed oils provided that the resultant olive oil blend is clearly labeled as a blend and both the name of the component oils and the percentage used of those oils is clearly listed on the label. However, the enforcement of the laws regarding olive oil blending is spotty at best.

Relative to most other seed oils, like soybean oil, olive oil is very expensive. While soybean oil is generally traded around $2 per gallon, olive oil fluctuates in price between $9 and $18 per gallon depending on supply and demand. Since soybean oil is virtually odorless and tasteless it is easy to blend small amounts of it into olive oil without noticeably diminishing the flavor of the olive oil. Thus, when the price of olive oil is high so is the economic incentive to adulterate olive oil.

I was hired by a client in the fall of 2005 to investigate the sale of adulterated olive oil in certain markets in the US. As the price of genuine extra virgin olive oil on the global market rose, my client’s sales in certain markets fell. A few phone calls later, I determined that there were several brands of “extra virgin olive oil” that were being sold well below the market price and significantly below the replacement price for genuine extra virgin oil.

Laboratory tests provided us with clear and conclusive proof that the oil that was being sold as “extra virgin olive oil” was actually 90% soybean oil. Several distributors were informed that they were selling fraudulent oil and their reaction was a flippant “so what.” One of the distributors went so far as to explain that the product really was “imported from Italy,” as the label stated, because the cans actually came from Italy. When I explained to this distributor, that he was getting ripped off because he was paying $10 for $2 oil, he explained, “everybody’s doing it and I can’t keep the stuff in stock; we’re selling the hell out of it.”

The bottom line on the adulteration issue is that nobody will care about it until somebody dies from ingesting one of these fraudulent oils. The FDA criminal investigators told me this after we presented them with our evidence. Although there have been a few well-publicized busts recently, the river of adulterated oil still flows, especially through the food service channel and the ingredient market, at an alarming rate. In short, I would advise domestic producers not to hold their breath while waiting for the government to stop this widespread and very lucrative fraud from eroding the market for genuine extra virgin olive oil.

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posted by Brian J. Kenny @ 11:24 PM   0 comments

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

California Olive Oil Versus The World

This column is scheduled to run in the Capital Press in Summer 2006.

My column on September 1, 2006, focused on some of the less-publicized realities of both the California olive oil market and super high-density plantings of olives for oil production. Some readers have taken issue with a few of my assertions.

One reader felt that my equating the price of commodity olive oil on the global market with that of California olive oil is misleading. Although California oil can enjoy a premium for being fresher and more local, this premium is only enjoyed in the niche market. There is a niche for California oil in the ingredient and food service markets, however, this niche is relatively narrow and is by definition price sensitive.

In terms of freshness, olive oil is made once a year. Since it often takes a few months for oil to make its way to the US from Europe, domestic producers do enjoy some logistical advantages in terms of shipping fresh oil to their customers. In the Northern Hemisphere, the oil production season is generally over by March, while the season in the Southern Hemisphere begins around May. Thus, as producers form Australia and South America further develop their reach into the US market, domestic producers will only be able leverage their freshness advantage until June or July.

The San Francisco Chronicle article, on which my original column was based, featured a heading stating, “Mechanization is the future.” This is a very salient point and it introduces a number of additional potential pitfalls for olive growers. At a very basic level, the oil yield for olives is dependent upon the degree of ripeness of that fruit. Thus, if you harvest the olives too early, you will see a noticeable decrease in the oil yield.

The olive varieties used in the super-high density system tend to reach peak ripeness in November. However, sometimes, as was the case in the fall and winter of 2004, the season slows down and the olives don’t reach peak ripeness until after the first few cold days. When your entire economic model is dependent upon mechanization, inopportune rains can present major problems. Since most harvest equipment will sink in a wet field, growers will invariably face years in which they will have to harvest their olives before they reach peak ripeness. When the economic model is based upon the oil yield per ton and all of the cost studies set the average yield at 40 gallons per ton, a yield of 28 gallons per ton, which is a realistic estimate for unripe fruit, can be financially catastrophic.

My point regarding super-high density olives remains the same; proceed with caution. All of the acres planted to super-high density olives in the state are planting the same basic varieties; Arbequina, Arbosana, and Koroneiki. Thus, if the fortunes of these varieties plummet, if they are painted as inferior varieties or bulk varieties, there may be very little room for differentiation for producers who decide to attempt to market their oil themselves. Markets are fickle and consumer perception ultimately becomes the producer’s reality.

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posted by Brian J. Kenny @ 1:52 AM   0 comments

Monday, August 28, 2006

Planting Into a $7 Tailwind

This piece is scheduled to run in the Capital Press in Summer 2006

An article in the August 27, 2006 San Francisco Chronicle painted a rosy picture of the market for super high-density olives in California. The article, which can be found online at SfGate.Com, focused largely on the growth of the industry in terms of the acres super high-density plantings and the volume of oil produced in the state. The super high-density system uses tighter plantings and mechanized pruning and harvesting to achieve its economies of scale. However, while both the number of planted acres and the total number of gallons produced are increasing at dramatic rates, the jury is still out on whether or not California producers can compete in the world market in a “normal” year, that is a year when there is not a shortage of olive oil.

The global olive oil market is currently in the midst of a “perfect storm” where unprecedented demand, a shortfall in supply, and the disparity between the Euro and the Dollar have combined to vault the price of olive oil to near historic highs. In 2003, when both the Dollar and the olive oil supply were stronger, one could buy a truckload of bulk olive oil for $9 per gallon delivered to the port of Oakland, California. Today, only the most well-connected buyers could buy the same load delivered for $15-$18.

Spain is the largest producer of olive oil in the world and the Spanish crop has been short for the past two years as a result of a drought. A large Spanish crop in the next few years will again depress pricing. Thus, it is not much of a stretch to say that today’s prices, which are roughly double what they were in 2003, and about 40% over 2004’s price of $11/gallon, which was then considered “high, are an anomaly. One of the most poignant facts in the Chronicle article was that the California Olive Ranch, the largest producer of olive oil in the United States, is paying its growers $9/gallon, roughly the landed cost for oil in 2003.

The fact of the matter is that the California olive oil industry is enjoying a $4-$7/gallon tailwind. As is always the case with new tree crop fads, the only folks guaranteed to make money on super high-density olives are the nurseries. Producers in Australia, Chile, and Argentina have also begun to make serious commitments to super high-density olives. I have competed against the Australians in the international sales arena and I can say definitively that their price floor is lower than any Californian producers. This is because the Australian government stands firmly behind their olive oil industry and is not above subsidizing them in creative ways.

My advice to farmers who are considering planting super high-density olives is simple: proceed with caution. Although, California olive oil may enjoy a slight premium over other olive oils of the world, I would be surprised if that premium was more than 10%-12%. When I was a kid, Emus were going to revolutionize the meat industry and kiwis were only inches away from becoming the staple of the American diet. Sometimes, even the smartest, most well-intentioned people are wrong.

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posted by Brian J. Kenny @ 4:11 PM   0 comments

Monday, August 21, 2006

Walking The Talk

This article is scheduled to run in the Capital Press in the Summer of 2006

Every so often, an event causes a seismic shift in the food industry. Sometimes, as in the case of the alar scare in 1992, the magnitude of the event is only apparent in hindsight. While the alar scare began the mainstreaming of the organic movement, Michael Pollan’s most recent book, The Omnivore’s Dilemma (2006, The Penguin Press), may begin the mainstreaming of the local food movement.

Aptly described on its cover as “A Natural History of Four Meals,” The Omnivore’s Dilemma addresses a series of food issues from both the perspective of the field and, to a lesser extent, the farmer, as well as from the perspective of the plate and the consumer. As such, the “Omnivore’s Dilemma” provides a view of our nation’s industrial food complex that is as important to farmers and ranchers as it is to consumers. The fact that the book has been on the top of several bestseller lists hints at the impact that it is having on public opinion.

Sometimes the best way to judge a work’s impact is to look at both the substance and the origin of its criticism. In the case of the Omnivore’s Dilemma the criticism has focused on the book’s “one-sidedness,” its lack of journalistic rigor, and the author’s “intellectual navel-gazing.” However, the fact that this criticism has come from all frequencies of the food spectrum, from corporate farmers to Whole Foods Market to vegan activists to meat marketers, illustrates the fact that it has touched a major nerve.

Pollan’s criticism of Whole Foods is that it has become an agent of “Big Organic” or “Industrial Organic.” Although there are holes in his argument, his criticism is totally fair. Whole Foods has become a very powerful force in the organic movement and that movement has become increasingly industrial in nature. The foundation of Pollan’s criticism is that Whole Foods, which has always positioned itself as a totally different and revolutionary type of grocery company, is becoming just another big grocery company by neglecting the very small farmers that its marketing says it supports. The truth of the matter is that, as a publicly traded corporation with nearly 200 stores, Whole Foods can’t afford not to deal with the big players in the organic industry. By sourcing more products from fewer companies, Whole Foods achieves huge economies of scale, in keeping with the capitalistic standard to which all publicly traded companies are held. The sad truth is that economy tends to trump ideology in nearly every instance.

However contentious the book may be, it has caused Whole Foods to very publicly put its money where its mouth is; the retailer recently pledged $10 million in small loans to support small farmers across America while also announcing that it will begin hosting farmer’s markets for small farmers at select stores. However, one feels about their positioning, Whole Foods still represents a great deal of opportunity for small farmers and food artisans.

If you have not yet read The Omnivore’s Dilemma, check it out and let me know what you think at brianjkennymediaworks@yahoo.com.

8/21/06

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posted by Brian J. Kenny @ 10:49 PM   0 comments

Thursday, August 03, 2006

Get The Good News Out Fast And The Bad News Out Faster

This column is scheduled to run in the Capital Press in the Summer of 2006

I have been on the road for most of the summer working out supply-chain problems for one of my clients who produces a perishable product. They are currently doing business with several of the largest players in the food industry. They are a green company and their product is both outstanding and sustainable, and the premium price that they charge reflects both of these facts.

At the beginning of the summer, my client was informed by their primary distributor that they would have to change packers immediately. All of the sudden, their current packing house was no longer approved by the distributor, and they were forced to find a new approved packing house while in the middle of harvest. In this highly time-critical situation there very few choices and even less margin for error. It was definitely a worst case scenario.

Up to this point, my client had done an outstanding job of tailoring their product to meet their customer’s needs. They had essentially let the market dictate what products they should create and this strategy had worked; they had many dedicated customers who were committed to helping them succeed. Unfortunately, my client’s new packer had a difficult time handling their product and their products’ changed significantly. In one fell swoop, a perfect product became a major problem and a year’s worth of good will and outstanding work evaporated. Suddenly, issues that had been resolved long ago, like pricing and product formulations, resurfaced with renewed vigor. Customer relationships were strained and orders were cancelled.

My client and I have scrambled all summer to regain both the credibility and the good will that they had built with their customers. I have had to explain why the product changed without complaining and without blaming the distributor. Herein lies the lesson that I have learned this summer: when your name is on something, any problem that exists with that something is your problem.

In business, as in life, there are always problems. In a situation where your name or your brand is associated with a problem, your reaction and your response to that problem can either sink your brand or save it. Here are a few truths that I have learned the hard way: get the good news out fast and the bad news out faster, deliver the good news anyway you can but always deal with the bad news in person.

When you encounter problems that affect your customers, let your clients know what is happening as soon as poss
Ill will breeds in silence. It can make the smallest of problems colossal and it can resurrect even the deadest of issues. ible. Offer full explanations for your problems and clearly communicate what you are doing to rectify thee situation and to prevent it from happening again,

Ill will breeds in silence and it can make the smallest of problems colossal. Ill will also has the miraculous power to resurrect even the deadest of issues. By dealing with bad news in a swift and decisive manner, you can make things right before they spiral out of control. Good news can be handled casually, but problems demand the most immediate attention.

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posted by Brian J. Kenny @ 3:33 PM   0 comments

Thursday, July 27, 2006

Artisan Industrial Foods (and other near impossibilities)

This article is scheduled to run in the Capital Press in Summer 2006

At the risk of stating the obvious, it is very difficult to industrialize artisan foods. I had this realization at one in the morning after spending the better part of the day on the phone trying to untangle a labyrinthine web of problems for one of my clients, a grass-fed beef producer.

My client is a green company and their agricultural operation requires little in the way of inputs other than sunlight and a little water. Last year, one of the heaviest hitters in the industrial food complex began buying my client’s grass-fed hamburger patties as part their greening initiative. The volumes related to the deal are excellent and the profit margins are sustainable. Despite the fact that the executives at the food service company are bought into the idea of featuring an artisan hamburger patty, the patty itself has encountered a fair amount of resistance from the both the line level cooks and the management of the individual food service sites within that company.

At a very basic level, food artisans have an intimate knowledge of both their product’s relationship with nature and nature’s innate variability. What makes an artisan is the ability to move with this variability to create products that are of a consistent quality. Although artisan foods are frequently consistent, they are never uniform. In fact uniformity is the antithesis of artisanal. Unfortunately, this same uniformity is the hallmark of the industrial food complex.

My client is a relatively small company and they have to rely on other vendors to process their cows into middle meats and ground beef. Since they are small, and because grass-fed beef is very different from corn-fed beef in terms of its musculature and fat content, it is exceedingly difficult for them to create hamburger patties with a uniform fat content. For the home user or for the independent restaurant, this is not much of a problem. However, in the world of industrial food service these slight variations can create enormous problems. For example, the food service company dictates that the patties must be cooked to 160 degrees Fahrenheit and the ebb and flow of business at many of the sites where the patties are used necessitates that the burgers must be par-cooked and held until there is a rush, whereupon they will be cooked the rest of the way. These are truly the worst-case conditions for a grass-fed beef hamburger.

Herein lies the moral of the story: although it is very difficult to industrialize artisan foods, it is not impossible. If you are going to work with other vendors to produce your artisan foods, you will need to either pay them a premium, or do an enormous volume of business with those vendors to ensure that your needs are met.

However, you may end up ahead if you invest in your own processing facility. The more of your processing and production you control, the more control you have over your destiny. This sort of control can enable you to do things that would otherwise be impossible; like creating a consistent, nearly uniform grass-fed beef patty.

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posted by Brian J. Kenny @ 6:28 AM   0 comments

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

(Very Nearly) Lost At Sea

Exerpt from "Love at First Crush: Four Seasons As An Olive Oil Producer"

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMM” the surf pounded me into the sand as the water rushed around me pulling me out to sea as it receded. My eyes were burning from the salt water, which scorched my nose and throat as I breathed it in. I frantically tried to scramble to my feet but another wave slammed me down. My scrawny body was no match for the ocean’s fury. I felt my body scraping on the sand and rocks as I was dragged farther out by the undertow. I tried to yell for my Uncle Jack, but it was no use. I could not get my head above water. “GROUBLEJAAAAAAT” was all that came out. My energy was low; my flight instinct was giving way to the paralyzing grip of fear. I was eight years old and drowning at sea.

Suddenly I felt a familiar, strong hand snatch my hand, resting me from the frigid grip of the deep. With a swift pull I was above water. Uncle Jack, my bearded, muscle-bound, wisecracking hero, threw me over his shoulder and was wading me to safety. “Are you okay, little buddy,” he enquired gently.
“I think so,” I sobbed. “I thought I was going to die.”
“I know, but you are safe now.”
He hugged me as he stood me up in the dry sand. I was skinny, without an extra ounce of fat on my body and I was shivering cold. My eyes were stinging from the salt water and my sinuses were emptying from my nostrils. Uncle Jack cleaned me up and hugged me again.
“Are you going to be alright? You are alive, Brian.”
“Thanks for saving me, Uncle Jack.”
“Come on, its my job. I am a superhero remember?”
I laughed. “We need to make you a song. All superheroes have songs.”
“Ok. But you have to remember to never turn your back on the ocean. Ok?”
“Got it.”
“Alright, let’s go wash the sand off of you, you little monkey.”
We walked up the beach, improvising a song for my superhero Uncle.
“Never turn your back on the sea,” we sang with mock vibrato, “unless he’s there to save thee. Uncle Jack!”

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posted by Brian J. Kenny @ 12:39 AM   0 comments

You don't have to tell me anything, brother

You don't have to tell me anything, brother
I know.

You've moved on from the corporeal
and into the realm of the truth
I want too call you on the telephone but its no use
If I want to talk to you now, I'll have to meditate and I'll have to pray too
You don't have to tell me anything, brother
I know.

We hugged in the kitchen
on the day you broke the news
It has been eight months, but it seems like only a month or two
We planted potatoes and now I'm going to eat them for you with our crew
You don't have to tell me anything, brother
I know.

You are a superhero
who else could die with a with their eyes open,
in the favorite room, looking at the stars
and still find the strength to hang around until everyone went to sleep
so that you could crack one last handsome charming smile
You don't have to tell me anything, brother
I know.

Remember you children,
and your childrens' children too
we're passing the torch to Furhtur the work that you do
triumphing for the underdog, and those beneath the underdog too
You don't have to tell me anything, brother
I know.

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posted by Brian J. Kenny @ 12:20 AM   0 comments

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

John Francis Doering - Requiescat In Pacem - 1945-2006

John Francis Doering
July 14, 1945-June 9, 2006

Humanitarian, Magnanimous Storyteller, Champion of Fun, Freedom, and Love


Tony Rubio, Jack Doering, and nephew Brian Kenny, August 2005


John “Jack” Doering, native of San Francisco, California, passed from this world on June 9, 2006 after a valiant eight month battle with liver cancer. The lifetime partner of Tony Rubio, devoted son of Joseph Edward and Veronica Maguire Doering and the caring brother of Margaret Ann Kenny and Robert Gerard Doering, John was a teacher, leader, friend, compatriot, cousin, uncle, godfather, and grand-uncle to the scores of people who were fortunate to be close to him.

John attended St. John’s Ursuline grammar school, Sacred Heart High School, the Christian Brother’s Juniorate at Mont La Salle in Napa, California, and the University of San Francisco, before entering the US Navy in 1966. He was dedicated the concept of equality upon which our great nation was founded. To that end, he strove to elevate those around him who were less fortunate and to take care of those he encountered.

He settled in Brookings, Oregon in 1978, where he operated Rubio’s Mexican Restaurant for the better part of twenty years. He exhibited his extraordinary integrity and his ability to relate to others on a daily basis and he was a constant source of love, understanding, guidance, and support to his family, friends, and customers.

Through his work in Toast Masters and various recovery groups, John helped countless like-minded and like-experienced individuals come to grips with their strengths and their weaknesses. His open mind and his philosophy to respect God and to take the time to enjoy nature’s wonder also helped him to become a world-class gardener and an excellent cook.

Nobody cherished their home more than John and Tony. Their love and devotion for Casa Rubio and its magnificent gardens and landscaping created an awe-inspiring paradise that reminded all their quests of the wonders of nature and the glory of God.

Although he has left the physical world, he will be present every time he is remembered either through his kind deeds or the memories and stories that he has provided all whom he has touched. At his core, John was a deeply empathetic and caring man. He was a champion of the underdog and the down trodden who believed in the fundamental decency of all human beings.

He is survived by his mother Veronica Maguire Doering, his partner Tony Rubio, his second mother Lola Rubio, his sister Margaret Doering Kenny, his brother Robert Gerard Doering, and his many beloved nephews and nieces and grand-nephews and grand-nieces.

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posted by Brian J. Kenny @ 8:13 PM   0 comments

Monday, June 12, 2006

Sahn Maru And The Seoul Of Oakland

Sahn Maru And The Seoul Of Oakland
By Brian J. Kenny



I was standing in the frigid Mongolian wind when it happened. I had just offended the woman tending the pancake booth on the side of the mountain in Seoul, Korea. I had no idea what I said to cause such a reaction, but it must have been bad. Despite the fact that this precarious position could get worse, I chose to stay. The pancakes were beautiful, golden yellow and crisp, and the aroma of the oysters and green onions had me paralyzed. I suddenly cared more for Korean food than I did my own safety.

It was late January, 2005 and we had only been in Seoul for a few days. At that point in the trip, I hadn’t truly connected with any strangers. I couldn’t speak Korean, so I had to rely on body language as my sole means of communication. Unfortunately, as my present situation clearly illustrated, the body language was very different as well. I had been trying to buy a pancake for nearly twenty minutes. The cook kept asking me a question that I couldn’t comprehend. Since the restaurant was not yet open, I assumed that she was telling me that she couldn’t sell me a pancake yet because the restaurant wasn’t open. In turn I tried to pantomime that I would be happy to buy the pancake and eat it elsewhere. Perhaps she thought I was telling her to beat it; I couldn’t be sure. Whatever the case, I had been taken the wrong way and she stormed off, leaving her quiet male friend to deal with me.

Time was of the essence, the pancakes appeared to have reached nirvana; I had to buy one at once. I handed the quiet man the equivalent of $10 before helping myself to a pancake. The man graciously assisted me, handing me a cup of bright red Go Ju Jong, a spicy red pepper sauce, for dipping. I dug in immediately.

It was an intense experience. Like an Eric Dolphy bass clarinet solo, the pancake contained a startling number of notes often juxtaposed in a complex order. The egg dough was perfectly crisp on the outside, while warm and soft in the inside and the cooked white onion, radish, and carrot slices were well integrated with the dough, not too soft and not too hard, adding a perfect backdrop to the more dynamic elements. The cold wind nipped at my teeth as I bit in to the crisp but supple cake. I tasted the vinegar and the green onions first, followed by the ethereal oyster, which provided a lumbering yet delicate low end, and the round smoothness of the squid, which filled the middle of the flavor spectrum. On this foundation, the Go Ju Jong darted among the other notes in punctuated blasts of spicy sweetness that were driven by my quickening pulse and the blood coursing through my veins.

I was transfixed. This was the best thing I could be eating at that particular moment. Upon returning to the grill, the woman noticed that I had undergone a startling transformation. My plate was empty, my mouth was open, the corners of my mouth were stained with the bright red steaks of the Go Ju Jong, and I was smiling. The man said something to her and she laughed as she handed me a drink. As I quaffed the cold beverage, sweating in the epic winter wind, the woman wrapped up another pancake for me. She handed me my change, and we shook hands. “Friends,” she said. “Friends indeed,” I laughed cordially.

As I walked down the hill toward the bus stop, it suddenly became very clear to me that food, and the respect and enjoyment thereof, is one of the pillars of culture. “So what if the crazy American can’t speak Korean,” the man and the woman seemed to be saying to each other, “he LOVES Hea Mul Pa Jun, and that makes him okay.”

If you explore a certain cuisine or culture long enough, you will eventually have that breakthrough. It took me twelve years to have it with Korean food. I attribute this to the fact that restaurants are an interpretive venue and the classics, like Jazz standards, have attained their status through universal appeal. The most daring songs seldom make the hit parade and Eric Dolphy is unknown to most casual listeners of Jazz. Likewise, few people have tasted really good Korean food. In the world of Korean food, barbeque dishes are the most frequently interpreted or recited elements. The most popular Korean barbeque dishes are Bul Ko Ki, or top round, and Kal Bi, or sliced short rib. The classic Korean marinade is balanced with the sweetness of rice vinegar, the saltiness of soy sauce, the heat of red pepper, and the bite of garlic, and the nutty, smoky fattiness of sesame oil. The quality of the meat and the diversity of the Pan Chen, or side dishes, are the general dividing line between the varying strata of Korean restaurants.

Fortunately for East Bay diners, there are a plethora of Korean restaurants in Oakland alone. The oldest of these restaurants are Koryo, on Telegraph and 45th, and Sam Won on Telegraph and 27th. Koryo and Sam Won are both good restaurants, with a nice variety of Pan Chen and good meat. Koryo has always been the nicer, cleaner, and friendlier of the two, while Sam Won has always been the grittier and more colorful. However, in my book, Oghane, on 39th and Broadway, bests both of these restaurants. The Pan Chen are always fresh and the Kal Bi is tender and perfect in texture and flavor.

As good as the Kal Bi is at Ohgane, my favorite dish there is the Tol Sot Hea Mul Bi Bim Bop, a spicy “mixed-up” rice dish featuring seafood, julienne vegetables, shredded dried seaweed, and spicy chili oil, all topped with an egg over-easy. It is served in a brutally hot, stone bowl and the rice continues to cook as you eat it. The ingredients sizzle and pop as you make your way through them. Your face is warmed by the rich steam rising before you as your eyes feast upon the vibrant colors of the ingredients and the sauces. The sweet pickled sprouts balance the spicy oil, while the texture of the egg supports the oyster; it is a complete sensory experience. My favorite part is eating the tender squid pieces with the crisp sheets of rice, smoky and toasted with sesame oil, that line the bowl.

The ambiance at Oghane is impressive as well, it is tastefully lit, with stainless steel and granite, high ceilings, and clean, shiny floors. It is as nice as the higher-end restaurants in Los Angeles Koreatown, like Oo Le Ok with reasonable prices. In short, it is a great, nice restaurant.

However, my pick for the best Korean restaurant in Oakland is Sahn Maru, on Telegraph and 43rd. The menu at Shan Maru digs deeper into Korean cuisine, offering less common and more authentic dishes than any other American Korean restaurant that I have visited. While the other restaurants offer tasty renditions of the standards, Sahn Maru brings new thrills and flavors to the mix. Everything that I have tried at Sahn Maru is excellent. The proprietor, Hyung Ryul Yoo and his able staff are dedicated to their craft and the results are manifest in their outstanding Pan Chen and incredible Kim Chi.

Of all Korean dishes, Kim Chi is probably the best known. In its most common form, Kim Chi is a kind of spicy, pickled Napa cabbage seasoned most prominently with red pepper, salt, garlic, and fish juice. In a culinary sense, it is most comparable to sauerkraut or other pickled vegetable dishes ever-present in Eastern European cuisine, while in a cultural sense it holds a similar place as salsa. The flavor of Kim Chi varies based on the geography and cultural history of Korea. In some regions it is far spicier while in others it contains more seafood, but generally, it has a pronounced, spicy flavor, with a strong, fermented aroma. Most families have the own recipes for Kim Chi as well. For most of my life, Kim Chi was a most vile substance to me. I couldn’t stand its distinctive smell and I found its flavor to be startingly off-putting.

However, the day after my Hea Mul Pa Jan conversion, I had my Kim Chi awakening while eating lunch with Hana’s parents and her extended family. I was dutifully eating everything that was placed before me in order to make a good impression when the universe shifted around me. In an instant, my obligatory smile gave way to a ravenous, soul stirring hunger. I wasn’t sure of exactly what I was eating, but I was very certain that I liked it. The Kim Chi on that day featured a pronounced oyster flavor with a subtle crab undertone. It was more than just pickled cabbage; it was complex and almost contradictory. The waitress watched me devour my first plate of it, before bringing me another. As she approached the table, she made a good-natured comment to my father-in-law, who in-turn explained that this particular Kim Chi was over one year old and this aging accounted for its layered, nuanced flavor.

That was in January of 2005, and all Kim Chi thereafter paled in comparison until my first trip to Sahn Maru a few weeks ago. The rest of my Sahn Maru experience was equally enjoyable. At its heart, Korean cuisine is built around vegetables, meats, and fish seasoned with varying combinations of red pepper, bean pastes, soy sauce, green onion, garlic, ginger, sesame seeds, sesame oil, mustard, and vinegar. However, at its soul Korean Cuisine expresses the dramatic geography and the varied climate of the Korean peninsula. The restaurant’s name means “from the mountain peak” and its food reaches epic heights as well. On our first visit I had Kal Bi, Dwe Ji Gam Ja Jim, or braised pork in mild chili sauce with dates and potato, and Dak Kal Kook Soo, or chicken noodle soup.

The dates made the whole first meal snap for me. They were the perfect accompaniment to the sauce for the pork dish, which was unlike anything I have ever tasted. I wanted to drink the sauce, but it was so spicy it burned. Fortunately the dates and the crisp, Ob Beer muted the immediate sensation of the burn, rendering its lingering effects both exhilarating and delightful. I focused on the Hea Mool Pah Jan on my second trip to Sahn Maru. It rocked me. It was the only thing that I ordered and it took me some time to eat it. The Go Ju Jong was superb, as was the sweet and salty soy sauce, and vinegar dipping mix. The Pan Chen provided isolated blasts of flavor that helped mitigate the heat of the Go Ju Jong, which enabled me to taste the totality of the pancake’s broad spectrum of flavor.

I found myself lost in the meal riding the peaks and valleys of its’ waves of flavor. Korean dramas were playing on the big screen television in the corner and nobody was speaking English. For a time I forgot where I was. Then I had another realization. Sahn Maru is the Seoul of Oakland.


SIDEBAR 1 – Recipe

Simple Korean Marinade
6 parts soy sauce
5 parts chopped green onion
3 parts sugar
2 parts rice vinegar
2 parts sesame oil
Black pepper to sight

Add 1 knob of ginger if you are marinating chicken. Add crushed red pepper to taste if you want to make a spicy marinade. If you are going to marinade the meat for more that a few hours, put it in the vinegar and sugar first, adding the other ingredients a few hours before cooking.

SIDEBAR 2 – Koreana Plaza



The scene was frenetic. The checkers were burning through the items rolling before them as quickly as they could. Scanning and checking, checking and scanning while the sea of customers waited in line for their turn, the checkers worked likes demons assisting their customers with speed and precision.

There was no background music playing, but the scene provided its own pulse, its own language, and its own nuance. The two-for-one Kim Chi display battled for my attention with the $1450 bottle of Martell, safely locked in the plexiglass cabinet on the other side of the checkers. I tried to focus on the checkout process but it was no use, my attention was grabbed by shrieks of exaltation erupting from a person who had just won something in some sort of sweepstakes. There is something for everyone at Koreana Plazaa, a bona-fide Korean Supermarket, in the spirit of the great supermarkets of Seoul, in the heart of Oakland.

Koreana Market offers a dizzying selection of Pan Chen, marinated meats, Kim Chi, fresh seafood, produce, dry goods, and frozen foods. Stop in at their housewares store and buy a stone bowl to make your own Tol Sot Hea Mool Bi Bim Bop. They even have their own parking attendants.

Address Information:

Koreana Plaza, 2370 Telegraph in Oakland

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posted by Brian J. Kenny @ 8:18 PM   1 comments

Tuesday, May 30, 2006

Grass Roots, True Country

This piece originally ran in the Redding Record Searchlight in April 2002.

Darce Chriss and The Travellers



I recently found myself pondering the transcendent nature of roots music at the Shasta Senior hall on Benton Ave. This may seem like an unlikely venue for a 28 year old to have a philosophical experience, but this was a Friday night, and the weekly Senior dance was underway. There was a band playing but it was not a bandstand configuration that I expected to see at the senior hall. This band was comprised of four electric guitar players and it had neither a bassist nor a drummer.

One might expect that a band of four electric guitars might insight a riot at the Senior Center, or at least antagonize all in attendance. However, the police were not called and I was transported to a foreign but comfortable place. The music was so good that it warmed the marrow of my bones. It made me feel as though I was in a movie. I wanted to thank the director for the soundtrack.

I was in the presence of Darce Chriss and the Travelers and I was experiencing what Darce calls “true country,” music marked by an implied groove and beautiful ensemble playing. With all of the attention focused on Roots music these days, seeing Darce and the band play is a timely yet timeless experience. The lead guitar lines of Darce and Bill Dale add the high and low end dynamics to the song, while Mary Chriss and the other guitarist, recently Dwayne Walker or Dan Locke, add the cymbal and the drum aspects of the rhythm section.

The Travelers perform in the positive and improvisational fashion that is the hallmark of seasoned music professionals. All the players are encouraged to sing and there is no setlist. The players sing songs they love and there are highlights to each players performance that exude an energy and a feeling that cannot be faked; Darce Chriss channeling Hank Williams on “Jambalaya,” Bill Dale making every note sound perfect on every guitar solo, Dan Locke singing “There goes my everything” in a rich sonorous basso profundo, Dwayne Walker filling the entire room with Merle Haggard’s “The Bottle Let Me Down,” and Mary Chriss sending the house asunder with Marty Robbins’ “Beyond the Reef.”

This is roots music of the highest order. “Roots” has become a very popular label since “O Brother Where Art Thou.” Chriss and the Travelers are an embodiment of this term. Their instruments seem to be a palpable extension of the trees under which Hank Williams Sr., Hank Snow, and Ernest Tubb and a myriad of other writers penned the classics of Country Western Music.

There is a grass roots quality to this music as well. Chriss and the Travelers play primarily for seniors, choosing to play the senior center circuit as opposed to the bar circuit. Their music is an elixir for the young at heart and they minister to the areas seniors through their song. If you are a fan of music you need to catch this band.


Note to editor: The ladies of the Shasta Senior Center wanted me to put out a call to all men over the age of 50 who can fog a mirror. “Get them to come down here and cut the rug,” Gladys exhorted… “It only costs 2 bucks, and they might get lucky.”

Darce Chriss and the Travelers are a grass roots, true country band. They play weekly on Wednesday and Thursday at the Senior Nutrition Center and the first Friday of the month at the Shasta Senior Hall. They will be performing at 12:00PM Saturday April 20, 2002 at the Cottonwood arts fair.

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posted by Brian J. Kenny @ 9:59 AM   2 comments

Friday, May 26, 2006

One Man's Poison Is Another Man's Meat

This piece is scheduled to run in the Capital Press in Summer 2006.

Every once in a while I find myself engaged in conversations with strangers where the talk is unsettling and the stranger is… well, strange. Such was the case the other day when I was discussing the state of our food systems with a biotechnological entrepreneur in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park.

I was in search of the best hamburger in San Francisco and my quest had led me to the De Young Museum, in Golden Gate Park. One of my clients, Bon Appétit Management Company, runs the café at the museum, which buys all its beef from a small grass-fed producer from Point Reyes, California called Marin Sun Farms.

“Daniel Long, the chef at the café, buys as much of his food as possible from within one hundred miles of the museum,” I enthusiastically explained to the stranger. “Bon Appétit is a forward thinking company, and this Marin Sun Farm burger is reputed to be one of the best around.” The stranger looked at me in stunned silence, with an attitude that betrayed his impression of me; another ignorant lemming, a member of the uninitiated mob.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, cocking his head slightly to the side, “if they were really forward-thinking, they would adopt a more humane way of procuring their protein. Raising animals for their flesh is unnecessary and barbaric. With all of the advances in stem-cell technology, there is no reason why they couldn’t create or replicate different cuts of meat or different parts of animals instead of having to kill that animal to get them.”

My slack-jawed look of disbelief betrayed my need for further explanation. “Look,” he continued, “elephant trunk is a delicacy in certain cultures. You could take one elephant trunk and replicate it with stem cells, then you could use more stem cells to propagate it. This method would allow you to create your protein without all of the ethical dilemmas associated with slaughtering animals. Monsanto is doing something similar with their Round-Up ready seeds. We are at a point now where we don’t need to raise our protein in the fields any more; we can grow it in labs.”

As I stood listening to the stranger’s monologue, the old cliché rang true; one man’s poison is another man’s meat. While the stranger held out stem-cell derived elephant trunk as a model of perfect protein, I struggled to imagine a circumstance under which I would ever consume it.

The beauty of engaging in deep, philosophical discourse with random strangers is that you never know what you might hear. Sometimes, you are privy to the private, anonymous musings of great minds while, other times, you are blown away by lunatic science-fiction fantasia. Whatever the case, the view into the reality of a stranger is always edifying; just don’t worry about crackpot theories until you hear them for the tenth time.

The Marin Sun Farms hamburger at the De Young Museum, by the way, was indeed the best that I have ever had.

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posted by Brian J. Kenny @ 1:56 PM   0 comments

Monday, May 22, 2006

You Can Learn A Lot From An Ice Cream Flavor

This piece is scheduled to run in the Capital Press in the summer of 2006.

Everything at the table got silent as soon as the oysters arrived. We were having lunch at Chez Panisse in Berkeley, California, and the wiater had suggested that I try the oysters. “Wavy,” I inquired of my lunch partner, “Do you want one of these oysters?”

“No way, man,” he exhorted. “Oysters are too weird for me.”

“It’s really hard for me to believe,” I chuckled, “That anything could be too weird for Wavy Gravy.”

“You’d be surprised,” he replied gravely.

In addition to being a humanitarian, a sage, a comedian, and a great dining companion, Wavy is a retired ice cream flavor. In 1991, Ben and Jerry’s, the populist ice cream company from Vermont, created the flavor “Wavy Gravy,” a combination of Caramel & Cashew Brazil Nut Ice Cream with a Chocolate Hazelnut Fudge Swirl & Toasted Almonds. Wavy became a “living flavor” and Ben and Jerry committed to dedicate a portion of the profits from the flavor to Wavy’s circus and performing arts camp, Camp Winnarainbow located three hours north of San Francisco, in Laytonville, Mendocino County.

“It was a great deal for about eight or nine years,” Wavy explained over lunch. “Ben and Jerry’s was sending us $30000 a year and it was a good part of our revenue stream for providing scholarships for economically disadvantaged youth to come to our camp. Then, Unilever bought the company in 2000, and a few months later I was informed that I was being de-commissioned as a flavor because I was not cost effective. I was the number two best-seller at the time, by the way.”

I remarked that the mindset of “cost effectiveness” generally embraces more homogenous products. “Those were bank-breaking ingredients,” I opined as I slurped down a kumamoto oyster. “The only way to make it less cost effective would have been to add a swirl of 24 caret gold to the mix.” We both laughed.

“Yeah,” he mused, “But cashews, toasted almonds, and hazelnuts are so good in ice cream. You can’t beat it.”

We turned our attention to the complexity of simple food and the beauty of a well-prepared, thoughtful meal. “In the summer, up at the camp,” he explained, “We grow a lot of the food that we feed the kids right on the farm. The salads are about two hours out of the ground: most people have never had food that fresh before, which is sad, really.”

I remarked that Chez Panisse stood as a monument to simplicity and flavor. “Those two things are so uncommon that they are frequently over-mystified,” I explained. “Wavy,” I inquired, “where do you think agriculture is headed?”

He pondered the question for a moment. “It’s not all bad news,” he stated. “I have nostalgia for the future and I get it from the kids. I see young people that are inspired to take up the plough and be creative. Things are moving in new directions and the times are changing for the current paradigm.”

He savored a bit of his fish before completing his thought. “Farmers need to partner up with chefs and they need to take chances together,” he said with aplomb. “To me that is a bright future for the farmers, the chefs, and the eaters.”

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posted by Brian J. Kenny @ 3:11 PM   0 comments

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Farm-To-Fork with Marin Sun Farms

This is part of a series of briefs that I wrote documenting Bon Appétit Management Company's Farm-To-Fork program.

Marin Sun Farms - Bon Appétit Farm Brief

David Evans of Point Reyes, California started Marin Sun Farms in 1999 to produce and market sustainable, humanely raised, great tasting, grass-fed beef. Evans, whose grandfather began farming in Northern California in 1889, is both genetically pre-disposed to ranching and deeply committed to sustainable agriculture. Although his family had sold their cows on the open market, as a commodity, for as long as he could remember, Evans decided to market all his beef under his own brand directly to his customers in his local area.

“There is a dramatic shift underway in the food industry,” Evans explains. “We are moving away from the perfect competition paradigm of the commodity market toward a more brand-oriented paradigm. In order for me to continue to ranch cattle, I had to either dramatically increase both the size of my herd and my reliance on chemicals, hormones, and antibiotics, or I create a sustainable, quality product and differentiate it as its own brand.”

Of the numerous challenges that Evans faced in his new venture, creating a scalable sales channel for beef was the most daunting. Whereas conventional ranchers rely on powerful, fast working, antibiotics and hormones to keep their animals from dying or growing too slowly, Evans’ method dictated that he work with nature to achieve these same goals. Since nature seldom moves as quickly as humans would like, Evans’ product wound require a great deal more time and effort to produce and would be significantly more expensive than conventional beef. Thus, he would need quality-minded, discerning customers to sell his beef at the prices that would be profitable to him.

After working the Farmer’s Markets for a few years, Evans realized that increasing his food service sales would allow him to grow his business significantly. However, as a small producer he was not able to ensure that the same cuts of meat would be available in the same quantities every week. “Unfortunately,” Evans states, “cows are not comprised entirely of prime cuts. One of my biggest challenges was to build my business to the point where I could sell all of the middle meats as well as all of the ground beef. For my business to survive, I would have to be able to sell the whole cow.”

Evans began working with Bon Appétit, through the Farm-to-Fork program, in his third year of business. “He was immediately impressed by the Bon Appétit chef’s level of dedication to sustainability. “Bon Appétit is the perfect example of a large company that is willing to sacrifice convenience in order to do the right thing,” he observes. “After our first meeting, Chef Thom Fox at the Acme Chophouse asked me what cuts I was having the most trouble selling. The fact that he thought about my business needs really blew me away.”

Working with Marin Sun Farms has presented the Bon Appétit chefs with both a challenge and an opportunity. “Early on in the relationship we really had to work on incorporating the whole cow into our menu,” explains Bon Appétit chef Thom Fox form the Acme Chophouse in San Francisco. “Their ground beef is spectacular, and we go through enormous amounts that, but we really had to work at integrating the more obscure cuts of meat into our menu. The great thing about this is that we have become much more creative and flexible in the kitchen.”

“I buy all of my raw beef from Marin Sun Farms,” states Bon Appétit chef Daniel Long of the De Young Museum café in San Francisco. “Since David only harvests a small number of cows per week, we have learned to use nearly everything that he produces. As a result we have discovered a number of great cuts that you just can’t get anywhere else. The velvet steak, for example, a cut that I had never heard of before I began working with David, is one of the best steaks to use in a cold salad. These are the sorts of discoveries that thrill our diners as well as our chefs.”

For David Evans working with Bon Appétit has been both a tremendous personal experience and a fundamental business opportunity. “When I started working with Bon Appétit,” he says, “I really needed a few consistent, large-volume accounts. Even though I have demand from all over the country, I don’t ship my product anywhere. In my mind that sort of business is just not sustainable. Bon Appétit’s support and flexibility has really allowed me to succeed on this local level.”

The future of the Marin Sun Farms-Bon Appétit relationship is bright indeed. “We want to help David grow his business,” Thom Fox explains. “Buy paying his premium price now, we are helping build his future. As his market grows, we will benefit from a little more flexibility in his prices.”

“Bon Appétit is so far ahead of the curve,” Evans states. “They have essentially told me that they will open up more accounts to me as I scale to serve them. This is such a progressive stance. They truly practice what they preach through the Farm-to-Fork program. They bend to work with me in order that I can scale to better work with them. It is a rare and beautiful thing.”

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posted by Brian J. Kenny @ 5:57 PM   1 comments

Monday, May 15, 2006

Farm-To-Fork With STOGROW

This is part of a series of briefs that I wrote documenting Bon Appétit Management Company's Farm-To-Fork program.

STOGROW - Bon Appétit Farm Brief

Day Burtness, student at St. Olaf’s College in Northfield, Minnesota, had a formative agricultural experience in the summer of 2004 during her internship at Foxtail Farm. The process of producing food at the organic vegetable CSA (community supported agriculture) located in rural Wisconsin was something of a revelation to her, so she decided to find a way to share that same experience with the St. Olaf’s community at large.

After some discussion, Day, along with her friend, Dan Borek, decided to start a farm on St. Olaf’s campus in the fall of 2004. The two wanted to give their fellow students a chance to connect with their food in a tangible fashion. “We wanted them get their hands dirty,” she explains, “And also provide fresh, local, organic produce for the St. Olaf’s community. Dan and I are both passionate about increasing the sustainability of the St. Olaf’s campus. We wanted to provide the college with an agricultural education. Starting a student-run, working farm was really the best way to do that.”

The two found a perfect location for their nascent project, STOGROW in a field behind the historic James Farmhouse, which had once served as a horse corral. Day and Dan mustered a dedicated band of volunteers to prepare the site, which was badly overgrown with grasses, vines, and small trees. As they readied to plant their first crops, they focused their attention toward developing a sales channel for their produce.

“One of us decided that we should approach Bon Appétit,” Burtness explains. “We actually just approached General Manager Hays Atkins and Chef Peter with our idea. I was really nervous about being able to predict our yields or deliveries, but Hays and Peter said that Bon Appétit would purchase 100% of whatever we could deliver: a guaranteed market is every farmer's dream.”

With their sales prospects in order, STOWGROW worked toward their first harvest. “We planted a whole range of crops the first season,” Burtness explains, “ From early brassicas and lettuce mixes to later season crops like squash and tomatoes. It wasn't a good summer for brassicas and I don't think we got a single head of broccoli or more than a few bunches of kale!”

However, St. Olaf’s Bon Appétit chefs encouraged the STOGROW farmers to keep up their hard work.

“The BAMCO partnership gave us the freedom to really concentrate on farming organically instead of technical details about what we'd have for them and when. The chefs kept us working until our summer squash, eggplant, peppers, and tomatoes came on; they flourished and they were amazing.”

By the winter of 2005, the STOGROW-BAMCO relationship was in full bloom. “We ran into some hurdles that first season: a nasty invasion of squash bugs that killed off our winter squash, a hail scare, and the occasional Colorado potato beetle. But none of those things set us back all that much. The food that we have delivered was really good.”

“We love working with, fresh local produce; that is our thing,” explains Peter Abrahamson, Executive Chef at the Café at St. Olaf’s. “STOWGROW is the quintessential Farm-To-Fork situation. We are giving the students outstandingly fresh and flavorful, food grown by their peers, less than a mile away from the café. We are also composting the food scraps from the Café for STOGROW to use at the farm. So we have begun to make the STOGROW-Café relationship a self-contained loop.”

As it nears its two-year anniversary, the positive impact that STOGROW has made on the St. Olaf’s environment is clearly apparent. “Most students know that St. Olaf’s has an organic farm,” Burtness says, “and while they might not know the finer details of what it means to be organic and why local foods are better for the environment, words like "organic" and "local" are entering the dialogue on campus. I know one student who even decided to stick with college because STOGROW gave him the opportunity to maintain a connection with the land and gave him something to be hopeful about.”

Although St. Olaf’s Faculty and Administration have both played vital roles in its success, STOGROW continues to be student-driven. “Currently there are four main STOGROW student farmers,” Burtness relates, “Dan and I are training two younger students. Although, our volunteer base is always changing we are never wanting for help. Whenever we ask for help, at least 20 students reply. This summer we’re focusing on crops that we can deliver while school is still in session, like eggplants, peppers, tomatoes, and squash. In the future, we might also include edible and decorative flowers; the sky’s the limit.”

By agreeing to purchase all of STOGROW’s produce, Bon Appétit has provided the community at St. Olaf’s College with the ultimate Farm-to-Fork experience. For Day Burtness, STOGROW has been a life-shaping experience. “I plan to work on farms all over the country to gain more experience,” she says. “Then I hope to either start my own organic farm or continue my education and work on agricultural policy and food security issues. I will definitely be involved in agriculture in some way for the rest of my life.”

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posted by Brian J. Kenny @ 5:33 PM   0 comments

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

The Starbucks Explosion, Artisan Roasters, and the American Farmer

This piece is scheduled to run in the Capital PRess in the summer of 2006

One of the most explosive areas of the food industry in the past several years has been gourmet coffee. One need not look any farther than the baffling proliferation of Starbuck’s outlets for proof that American consumers are increasingly turning to specialty coffee drinks as their primary vehicle for caffeine ingestion.

In 1986, coffee aficionados would really have to hunt to find an espresso-based beverage outside of a major metropolitan area. In 2006, there are nineteen hundred and sixty-five Starbucks in California, with four outlets in the city of Lodi alone. The ubiquity of Starbucks ensures that the aficionado is never too far from their next white mocha frapuccino, affogato style with one pump of hazzlenut and one pump of toffee nut syrup.

Although one may expect the opposite, the Starbucks explosion has been patently good for many small roasters. One of my favorite coffee purveyors is Peerless coffee of Oakland, Ca. Peerless was founded in 1920, by John Vukasin, a Yugoslavian immigrant with a dream to become the premier supplier of European style coffees in the Bay Area. The company, currently headed by John’s grandson, George Vukashin, Jr. has flourished in the shadow of Starbucks.

“One of the greatest things that Starbucks has done,” Vukasin explains, “is educate consumers about coffee. They have really built the market for the smaller roasters. They are tough competition but we are artisan roasters. We only buy Aribica beans, we don’t use any Robusto beans as filler, and we roast our beans in small batches to enhance the flavor of the beans. Our customers are looking for flavor so we offer more than one hundred and twenty-five different types of coffee including varietals, estate coffees, and flavored coffee beans.”

After watching Peerless’ roasters at work, it struck me that coffee, like wine, olive oil, scotch, and so many other specialty foods, possesses its own world of flavor. Each bean has it own natural dominant flavors and the beans can be blended with other beans to create a blend flavor that is stronger than the sum of its parts. I asked Vukasin how he differentiates his product from commodity coffee. “The quality of our beans and our roasting is our signature,” he replied. “We don’t try to compete with industrial roasted beans. We have also developed our organic and fair trade offerings.”

I asked him to what degree fair trade helps coffee growers. “Interestingly enough,” he stated, “there has been a glut of fair trade coffee recently. Some fair trade growers are actually selling their coffee on the open market when the conventional price is higher than the floor Fair Trade price. This is a classic example of the fact that adjectives like organic and fair trade do little to insulate growers from oversupply issues.”

I asked Vukasin what advice he had for farmers. “Commodity farming in the United States is a dead end right now,” he opined. “To stay competitive, commodity growers will have to get bigger. Otherwise, they should plan on getting smaller and developing their own markets and channels. Adjectives won’t protect them from market problems but relationships can.”

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posted by Brian J. Kenny @ 11:58 PM   0 comments

Saturday, April 15, 2006

CSAs Help Farmers "Dance Among the Giants"

This Column Is Scheduled To Run In THe Capital Press in May 2006

Until recently, I was not a fan of turnips. Like beets, I didn’t have much use for them. However, after my family joined a CSA (community supported agriculture), I found myself having to embrace all manner of produce that I would never have otherwise made its way to our panty. Learning how to use all of this produce has been a rich and flavorful experience.

Nearly all of the produce my family eats comes from our CSA, Riverdog Farm of Solano County. Since the farm is located less than thirty miles from our house, we have eaten seasonally all winter. Our winter plates have been graced with roasted vegetables, meat, fish, and potatoes. We use canned tomatoes for pasta sauces and soup bases and as well as jar pasta sauces when necessary. We have enjoyed the process of becoming much more connected to our seasons but it has come at a cost.

“I really wanted to buy some grapes the other day,” my wife, Hana, explains, “but I thought about it for a minute and realized that they are not in season right now. So I didn’t buy them. Being part of a CSA gets you in touch with the seasons and that is rare.”

We appreciate the benefits of the CSA but how does it work for the farmer? I recently posed this question to Tim Mueller, Riverdog Farm’s primary farmer. He answered candidly.

“Our CSA makes up for about 25% of our gross revenue,” he explained. “We have 350 active members and another 50 who come and go. We give our customers $15-$18 of farmer’s market produce per week and we charge them $16. They get great produce at a great value and we get to a steady cash flow that allows us to keep our operation going year round.”

“We are farming 200 acres right now,” he explains. “We have had to learn how to dance between the giants like Grimway and Earthbound. We have several high volume wholesale accounts where we have established a mutually beneficial relationship and nobody gets gouged. These accounts make up a significant amount of our volume. However we still have to sell our crops on the open market and sometimes we have to sell our organic crops as conventional because the giants have pushed the price too low. The key for us is to have a balanced portfolio of customers. The CSA pulls up a lot of slack for us.”

“Organic farming is not a panacea,” Mueller explains. “You still need to develop direct accounts, maybe even more so than on the conventional side.”

As Riverdog Farms supporters, our family has enjoyed the work of Mueller and his crew from the tips of our forks. I believe that CSAs will work their way from the cities to the hinterlands in the next few years. For farmers pondering a move toward organics, they should be an integral part of the business plan: one of the many important steps in the “Dance Among the Giants.”

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posted by Brian J. Kenny @ 11:04 PM   0 comments

Why I Like My CSA

This column is scheduled to run in the Capital Press in May of 2006

I used to buy my produce at the supermarket during all seasons except the summer, when I would shop at the farmer’s market. Sadly, the produce at the supermarket isn’t what it used to be. The reasons for this are many but they are largely attributable to the move toward more centralized buying for most supermarket chains.

Centralized buying ensures that supermarket chains can get the best possible price on their produce. Whole Foods Market does the best job of all major chains at this, so they are largely exempt from the following discussion. Price is the primary factior. Quality, a factor of shelf stability and appearance, is a secondary consideration. Flavor is a tertiary attribute, at best. The end result of centralized buying is that the entire chain is only as smart as its limited number of buyers.

The nature of corporate politics ensure that there will be a percentage of the buyers who have risen through the ranks less as a result of their skill and intelligence than their tenacity and their ability to make fortunate allegiances. The end result is that the consumer, whose choices are already limited, is forced to buy food of questionable flavor and freshness. I welcome angry responses from decision makers at the major supermarket chains regarding these facts.

I have changed my produce purchasing practices in the last few months. My family joined a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) in February and this has fundamentally altered the way we eat. The beauty of the CSA is that it links farmers and consumers in mutually reliant fashion. The farm provides my family with fresh, seasonal organically-grown produce and the we provide the farm with a consistent flow of cash. Through our relationship to the farm, my family is connected to the whims of nature, logistics, and seasonal cycles.

This relationship is not without its risks. For example, when my CSA went through a personnel change in their sorting and packing shed, I had to deal with more aphids in my produce. So I called the farmer and we discussed the situation. He thanked me for my concern and assistance and solved the problem. I felt like I was part of the team.

When you contrast this relationship with my relationship with my other produce providers, the difference is stark. I called Safeway corporate headquarters to complain about the abysmal quality of some cauliflower. I was on hold for about forty minutes before I could get to an actual person’s voicemail box. The modern phone system made it nearly impossible to speak to another human and the call was never returned.

Eating is an economic and political act. I want to avoid giving money to systems that I despise. I like my CSA because I know the farmer and his food is good. When it is not so good, I can call him and he can tell me why. At the end of the day, the genuineness of the human relationship is much more powerful to me than perfection.

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posted by Brian J. Kenny @ 11:03 PM   0 comments

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

Second Draft of "Love at First Crush" Finished

I have started several novels that I have yet to finish. All writers have these projects. However, I have now finished my first book.

"Love at First Crush" chronicles the four seasons that I spent as an Olive Oil producer from 2001-2005. The book covers not only the birth and development of Pacific Sun Olive Oil from concept to fruition, with over 100 sales accounts and several direct chef relationships, it is also an unflinching look at what it means to be human.

I will be working with my editor to tighten up this book in the next month or so whereupon I will shop it around.

Stay tuned for details.

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posted by Brian J. Kenny @ 4:22 AM   0 comments

Review Of Kris Kristofferson's "This Old Road"

This is scheduled to run in the Redding Record Searchlight in April 2006

Kris Kristofferson – “This Old Road” New West Records
5 Stars

Kris Kristofferson’s latest album, This Old Road, is so deeply imbued with truth, humanity, gratefulness, and righteous indignation, that it seems to have come from the core of the earth. Like a lavaflow, or a five-mile high plume of ash, it is an awesome elemental force, featuring Kristofferson, his ageless voice, his guitar, his harmonica, and the sparse accompaniment of his able sidemen. This musical simplicity focuses the listener on Kristofferson’s lyrics, which are profound, powerful, and otherworldly.

It was about 4:30 in the afternoon when my best man turned me on to This Old Road. I had been at his cabin in rural Old Shasta, Ca. for three days writing incessantly, scrambling toward what appeared to be an impossible deadline when I stated, “Now I know why Hemmingway flossed with a shotgun.”
“Whoa, Bub,” Scott, my best man, intoned. “Maybe you should take a break.”
“I’ve got too much work to do,” I said dejectedly. I was still in my pajamas and I had been trying to tie up an emotionally wrenching chapter for the past four hours. “I am like a bundle of raw nerves right now.”

It was a ridiculous schedule; a sort of emotional crucible. I had a head of steam going but I was beginning to lose focus and I was beginning to lose heart in the shadow of the enormous mountain of emotional complications and personal history that I had endeavored to write my way through.

“If you have to keep writing,” Scott said approaching the stereo, “I am going to put some music on to help you. Is that okay?”
I nodded yes, “I can hang with that.”
“Good,” he said turning the volume knob to the right, “because this stuff is going to heal you.”

In my time of weakness and exhaustion This Old Road saved me, renewing my faith in the power of the human spirit and healing power of the truth. Each of the eleven tracks on the album is easily worthy of their own review: the album is that deep. In fact, This Old Road is more of an oracle than an album in the traditional sense of the word.

I listened to it ten times that night, frequently weeping uncontrollably. Each song touched the core of my soul in a different place. There are many artists who try to do this but most fail, coming across as preachy, contrived, or obvious. Kristofferson’s worldview is unique. The seventy year old Rhodes Scholar, songwriter, army veteran, musician, husband, and father has seen plenty and he uses plain language to convey what the world looks like from his perspective.

The world according to Kristofferson is a stark and beautiful one and is well illustrated by the song Pilgrim’s Progress, a benediction of sorts.

Pilgrim’s Progress
Am I young enough to believe in revolution
Am I strong enough to get down on my knees and pray
Am I high enough on the chain of evolution
To respect myself, and my brother and my sister
And perfect myself in my own peculiar way

I get lazy and forget my obligations
I’d go crazy, if I paid attention all the time
And I want justice, but I’ll settle for some mercy
On this holy road through the Universal Mind

I got lucky, I got everything I wanted
I got happy, there was nothing else to do
And I’d be crazy not to wonder if I’m worthy
Of the part I play in this dream that’s coming true

Am I young enough to believe in revolution
Am I strong enough to get down on my knees and pray
Am I high enough on the chain of evolution
To respect myself, and my brother and my sister
And perfect myself in my own peculiar way

These are the words of a wise man communicating the essential truths of humanity. This song made me get down on my knees and pray for the first time in many years. I have so much for which to be thankful as we all do. The world may be in a sorry state right now, but it always has been. Writers have been lamenting the decline of civilization since the invention of words. However, with This Old Road Kris Kristofferson couples timeless, eloquent lamentations of a world gone wrong with heartfelt expressions of gratitude and hope for a world gone right.

The result is a complex, nuanced, and balanced, emotional journey: the essence of great art.

April 11, 2006

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posted by Brian J. Kenny @ 4:16 AM   0 comments

Saturday, April 08, 2006

Revised Prologue From "Love at First Crush: Four Seasons as an Olive Oil Producer"

Prologue

The numeral 20 was clearly visible to the right of me. I was laying on the bed propped up on my side with my head facing the video monitor to the left of me, but I could still see it there hanging in the air in the farthest reaches of my peripheral vision. I tried to focus on it but it was no use, the medicine was too strong. Every time my heart beat my field of vision would shift slightly. My instinct told me it said 20 but as the cable moved, the numeral was moving out of my field of vision. It was moving toward me.

I was very high from the medicine, so much so I hardly noticed the blasts of air that were assaulting my interior every so often. I was wearing a wry smile and my lips were stuck to my teeth. I remembered a bumper sticker I once saw in the parking lot of a Grateful Dead concert in Oakland, California. The VW bus was so covered with rust and primer that it would be a miracle of the thing could actually drive. The Vermont license plate hinted at the miraculous as the Cheshire cat perched on the face of the bumper proclaimed “I Love Your Smile.”

I couldn’t stand the silence any more. “Doc,” I wearily intoned “does that cable say 20 on it?” The Doctor replied in the affirmative. “I can’t believe I let you put a camera twenty feet up my ass,” I stated with a very stoned chuckle, “you didn’t even take me out to dinner. Don’t tell any of the other boys, they’ll think I’m easy.” The Doctor muttered something and a mysterious gloved hand appeared, sliding a syringe into my IV cable. “”Light’s out, Brian,” the Doctor said. Lights out indeed.

I have the faintest recollection of the remainder of the procedure. Mostly, I remember watching the camera traverse the deepest recesses of my person. I know that I asked the staff if they could give me a DVD of the big show, although I don’t remember if they replied. I also remember dropping some heavy philosophical banter on them as well. “what do you think Abe Lincoln looked like on the inside,” I enquired at one point, “does my colon look presidential?” I also remember spotting Jimmy Hoffa a few times. However, the most prescient thing I remember uttering was the simple question, “how the fuck did I get here?” One of the nurses responded that I had driven myself there. “I guess I’ll have to take my magic carpet home,” I replied.

My Dad was there for the post-procedure debriefing. Dear old Dad, such a reassuring presence for a kid, such a keen mind, such good principles, such an excellent friend for an adult. “Now John,” Dr. Reddy stated, “Brian is not going to remember any of this so you are going to have a talk with him when he comes back around. The good news is we only found a few polyps so there does not appear to be any cancer in his colon. We should have the biopsy results in a few days, but he appears to be in fine health other than the massive inflammation. All of the troubles of the past few months appear to be stress related; your son needs to change his life before this problem gets really serious.”

“Doc, I’ll make sure he gets the message,” my Dad responded, “how serious of a problem is this?”
“Well, let me put it this way, I have observed your son at work and I have seen how quickly this problem has progressed. He needs to take care of himself and he is in such a mindset now that he can’t go half-speed. He needs to step off the treadmill and get his health in order.”
“Would it be accurate to say that he needs to do this as soon as possible?”
“John, he needs to do it now.”

My Dad drove me home. “Well,” I started, “I guess I have my work cut out for me.”
“Yeah,” Dad stated gravely, “you need to figure out what you are going to do to get yourself back on track. The Doctor said that you are on a crash course with heart disease or a stroke and the inflammation is just an early indicator of this.”
“Shit,” I muttered, “I don’t really remember that part. I am still pretty spun from whatever medicine they gave me.”
“Well, take it easy today. We can talk about it tomorrow, there is a bunch of stuff I need to tell you,” he said as we pulled into my driveway, “You just need to rest today.”

Dad, helped me into the house and onto the couch. He put a movie on the TV and I spent the rest of the morning tripping out to Bob Dylan’s “Masked and Anonymous.” As I pondered the movie, I thought about how I got to the point in my life where I needed my first colonoscopy at 31. What events or factors conspired to give me my first cancer scare at this young age? My first instinct was to wait until I could get back to the farm to figure it all out.

The farm had taken on an almost mystical proportion in my psyche. It represented then agrarian childhood that I never really had. It represented the flower of my untapped potential and it served as the justification for my most intense self-exploratory experiences. It was the heart of darkness and the Garden of Eden, the alpha and the omega, the center of the world, and one of its most isolated, unknown outposts. You can take the boy out of the farm, but you can’t take the farm out of the boy.

I was once asked by a reporter what question I was asked the most regarding our product, Pacific Sun Olive Oil. “Where the hell is Gerber,” I wryly replied. Indeed, the farm was located in Gerber, Ca., two and one half hours north of Sacramento, on Interstate 5. Nestled at the end of the grand, Central Valley, it was in the heart of everything in the middle of nowhere. If you are going to come to the farm, more than likely, you will come by way of San Francisco.

From San Francisco International Airport, head north on Interstate 101 to Interstate 80. Head East on I-80, crossing the Bay Bridge, and head toward Berkeley. Follow I-80 past Emeryville and its magnificent Ikea, home of $1.50 breakfasts, Swedish Meatballs, and furniture made from materials that are more akin to papyrus than they are wood. As you drive past Berkeley heading north look to the right for the Campanile at UC Berkeley and savor its view.

Follow 80 past Golden Gate Fields to 505. Follow 505 to I-5 and head north toward Mt. Shasta. Be careful to negotiate the College City turn correctly lest you breathe your last breath at Arbuckle. You are now in the heart of the magnificent, fertile upper Sacramento Valley. Notice the vast breadth of the valley. If you can time your trip right, try to catch either the sunrise or the sunset as you make your anabasis as this is truly one of the most powerful sensory experiences to which you can be privy in this region.

Follow I-5 north past Grimes, Williams, Willows, Artois, which I have always mythologized as the Frankish center of the north state complete with its miniature Eiffel Tower, Orland, and Corning, the self-proclaimed “Olive Capital Of The World.” Take the Gyle Road exit and head east toward Tehama taking a right on Truckee Ave. Follow Truckee avenue until it doglegs to the right.

You are now on Gerber Road. You will pass some young walnuts on the left, which were planted by my friend and former colleague Brendon Flynn, followed by older prunes which were planted by his father Vince. The house on the right with all of the floppy-eared, boer goats, which fetch prices exceeding $150/head and are often served at banquets, weddings and quinceniaras, is owned by Pomposo Vasquez, I worked with him too. Keep your eyes open for a sign on the left that reads “Pacific Farms and Orchards” and turn left into that driveway. You are there.

Take a look around you. If you stay here long enough, you will experience a level of beauty that may often shock you. You will see fantastic and puzzling signs leading to points unknown. Once, while driving down Truckee Ave., I saw a hawk scoop up a rattlesnake from a ditch by the side of the road. I was still shaking my head in disbelief of this omen when I witnessed another hawk snatch another snake from a ditch on the other side of the road. I laughed as I recalled that the Roman historian Livy had recorded that such a portent foretold of great victories to come. I was anxious to taste those victories.

If you ever find yourself here in the middle of the night, take a walk out into the middle of the orchards and look up at the stars. Also, take time to notice the deafening silence. Drive down the levies on the first sunny day after a storm and marvel at the saturation of the bright, blue sky and the crispness of the mountains on either side of the valley. Make sure to look north to the towering mass that is Mt. Shasta and east to Mt. Lassen and the remains of Mt. Tehama. Days like this are the reason why so many local streets and schools are named Shasta View and Lassen View.

If you stay up here long enough, and if you think like me, you will eventually feel wonder at the fact that such a wide-open area can feel so closed. You might feel breathless at times because the weight of the place seems to carry you down. You might feel shut out of the thought process or locked out of the inner sanctum. You may notice open doors that lead to open eyes leading to closed minds. Sometimes you might feel as though you are living at the end of the world. The fact that over a million cars a week drive right through the middle of it might make you feel lonely, or trapped. You may notice a profusion of bumper stickers that might threaten your sensibilities; the provocative confederate flag, the puzzling “Redneck and Proud,” the bellicose “You Can Take My Gun When You Pry It From My Cold Dead Fingers,” the innocuous “Git Er Done.” At times you might find it difficult to keep your mouth closed as your jaw drops to the floor. Just remember, never go to Walmart under the influence of illicit substances and never assume that everybody has a sense of humor and can take a little “good-natured” ribbing.

Please realize that these less savory facets of life are frequently endemic to rural America. Take time to meet the people. Get to know as many of them as possible. Talk to them. Engage with them. Become friends with them. They are beautiful people. They are the salt of the earth. Although they may not always see eye to eye with you, if you respect them, they will respect you. When you are in your hour of need, they will be there for you because this is what people do in a community. Perhaps they might also gossip and talk about each other behind their backs but when the deal comes down your chips, having fallen, lay scattered, pell-mell these are the people who will help you back up on your feet again. Rural America is all about community and this is one of its most beautiful facets.

As you make you way up the driveway at the farm, the first shop building that you will see houses the Olive Oil mill. The project that Brendon and I started, Pacific Sun Olive Oil, was responsible for this building. In a very real sense, Brendon and I built this building. Although the farm paid for it, and other people constructed it, we built the entity that justified the capital investment in the building and the equipment that it houses. We helped pour the concrete foundation with many of the other men on the farm and we made oil in that building that won awards and was served in some of the finest restaurants in the country. Brendon had the idea and the two of us made it happen.
The two of us had a dream of making a product that could give people hope. We wanted people to know from where their food comes. We wanted to make food for them and tell them all about it. We wanted to make specialty food that was not exclusive or efete. We wanted them to know that they should pray for the men and women who worked in the fields before they ate the food that those men and women produced. We wanted our customers to spread the word about how food is produced and we wanted them to know that there are few absolutes in this world, that black and white are simple abstractions of the truth, which comes in shades of gray. This mill building that you see standing before you is proof not only of the fruition of our dream, but also of the Farm’s commitment it.

The second shop building that you see, the one with the American flag flying proudly before it, is the main office and shop building. This is the nerve center of the farm where all of the business decisions are finalized and where all of the day-to-day work necessary to manage a diversified agricultural operation happens.

In four short years, Brendon and I went from writing a business plan to sell California Extra Virgin Olive Oil, to making olive oil for some of the more influential players in the California market and for some of the most esteemed chefs in the country. We worked hard, we worked fast, and we cared deeply about the work. For better or worse, my work at the farm became the focus of my life for those years. It was my crusade; complete with its own set of victories, pyrrhic and otherwise, its own failures, and its own losses. Many of the defining moments of my life happened during my tenure at Pacific Farms and Pacific Sun.

Do I miss the farm? Absolutely. Do I miss the responsibilities of raising a crop and turning it into a world-class, artisinal project? Indeed. What do I miss most about that life? Other than the people with whom I was fortunate to work, I miss the fact that every moment spent on the farm seemed to count. Every decision seemed to have some immediacy to it. Every task seemed fundamental.

People often consider the farmer’s life to be slow and methodical. My experience was the opposite, fast and improvised. I never studied agriculture in school but I made a concerted effort to be a student every day I spent on the farm. I was a manager, so I took it upon myself to learn how to drive as much of the equipment as possible and to understand how everything worked. I wanted to understand it all on a theoretical level in case I ever needed to understand it in a practical manner.

Although I was titled “Sales and Marketing Manager” I felt that the best way to sell a product was to make it and to know everything about it. Since I never knew what was going to be the most important thing to know or say or do in the sales and marketing part of my job, I chose to master the production part of my job in order that I would never be in want of an answer. I did my work on the farm and I followed the signs in the marketplace.

Brendon often said that I moved with my eyes open, playing the field like a child plays the “WACK-A-MOLE” at Chuck E. Cheese’s; push the buttons, see what pops up, try to hit it, never over-commit to one place, watch out of the corner of your eyes, and pounce as soon as the mole starts to emerge toward the fluorescent lights and the neon glow. I always enjoyed that description and I strove to turn improvisation into a workable business methodology.

“I’ll play it and tell you what it is later.” This Miles Davis quote sums up one of my primary business philosophies aptly. I don’t want to sit down and craft an elaborate plan of action from a position of ignorance. I prefer to immerse myself totally in a project, come to grips with it from the inside, and determine my course of action looking at the world through my subject’s eyes. Likewise, I don’t want to follow someone else’s path directly. I would prefer to extract the kernels of wisdom from others, keeping them in mind when I plot my course of action. In the words of Mr. Davis again, “Don’t play what’s there, play what’s not there.”

I can think of only two farmers who would accept these philosophies as the basis of a business plan and I thank Jane and Brendon for taking the lead of faith with me. When the news was grim or when the path was no longer visible and I was standing waist high in weeds, Brendon and Jane trusted me to find another path. They were available to help if I needed them but they willingly gave me the space and time that I needed to find a new direction.

When harvest time would come, the immediacy would become chronic. I often felt like I was riding on a train on one set of tracks with the window open and a football clutched in the hand of my cocked throwing arm, waiting for the train to pass on the opposite side of the tracks. When the train would start to pass I would have to find the open window and throw the football through it. If the ball should make it through the window, I might be able to win Gold Medals, accolades, press coverage, respect and bragging rights. If it were to bounce out or miss the mark entirely, I would get to think about it until the next harvest, which would be one year away, and would have to listen as people told me that my silver medals meant that my product was inferior to the gold medal ones.

However, none of that really mattered while it was all happening. The palpable chill of the dense late-fall, winter, and early-spring air and the attempts to fend it off with Winchell’s coffee while watching the sunrise over the valley provided one half of the bookends that encased the frenetic process of harvesting and milling fresh olives. The glorious sunsets, with their red, orange, yellow, and white overtones spilling over the Yolla Bolly mountains and swirling into the cobalt blue sky provided the other half and encapsulated the arduous days in a sort of cosmic wonder that made the next day’s work much less of a daunting chore and sometimes, a welcome treat.

The dust, sweat, and exhaustion of harvesting the olives was coupled with the pleasant tedium of operating a forklift to load and unload them and driving a truck and a trailer to haul them over rough, scenic, country back roads. There was mariachi music on the radio to dull the ever-present fear of a blowout, a tie-down malfunction, or some other kind of logistical calamity. There were impromptu labor disputes that had to be negotiated in broken Spanish in the fading light of day. Sometimes knives would have to be sheathed with the assistance of a case of frosty Bud Ice, hastily purchased from a nearby convenience store. Trucks would occasionally have to be extracted from the vacuum, red-clay mud by broken shovels or tractors, and those tractors would occasionally get stuck as well, creating a chain of misfortune that could only be broken by a bigger tractor, or an even bigger truck.

All the while, the real work, that of extracting the green or golden oil from the fresh olives was yet to be done. There were an infinite combination of olive varieties, degrees of ripeness, methods of irrigation, and philosophies of optimal extraction with which to contend. Custom milling customers had strong, sometimes mystical beliefs of how their oil should be made. Mill engineers had the desire to exceed the customer’s expectations, and managers had to watch the bottom line and keep the process moving forward in the best manner possible. Frequently, the sunrise and the sunset simply marked transition points in the day rather than acting as hemeral bookends. Mornings frequently began when late-night carousers were finally finding their sleep and days frequently ended where they began. There were over-deliveries when twelve tons of olives arrived instead of six and under-deliveries when there were no olives or the olives were rotten or otherwise irreparably damaged and unfit for milling. The goal was always to mill the olives as soon as possible after harvest in order to produce the finest oil possible and to keep the mill running as long as possible, since stopping the mill meant cleaning the mill, and cleaning the mill was serious and messy work.

Through it all, the flavor of the olive oil is what ruled the day. The flavor was all that mattered and many nights and mornings, many hours of sleep, and many moments of leisure were sacrificed to make the best tasting olive oil possible.

Frequently, we shipped oil directly from the final stage in the milling process to chefs around the country. This was what made all of the effort worthwhile. This was the grand payoff. Instant Karma. Once you have tasted olive oil that is less than 20 seconds old made from olives that you have picked with your own hands, nothing tastes the same again. It is “Love at First Crush” and it can change you worldview and your purpose in life. At least that is what it did for me.

There is a strange sort of energy that comes from utter exhaustion. It propels you past mental barriers. You know that you can get to some new plateau but you think that you are too tired to do it until you realize that you are already more tired that you thought imaginable, so why not push it a bit farther? Logic is warped by the thought of having your current level of exhaustion and the progress that you have made wiped away by your inability to push the thing over the edge to where it needs to be. You feel like Sisyphus and your desire to break the curse overpowers your desire to call it a day.

This is what propelled me for four years. This is what pushed me through the initial salvo of slings and arrows launched by callous grocery buyers and the incredulous distributors I had to convince to push me past those same callous buyers. Trips were made in the wee, small hours of the night to make early-morning meetings with potentially-willing buyers who decided to take the day off instead. Many times I stood, bleary-eyed, with the BBC cricket highlights still buzzing in my ears, suppressing my anger and politely grasping for the life-line that would allow me to keep my head above the waters of crippling self-doubt long enough to find the exit that might save my trip from being an utter failure.

Sometimes it would mean staying over-night in order to catch the unsuspecting buyer unaware as they entered the building the next morning. Other times it would mean mustering the courage to traverse the stairs leading to the inner-sanctum of the store’s management offices in order to find an assistant manager or some store team-leader with whom I could attempt to strike a chord. I would go to virtually any length to keep the trip from becoming a failure. This was not the stuff of a salaried sales manager, this was the stuff of a true believer.

I quickly graduated from being intimidated by the sales process to endeavoring to persevere in spite of it. I learned that the miserable people in this world are miserable because they need love and they need friends. The power-mongering, condescending tyrants are self-conscious and terrified that someone might find them out and expose the fact that they know that they aren’t nearly as good as the want everybody to think they are. Everybody has their own defense mechanisms and their own way of expressing that transcendent sentiment; “Don’t Tread On Me.”

Over time, I realized that it was easier for me to be kind to the miserable strangers to whom my industry forced to grapple than it was to be giving and conciliatory to the people who really mattered in my life simply because the stakes of operating with miserable strangers were so low. However, I thank the industry for teaching me these lessons, I thank my family and my friends for dealing with my proclivities, and I blame no one for my own shortcomings.

There is a lot of my blood spilled on I-5 between Redding and the San Francisco Bay Area but it never necessitated a transfusion. It simply drove me harder and, in the words of Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters, ”Furthur” out of a fear that stopping would indicate failure and a pathological belief that failure was not an option.

Bob Dylan once said “There’s no success like failure/and failure’s no success at all.” I will leave the curious to search Dylan’s work for the origin of the quote. After all, this is not a scholarly work so there will be no footnotes. Besides, everybody can learn something from Dylan, this is the essence of his greatness. I pondered this line interminably until life taught me that success leaves one with two choices; to either maintain the same level of success or to enjoy the slump.

Our culture loves to tear down success stories. Once someone wins something allegations of cheating, theft, or blind luck are soon to follow. The winner will be scrutinized and every move that they make will be recorded by those folks who want to debunk the myth of their excellence. I believe that this is a result of the fact that the forces of commerce and marketing have made most people afraid to take the risk of believing in themselves. All the while, the same apparati foster the belief that our untapped brilliance is only one product away from manifestation. The machine wants us to believe that we are stuck in an infinite loop of futility but that we can break the cycle, we can “Just Do It” if we buy the right show, smoke the right smoke, wear the right scent, or marry the perfect trophy.

This manufactured frustration causes us to both revere and despise our heroes in equal measures. We believe that our heroes are human, after all, they put their pants on one leg at a time just like us don’t they? Therefore, we must all have that potential inside us. So we revere the hero for tapping into that potential. However, since they have tapped into their potential and we have not, we feel diminished by their successes. Thus, we strive to expose their weaknesses. Surely they must have cheated or used some sort of trick to find their success. The cycle is stark: exposure, fame, idolatry, overexposure, attack.

If you ever find yourself in the fortunate position of enjoying the first pangs of fame and notoriety only to resent them later, take heart as you are in esteemed company. This story is meant to illustrate the fact that failures can lead to successes and successes can lead to logical ends. Paths always have a beginning and an end. Zeno postulated that you can never actually get anywhere because you are always getting half-way there. I like to think that, although end points sometimes show themselves when we are not ready to receive them, they always mark the beginning of something new.

Turning again to Bob Dylan: “He not busy being born is busy dying.”
3/27//06 Old Shasta, Ca.

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posted by Brian J. Kenny @ 5:04 PM   0 comments