San Francisco has a long and storied history of chocolate makers, dating back to the mid 1800s with the founding of both Ghirardelli and Guittard. And while there's no dearth of artisanal chocolatiers in town - all of whom purchase couverture for their creations - both pioneers have since moved their fabrication plants elsewhere, leaving just one chocolate maker in the city. And it's probably not who you think.

TCHO Chocolate, which launched in 2005, merges the Bay's love of Sweets with its love of Tech. We trekked out to Pier 17 in late January to check out their "Pod to Palate" process.

All chocolate comes from Theobroma cacao, an evergreen that grows only in equatorial countries, with the largest amounts coming from West Africa and Indonesia. Briefly, chocolate is produced from the nib, which must be culled from a seed within a pod growing from the trunk of the tree. Pods are split, the seeds left to ferment naturally, then dried, before being roasted and the nibs taken out to be ground and processed. TCHO monitors and generally completes the preliminary processing in country, sending the cocoa mass to SF for further refining and to be made into bars. Roasting in the country of origin allows for a more efficient shipping of product and creates further financial opportunities for these farm communities.

TCHO's commitment to farmers goes beyond merely purchasing beans, and they have several programs in place to create a better livelihood for growers, as well as produce higher quality cacao. Some of the beans purchased are Fair Trade certified, but TCHO also works in areas where no certifying body exists or the farms are of a scale outside those co-ops. In these instances, TCHO not only works in direct trade with the farmers, but creates infrastructure - such as upgrading the fermenting areas for greater efficiency - as well as installing technology that allows the growers to better understand their processes and how these affect flavor. Part of this technology also enables small scale production of finished chocolate - a treat most of these cacao farmers have never experienced!

Unlike other chocolate makers, TCHO chocolates are labeled by flavor profiles, rather than by percentage of cocoa or country of origin. The idea is to showcase the various inherent flavors in chocolate. Below are my tasting notes for the four available bars, as well as the couvertures for commercial use. You can visit their retail store on Pier 17 (no public tours just yet) or at www.tcho.com.

Tasting Notes:

Fruity 2.0
Perfumed and Roasty nose. Sweet fruit entry, round with a nutty finish. Organic and Fair Trade Peruvian beans.

Nutty 2.0
Sweet, Peanutty nose. Round on the palate, with sweet fruits and a long finish. A nice surprise. Organic and Fair Trade Ecuadorian beans.

Citrus
Bright, floral and orange nose. Fudgy and sweet in the mouth, slightly gritty texture. Organic beans from Madagascar.

Chocolaty
Fruity and Floral on the nose, rich and fudgy on the palate, with a citrus finish. My favorite, perhaps not as complex as others. Beans are from Ghana.

TCHOPro 68%
Fruity and nutty on the nose. Good snap. Citrussy attack on the palate with salt and coconut notes, and a light vanilla undertone. Finishes creamy. A blend of beans from Ghana and Ecuador. This is the couverture we are currently using at nopa, appearing both in our chocolate sorbet and in a ganache for macaroons.

TCHOPro 66%
Malty and Salty nose with Sour Cherry notes. Firm snap. Bright but low and winey fruit notes in the mouth with some salt. Short finish. A Fair Trade and Organic blend of beans from Peru and Ecuador.

TCHOPro 60.5%
Roasty and Malty nose with some Creaminess. Nutty and Malty on the palate with a sweet cherry finish.

Food is the altar of humanity. No matter the race or creed, nationality or history, there is no human society that has not centered itself around the table. Necessity aside - we have always viewed food as our gathering point. Since the beginning of our kind, food has been a symbol of the ties that bind families, a sign of the culturally enriched and a signifier of wealth; it has inspired wars and inflamed the imagination. Today, food is finding its niche in the grassroots movement, and nowhere in the western world is this more apparent than in San Francisco. Don't fool yourself thinking that dining out is merely a means of satisfying your hedonistic desires (or masochistic, depending on which establishments you patronize). You're fighting a war here. Ok, that might be more drama than you'd like to introduce into your digestive system, but there's a point to be made. Every dollar you spend on food can either go to directly support a local family, healthy ecosystems and crop diversity, or it can go to support a corporate farm, the degradation of our soil and water systems, and the reinforcement of monoculture crops. Of course, it's not always so cut and dry, but it's something to consider.

The eco movement has brought on a big push for organic edibles. The demand is rising and the market is responding. This is fantastic, but the mainstreaming of organics also has its pitfalls. One tends to think organic=good, non-organic=not-so-good. Unfortunately, it's not that simple. There are dozens of other factors to consider. What's the carbon footprint of that organic orange? How fresh is it? Are the practices of the corporation that owns those fields ethical? Does their profit benefit the local economy? Which should we support: the local, family farm that is not certified organic, or the corporate farm with an organic line that grows and ships its produce in from abroad? There are farms that use sustainable practices but can't get official organic certification due to high costs, or the fact that the farm bordering their fields uses pesticides. One can get bogged down with these questions, and in places where the options are few, it might be best to simply reach for the organic label.

In the Bay Area, however, we have been blessed not just with diversity and quality, but with endless opportunities to educate ourselves on the topic. In light of this, I decided to follow Diane Goodman - nopa's "Grandmother" and a leader in the sustainable food movement - to the farmer's market to find out just how, with all the choices out there, nopa decides which farms to buy from. The answer lies somewhere in the middle of crop location, seasonality, decades of farmer-buyer history, organic practices, and of course, quality. Watch the video below to see the nopa process of product selection, and to get a sense of our farm-to-restaurant relationships.

Video link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bjKHz0Pt-bE

NOTE: This video sadly became a memorial piece to Diane Goodman, who passed away a year ago, shortly after the footage was taken. For all the love and passion she put into her life and work, she is an endless source of inspiration.

With the rebirth of farmer's markets and the spread of the local food movement, an appreciation for the farmer's time and toil has sprouted in the consumer consciousness. Thank God for that, and long overdue, I say, but there is one element of the agricultural equation that continues to go unappreciated: the harvester. Having landed in the Languedoc-Roussillon several months ago sans langue locale (i.e., sans job opportunity), and finding myself in the hands of a handsome French olive farmer, I had the rare opportunity (or obligation) to explore the life of an olive harvester first hand.

The 600+ trees that Rémi Eugene cares for are spread out over 4 neighboring locations in the South West corner of France. The harvest begins in early September and goes through October or November. The olives - mainly Lucques and a few Picholines - are picked and sold to the local olive cooperative, L'Oulibo. This year the co-op wasn't buying black olives, so it was important to pick quickly before they'd fully matured.

The day is long and begins before dawn. We wake at 6, shovel breakfast into our groggy mouths, down a mug of coffee, and step out into the dark morning. We drive out to the olive orchards (the other harvesters and I crammed into the back of the Citroën wagon amongst dozens of crates), park between the trees, strap on our green buckets and commence the picking. Each person takes a row of trees and we move along quietly - nothing but the snap of the fruit from its branch and the satisfying plunk in the bucket. The sun is rising; warm hues spread through the chill fields and the birds begin their morning fuss.

We pick from 7:30 until Noon, when we stop for a half-hour lunch break, and then it's on again ‘til 5. It's nine hours of nearly straight picking, and for a girl that's just come off four months vacation, it's not a joke. The mornings are peaceful and I'm still feeling strong by lunchtime. It's the afternoons that are rough. Once the sun is beating down in full strength, you begin to notice your discomfort. The olive branch, the international symbol of peace, becomes a vicious aggressor. It slaps you across the face as you pluck its precious gems. It plunges its leaves, long and slender, in your ears, your eyeballs, and up your nostrils (I actually had a nose bleed from this the first day). But that's just the physical strain. After the first four hours of staring at olives, my mind is twitching. I begin to forget what it is I'm picking. I start to mistake the olives for cashews, then limes, then chili peppers. Maybe they're tiny apples or Muscat grapes. After 7 hours I'm seeing hundreds of little Banana Peppers dangling all around my head. I think I'm losing it. By five pm, I've picked 250 lbs. My neck is aching from looking upward all day, my shoulders ache from the weight of the bucket, my arms ache from reaching and pulling on branches, my eyes are bloodshot from squinting in the sun, my back is killing me, and my mind is f---ed from the sight of olives, olives, olives. We return home with just enough time and energy to shower, eat, and pass out. I close my eyes and see nothing but olives swaying in the wind. I'm thinking, "How the hell am I going to keep this up for 4 more weeks??"

Having no other foreseeable job options, I suck it up. My body accepts the ache and pain before my mind does. For me (and I would imagine it's the same for most Americans, trained to be perpetually stimulated by flashy images, constantly entertained by external action) it is the monotony - of both action and vision - that is the most difficult to accept. I think of the thousands of migrant pickers in the States, and how they do this, not for 1 or 2 months, but year round - and without the romantic surroundings of ancient villages and small family farms, but on enormous tracks of industrial land. I think of all those who protest illegal immigrants, yet enjoy the fruits of their labor, and I fail to imagine the same number of Americans lining up for such repetitive, under-valued, physically-exhausting jobs year after year. I think of all the fruits and legumes I've consumed over my lifetime without the slightest thought of the men and women who have sweated and toiled for my vegetal enjoyment, earning just enough money to feed their families. I remember the conversation I had with someone in the States. When I told him I had a job picking olives for the season, he asked, "Why don't you use your college education and get a real job?" Thinking back on it, I realize I've been given a whole new appreciation for the food that nourishes my body each and every day, and for those who work to produce it, and I wonder: what could be more real than that?

California, with its moderate climate and abundant agricultural land, has always been on the leading edge of the locally grown, sustainably-farmed produce movement, but could New York take the lead? With the right funding, it's very possible.

NYC has more experience with the vertical life than any other city in the nation, so why not start farming that way too? Although in its infancy, Vertical Farming is a captivating idea. Many stories high and chock full of organic plant life, enough produce to feed 50,000 people could be contained in the space of one square block. Indoor farming doesn't require protection from the elements, making sprays unnecessary and year-round crop production possible. It provides jobs on top of quality organic food and takes the pressure off of existing farmers to feed the growing masses - an impossible task, since by 2050, we will need new farmland the size Brazil to accommodate the additional 3 billion people on the planet. Most of the existing farmland on the planet has been so despoiled that it needs to be restored, and Vertical Farming would give it the reparation time that it so desperately needs. The air would be a lot cleaner as well, without chemical fertilizers and transportation burning fossil fuels. So if farming horizontally has run its course, then it's time to go Vertical.

New York chefs might soon get the advantage in their kitchens that we've been so lucky to have for so long, but we'll accept the leveled playing field in the spirit of (very) local, sustainably grown, delicious food.

"A dinner which ends without cheese is like a beautiful woman with only one eye."

Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin

"S'il qui mange du fromage, s'il ne le fait, il enrage." (He who does not eat cheese will go mad.)

French proverb

In a previous occupation, I was a cheese monger, so no doubt this post will seem biased, but I wanted to say a few words about cheese rinds. Full disclosure: I am an unrepentant rind eater, and it pains me to see, night after night, the tasty, salty rinds go uneaten and returned, destined for our compost bin. Fresh cheeses, like the Farmer's and Ricotta Cheeses we make in-house, rely simply on the freshness of the milk, some acid (where commercial dairies would add a starter culture) and salt for flavor. Most other cheeses will have some sort of rind, which is generated during the curing and ageing process. These may take many different forms, depending on the cheese, and nearly all are edible. The few exceptions I make are for Parmesan (save ‘em for flavoring stocks) and other super-aged cheeses like gouda, and well as those coated with wax. All others should be fair game. The rinds are a deliberate part of the process, and are created primarily with the intent of ripening and preserving the cheese, while flavoring it secondarily.

We are introducing a couple cheeses from the relatively new Bohemian Creamery this week - simply beautiful handmade cheeses from Bodega Bay, striking interpretations of classic styles, with natural, sometimes craggy, rinds. I'd hate to see them in the compost.

Here are a few of the rinds you might find on our cheese plate:

-The bloomy rind of a soft-ripened cheese. Usually this rind is created with the fuzzy white molds Penicillium Candidum and P. Camemberti (yes, from the same family that gave us the antibiotic), added either to the milk or sprayed on the cheese after it is drained and formed. Other cultures, such as Geotrichum Candidum, may be added to deepen the flavors. All told, these cultures serve to soften the paste of the cheese from the outside in - often to the point of ooziness - while the Penicillia break down the proteins, contributing aromas reminiscent of truffles, garlic and mushrooms. These cheeses tend to be relatively heavily salted as well, as they are not relatively long-aged. All bries fall into this category, as well as the richer triple-crèmes, including one named for the aforementioned author of "The Physiology of Taste." Closer to home, you'll find cheeses by Andante Dairy and Goat's Leap in this category.

-The ruddy outside of washed rind cheeses. Like soft-ripened cheeses, washed rinds are made from the outside in. Here though, the primary culprit is Brevibacterium Linens, which is responsible for the color, texture and um, aroma of the rind. This is a very wide ranging category, running from mildly oniony in smell with a dry, grainy rind to a sticky, stinky, deeply colored rind. The character is dictated largely by the liquid used to bathe the rind: wine, marc or other distillates, beer or simply brine are the most common. Cowgirl Creamery's Red Hawk is a perfect example of this style, as is the Bo Poisse from Bohemian.

-The earthiness of natural rind cheeses. Another far-ranging style, mostly applied to semi-soft to firm cheeses which ripen from the inside out. Here, the ripening enzymes work anaerobically, having been added to the milk or curds at the outset. Under this broad definition, you'll find cheeses as divergent as Parmesan, Roquefort, and fine Cheddars. A couple of our local favorites would be Bellwether Farms' San Andreas and Matos Cheese Factory's St. George.

Ever wonder what tales your broccoli has to tell? Who planted the seed, watered the field, and picked the produce? Did it travel thousands of miles to land on your table? Does that green-bosomed vegetable have more stamps in its passport than you? At nopa, we prefer our food to be less worldly than our guests. That being said, the stories found in our soup bowls are likely to be richer than most.

My latest source of agricultural inspiration is Maria Catalán. It's impressive enough that she's the first Latina to own and operate an organic farm in California, but it's the story of her journey that's truly inspiring.

I pulled onto the Catalán homestead one sunny afternoon, right around mid-squash season. Maria greeted me briefly and had her son, Juan, show me around the farm. We wandered our way through the rows of tomatillos and the over-abundant peppers - Juan carrying a box he filled with reds, oranges, yellows and greens, and myself juggling various electronic recording devices, feeling like a battery-operated city slicker. Our talk wound around farming techniques and organics, interspersed with bits of family history. Farming is in the Cataláns' blood. Maria grew up in Guerrero, Mexico, where her grandfather grew cotton, melons, and other foods to feed the family. These small, family farms in Mexico don't use pesticides, as the farmers lack both the funds and the knowledge for chemical use. So, organics are part of Maria's heritage, but back home it's not called organic; it's just called farming.

In 1988 Maria made the move to California, her four kids in tow. They began as many immigrants do: picking for existing farms. It was by chance that she made her way into (California-style) organics, starting with a course given through ALBA (the Agriculture and Land-Based Training Association) in Salinas. From here she went on to lease, and finally own, her own land.

I have to wonder where Maria mustered the will to pack up her family, move to a foreign country with a foreign language, and work her way up the agricultural ladder - from picking, to owning and operating. Where does a single woman find the energy to raise four kids, work the fields, and run the dubious business of a small-scale farm? That would be more than enough for most, but it still doesn't quite cut it for Maria. While over-seeing the daily logistics of the family farm - what to plant, when to pick, what markets to hit, etc - she's also starting up a non-profit to assist immigrant farmers. Her Pequeños Agricultores en California (PAC) assists immigrant farmers in acquiring organic certification. Having been through the process herself, Maria knows the difficulties Latino immigrants face in getting established. She realized just how many small farms aren't registered due to language difficulties in the legal processes. Not registered with the agricultural commission = not counted in the census = not represented in the farming community. Her first step was to hold a conference and invite these farmers to fill out a census. From there she began helping them with all the other details, from applying for grants and loans, to gathering the necessary paperwork for CCOF (California Certified Organic Farmers) and owning their own land. Eventually, she plans to open a commercial community kitchen to farmers who can bring in the produce they don't manage to sell, and manufacture salsas and other packaged food items. The sale of these would go towards funding her non-profit.

In addition, Maria is involved in various education programs. She's spoken at events across the country about small-scale farming, and received recognition from the Department of Agriculture for her transformative outreach efforts. On a local level, Catalán Farms invites high school and college students to visit and learn about organic farming. They even have eighth graders camp out for a week at a time and work the land.

Coming from the land of chain restaurants, pre-packaged foods, and corporate everything (ie, the Midwest), I find there is a particular delight in digging up the intimate stories lying beneath the soil of family farms. There is toil, hope, persistence, and victory all woven into the tapestry of our edible world. In people like Maria Catalán, who use so simple and ancient an action as farming to create and sustain, there is a source of great inspiration. Indeed, it's not just the freshness and purity that gives local food its quality, but this connection of human-to-soil-to-human.

You can visit Catalán family and their produce stand at the San Francisco Ferry Plaza and Berkeley Farmer's Markets year round, and browse over their seasonal selection of tomatillos, tomatoes, chilies, kale, chard, squash, broccoli, onions, etc. Tell Maria I said thanks for the inspiration.

For more phtos, click here.

The tomato.

What other ingredient, in the kingdom of the soup and the sandwich, could lay claim to the crown? Americans might be split over ham or turkey, swiss or cheddar, wheat or white, but the tomato they agree on - it's a necessary component of our daily lunching lives. How much more American can you get than a BLT? Just what would Andy Warhol be without Campbell's tomato soup? And who would dream of asking Joe the Plumber to give up his inalienable rights to ketchup? Carnivore or vegan, Republican or Democrat, the tomato is the bipartisan fregetable, the clear winner in the produce polls.

Given the unanimous support it receives, you can imagine the awkwardness I felt at telling the gentleman at my table that, in fact, no - he could not have tomato on his burger. The look of surprise on the man's face would have been no greater had I withheld the cream from his coffee. The shocked expression turned into a chuckle over the course of the evening when I also refused him pineapple juice for his cocktail and Patron for his shooter. ("What the hell kind of joint is this??" was the unspoken question of the night.)

The fact is, tomatoes, like most fruits and vegetables, have a season. We've grown accustomed to having whatever we want, whenever we want it - a fabulous luxury that outshines its own environmental and social costs. As nopa strives to use local, seasonal, organic ingredients, there are staples that simply aren't available at certain times of the year. The upside? Man, do we get excited when we see tomatoes back on the menu! What is taken for granted in most restaurants - due to its omnipresence - becomes nopa's ambrosia. This is especially true when those tomatoes are the Early Girls of Dirty Girl Produce.

I first tasted these Early Girls at a Complete the Circle lunch (a monthly event for nopa's staff where we sit down for a meal with our farmers and winemakers): tomato granita, and a smokey, chilled tomato soup...oh, dear God! Heaven in my mouth! I have always lamented the downfall of the fruit (vegetable?) in our industrialized world, but never had I dreamt that tomatoes could be so exciting. That night I awoke just before dawn fantasizing about those red little balls of bliss. Despite my aversion to spending my precious few hours in the kitchen, I later found myself experimenting with an Early Girl parfait: tomatoes layered with a basil and lemon yogurt. (Sadly, the result wasn't quite what I'd hoped for.)

Fortunately, I work with others of greater skill. Those of you familiar with nopa's tomato salad may wonder how it is that they taste so damn good! As it turns out, they owe their heart and soul to dry farming - an ancient technique used around the world, and responsible for supporting many of the great civilizations. Strictly speaking, it is farming without any irrigation. Today's farmers, however, are happy with a looser interpretation. Usually, seedlings are raised and watered in containers up to a certain height, then transplanted to wet soil, at which point, no water is added. The flavors of the fruit become concentrated, rather than watered down, as they would be with continuous irrigation.

Nopa finds the dry farmed tomatoes from Dirty Girl Produce to be particularly mouth-watering. Their business originally sprouted as Fan Tan Farms in 1995 under the guidance of Ali Edwards and Jane Freedman. The two were dubbed the "dirty girl farmers" - the inspiration for the current name. In '97, Joe Schirmer began working on the farm, and in '99 he purchased the farm and expanded it from 3 acres to 12. Now the farm is spread over about 20 acres in La Selva, Watsonville and Santa Cruz. Business runs year round. The fall's harvest of tomatoes pays the bills, while everything from leeks to cranberry beans fill in the cracks. The ideal soil and climate of the 2.5 acre site in Santa Cruz is what makes Dirty Girl's tomatoes the best of the bay. And although it's the last remaining parcel of cultivated land within the city limits, it's under threat of development.

I had a rudimentary understanding of dry farming, but I was dying to get down to Santa Cruz and see the plots in person. So one gorgeous Monday afternoon I hopped on my trusty steed (a motorcycle of the vintage breed) and rode down the coast to the land of "live-and-let-live". After a photographic fly-by in La Selva, where the farm's winter crops are grown (Tokyo Turnips, Cabbage and Carrots), I met with DG's manager, Stella, in Santa Cruz proper.

In the dusking of the western sun, I stepped onto the field. The rows were shrouded with a purple light; the red orbs dangling happily, proudly - like ornaments on a well-endowed Christmas tree. At the center grew a lone pear tree, its fruit holding fast to the black branches. The moon, rising fat and nearly full, hung solemnly overhead. As Stella batted at the stubborn pears, we talked about all the blessings of organic farming in bay area: the climate, the insatiable demand for organics, the youthful supply of "starry-eyed folk that want to farm" - blessings absent from most other farming communities in the world. Having seen the views from the farm in La Selva - with it's sloping fields aglow in the afternoon sun, the Pacific expanse opening up beyond, the strawberry pickers bent over quiet rows - I was not surprised to hear that there's no shortage of young, willing agriculturalists here. There is a silence and a simplicity that pervades these lands. In the absence of urban white noise, of clustered buildings and pavement, with the flavor of unadulterated early girls still sweet on my lips, I was reminded of what life really is.

Dirty Girl Produce
Organic Farm
Joe Schirmer
111 Rathburn Way
Santa Cruz, California 95062
http://dirtygirlproduce.com/

See website for Farmer's Market Schedule

Dennis scrapes through the first several inches of the four foot mound and pulls out a wood chip fringed with a fuzzy, white fungus. Here in the newest compost pile, the round, dry balls of horse dung roll softly down the heap, and the vegetal matter - scraps from previous crops - are clearly visible. We move to the oldest of the three compost mounds where he reaches in and pulls out a handful for me to smell. Mmmmm....the sweet snuff of rich, fertile soil.

And why, you wonder, should you have any interest in the smell of rotted vegetables and fecal matter?? Seems like the last thing you’d want to think about when you tuck into that tantalizing tagine at nopa. Ah, but friends, it is this pile of poo and its microbial cohorts that make all the difference in your dinner. It is the passion of Paradise Farms, and the lifeblood of their lettuces and legumes.

Organic farming is what Dennis Dierks has been doing ever since he and his wife Sandy bought their four acres as part of a 50-acre, six-family land trust in Bolinas in 1972. But the title “farmer” doesn’t quite do him justice. In fact, his focus isn’t even on the crops, but the soil from which they grow. “Take care of the soil and the plants will take care of themselves,” he says. For today’s conventional farmers soil care might mean ploughing it with giant machines, and infusing it with chemical fertilizers. That’s followed by pesticide sprays and wasteful irrigation systems. What you get is massive chemical run-off, severe soil degradation, and serious damage to the riparian ecosystem. Not to mention over-processed, tasteless produce. What you end up with as a farmer is chemical dependency, land that has been stripped of its ability to sustain itself, and vegetables that have given up flavor for cosmetic consistency. In contrast, Dennis makes it his business to study natural ecological processes and promote them on his farm.

“Local” is the big word these days in the food business, and it doesn’t get much more local than Paradise Valley Farm. Their compost and fertilizer ingredients come from within 5 miles of their farm (many organic farms purchase fish fertilizer from as far as Norway). Manure comes in from a neighboring farm in Olema. Added to this are the wastes from previous harvests, stinging nettles from the forests, and fish wastes and by-catch brought in by his son who works as a commercial fisherman out of the Bay Area. Then he throws in his special brew of fermented kelp, which is gathered from Bolinas Beach. All of this is mixed together and disked into the soil prior to planting.

The folks at PVF seem especially fond of fermentation: the apprentices who work and study on the land have jugs of homemade kombucha, plum wine, and pickles adorning the stoops of their Airstream trailers. This biochemical pathway, while beloved by the masses for giving us the icing on our social cake, has been overlooked in our culture for its nutritional benefits. Fermentation breaks down large chemical chains, making the nutrients more readily available - a sort of predigestion. Kelp itself provides a large amount of Vitamin B, which seedlings use to cope with the stress of transplantation (much like humans use it as a preventative for headaches).

Even more interesting than his kelp brew is his fungal soak. 99% of plant species form a symbiotic relationship with fungi that grow in or on their roots. These mycorrhizal fungi provide greater surface area to the plant’s root system, and thereby improve mineral and water absorption, in exchange for the carbohydrates produced from photosynthesis. At PVF, the fungi are collected from the surrounding forests by setting “traps” which promote their growth. With this, they make a solution to soak the roots of seedling crops before transplant, giving them a jump-start on competing weeds.

Walking around the farm with Dennis, I was struck by the similarities between his work and that of a naturopath: the analogy of organic vs. industrial farming and holistic vs. western medicine. Industrial, chemical agriculture has done a phenomenal job of producing enormous crops to feed a bulging population. But at what price? And for how long? By flooding the soils with chemical fertilizers and dousing crops in a wealth of pesticides, we’ve come to expect rapid turnaround time, and vegetables worthy of a crown in the Miss America Produce Pageant. Yet failing to look at the system as a whole, we’ve degraded the soil, created international dependency and imbalance, and lost our ability to taste our food in its fullness. Industrial ag. (not unlike western medicine) provides us with a quick fix - instant, desirable results - but strips communities of their ability to care for themselves. Dennis’ methods utilize the wealth of resources at his doorstep, promote sustainability and community, and promote environmental coexistence.

What I saw on the farm that day was proof enough to me that the words “organic”, “sustainable”, and “local” aren’t just the current trendy verbiage, but represent a shift in how we look at the health of our bodies, our environment, and our communities. It’s a difference that’s evident all along the line - from the smell of the soil at Paradise Valley Farm, to the tincture in nopa’s welcoming taste, to the flavors of your flatbread.

Paradise Valley Farms
Dennis and Sandy Dierks
P.O. BOX 382
Bolinas, CA 94924

Farmer’s Market schedule:
Civic Center: THURS, SUN.
Fairfax: WED evenings
Pt. Reyes (Marin Organic Farmer’s Market): SAT