I don’t need politicians to convince me that every December 31st is a euphemistic cliff requiring important changes in behavior and expectation. Isn’t that what New Year’s resolutions are all about?
And like changes in the tax code, personal resolutions will have varied results, few of them as perilous as falling off a real cliff. Maybe these are slippery slopes, eroding shorelines, collapsing bluffs. In the wake of the hurricane that proved how much of a difference it makes to take warnings seriously, aren’t we all somewhat more alert to making changes that, however inconvenient, may save us later?
In my own resolutions, I find themes that appear every year. Along with my promise to exercise more and kvetch less is my resolve to buy locally produced food and wine as much as possible. The tremendous gratitude I feel for living in this beautiful place on the East End comes with a sense of obligation to support and sustain the farmers, vintners and fishermen whose extraordinary work maintains its rural character.
Dining at home, it’s much easier to be a locavore than when eating in restaurants, but I do try to find food and wine sourced locally when I eat out. If I travel, I want to support the farms and fisheries of the places I visit, too. Why go to South Carolina and eat frozen Peruvian shrimp? Or go to Bolzano and drink Bordeaux?
I know that restaurants like to offer exotic foods, and they can get almost anything in any season. Price and convenience drive most menus more than any dedication to regional agriculture. Yet it does irk me when I go to a restaurant and find a complete disconnect between its menu and its location.
This is especially true of wine lists. Take, for example, at Sarabeth’s on Central Park South, a successful restaurant in Manhattan popular with tourists and Ladies Who Lunch (including me). This place serves huge portions of nice (if not inventive) fresh food. It does feature eggs from a specific farm in Pennsylvania, so the managers are not oblivious to the call for regional cuisine. But the wine list? A pathetic recital of “international” choices, with not one New York wine.
I drank tea there. Harrumph.
At Oceana, a Michelin Guide-starred restaurant also in midtown Manhattan, the menu is more source-specific, and the Peconic Bay scallops I found there satisfied my desire to go local. Still, the wine list, with more than 950 selections spanning more than 130 regions of the world, offered only one Long Island wine: the Lieb Family Cellars, Pinot Blanc Brut, 2008. Now that is a delicious choice, but how hard would it be for them to feature a few other stellar LI wines?
Couldn’t they just bump, say, one of two Du Mol Chardonnays from California, or one of three Argyle Oregon fizzies? Or that Pigato from Liguria?
So, while thinking about this locavore issue, I became obsessed with one item on the Oceana menu: Fresh Florida Frog Leg Lollipops. Why did the chef specify “Florida?” Are all the northeastern frogs hibernating? Does it make customers feel good to know they’re eating lively tropical frogs? Wouldn’t a French frog be better?
Curious, I investigated the matter and discovered that Fellsmere, Florida, is America’s “frog leg capital.” They even have an annual Frog Leg Festival. Its logo is a lipsticked frog and its motto is “Kiss my frog.”
This year’s festival runs through the weekend of January 17, with Little Debbie singing “God Bless America” on stage and a fly-over by Velocity Aircraft. The next day’s highlights include: “Professional Bull Rider’s proper techniques and tip’s (sic) on riding a mechanical Bull” and a “Butterfly catching contest ... cash prize paid.” Then, there will be a “Human Adult Frog Hop Drag Race Style,” a “Bull Frog Bash Rodeo,” “Hip Hop Dance Team,” the “Sho Nuff Country band” and ongoing feasting on frog legs—$11 will get you a 1-pound plate of fried legs (no sides), or pay $14 for a complete meal of frog, hush puppies, grits, coleslaw and “gator tail.” Reliable Poly John is a sponsor, for good reason.
Are you thinking, as I am, of leaving this blessed island for a little vacation in Frog Country? I might not order Florida frog legs in Manhattan when I can get local Peconic Bay scallops, but it wouldn’t break my locavore resolution to eat frog legs right there in Fellsmere.
The only catch: there’s no local wine in Fellsmere.
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