A for apple. As American as apple pie, but it was the first introduction children had to language through the alphabet. Although a National Geographic article said DNA analysis indicated that apples originated in Kazakhstan, most of us consider it an American fruit. Along with grapes, they had once been only available as a Christmas treat, and still have a special place on the Caribbean palate.
It is likely that our taste for apples may have been whetted by the notion of it being exotic, or connected to a festive memory, but like many of our cultivated preferences, it could have been a result of robustly subtle marketing. A for apple. The first bite. What if we had been taught to celebrate our local fruit with the kind of patriotic fervour Americans bestow on everything they want to own?
Mangoes—Julie and starch particularly—have always been my favourite fruits, but like many of the others they have retreated into childhood memory. We never thought to cultivate them as they were happily growing wild, but now they too have fallen by the wayside through neglect. In those days of plenty, it never occurred to me that one day mangoes would be fruit I would have to buy in little heaps. Not that I object to buying them, it just seems that many of our fruits seem to have faded from the frontlines.
We prefer produce packaged in plastic over those piled high on trestle tables at vegetable stands. Yet we still have an amazing variety of fruits and vegetables that grow here, on our land, nurtured under blazing sun by men and women whose broad hats barely stave off the heat, and whose backs ache every single evening. We could take pride in their dedication—because there have been few incentives for them to do it—but we could also choose to celebrate the bounty from our soil with the kind of patriotic fervour that Jamaicans have: A for ackee is what they learn.
There is a practical side, too. Fresh fruit and vegetables are of a higher quality than those which have travelled far and are exhausted from their journeys. They had to get booster shots to keep them looking attractive, a kind of botox before hitting the shelves. People have been hoodwinked into believing that fruit, vegetables and provisions have to carry a uniform shape and size and colour to be healthy. I find pleasure in selecting the ones that don’t look photoshopped.
As a child, I used to help my grandparents sort tomatoes before they went to market. I am always reminded of that when I select from the piles on the stalls. I hardly look; instinctively, I rely on the feel in my hands. It is the same with most produce. You can tell more from how they feel than how they look. Vendors will tell you they are often left with baskets full of rejected perishables, mainly because they were not pretty enough. Yet, people will lunge at strawberries that even through their plastic containers look their age.
It is disappointing, but not really surprising that we anoint foreign items with the assumption of superiority. Supermarkets present us with labels: imported cabbage, cauliflower, lettuce (artisan, of course), beets, and so on. I used to think it was like a warning label until I realised that people went for them on that basis. We ourselves have been cultivated to believe in our inherent inferiority. We believe exhibiting “foreign” tastes validates us.
It has been so deeply ingrained that even when we produce goods that are truly excellent, we consider them flukes.
Once, a long time ago, when I used to dawdle at the supermarkets, I remember standing before shelves of pepper sauces and other condiments, and marvelling at the range of magnificence. Would you buy a foreign-made hot sauce over a local pepper sauce? If you would, have you ever asked yourself why? Ours are just so superior.
I can rhapsodise about our cocoa, peppers and coffee. I can tell you as a descendant of farmers, there is an irreplaceable pleasure in holding the fruit of your labours. I can tell you that if you invest some time in preparing our local produce, you can feed your families in healthy and more nutritious ways than the MSG-loaded fare that is found in convenience foods.
I developed an aversion to MSG when I realised it would trigger severe headaches for me. It is why I avoid those seasoning cubes that are meant to give your food a flavour boost. Read the labels in all those time-saving preparations, you will hardly find any recognisable ingredients. It’s a string of chemicals, with sugar and salt (sucrose and sodium, they’re called), and a trace of whatever they’re supposed to be.
We have such a cornucopia of herbs and aromatics, like onions and garlic, that we have all the flavour enhancers we need. I hardly do it now, as I have planted a lot of herbs in my yard, but it’s easy to blend batches with a bit of oil and maybe a whisper of garlic, and freeze them in ice cube trays, then pop them into freezer bags.
Times are hard. We can buy local to support our farmers. We can do it because it’s healthier, or, we can just do it to save money.
E-mail: vaneisabaksh@gmail.com
—Vaneisa Baksh is an editor,
writer and cricket historian.
