CrankyCakes

After talking with Jeff Byam about Fair Trade chocolate for the article that ran in today’s Burlington Free Press, I wanted to do something more.

Nearly 300,000 children documented in recent years, working in dangerous conditions for little or no pay.  Separated from their parents and families, not attending school or receiving adequate medical care.  Farmers who live at subsistence level and can’t afford to care for their own families, let alone pay fair wages.

To make … M&M’s?

I’m not getting up on a soapbox, but I will say that I’m horrified to think that my children are eating treats that caused another child to suffer.  And I can’t really get my head around the premise that the US candy market is simply too big to concern itself with the enslavement of children and families.  British Cadbury announced in 2009 that it would use fair trade chocolate from Ghana farm collectives – which of the larger US companies is going to step forward to do the same?  And why should they?

Since I’ve got some very smart friends and readers out there, I thought I’d put the questions to you Cranky Readers.  What would you do to spread the word about fair trade and the children whose lives it could impact?  How would you let the big candy makers know that you care about the issue?   Leave a comment with your thoughts here by October 24.  I’ve ordered 25 mini Equal Exchange dark chocolate (55%) bars (not the ones pictured here, which are of course long gone), and I’ll pick one commenter to give them to.  [Z., the official prize-picker around here chose Chris Moran.  Chris, I'll be in touch to work out getting you the chocolates!]

I have to start with this:  I love living in cohousing.  And one thing living here means is eating together when we can, and helping prepare one meal a month.  I’m one of the queen bee-ish types who tends to be the “lead cook” when my turn comes around, so that I get to do the menu planning, the shopping, and take charge of the cook team in preparing dinner for the 30 – 50 who typically attend.

There’s no doubt that it’s a lot of work, but there’s so much that happens as we do it.  The casual conversations over the chopping board where we get to know where people come from, find out what’s happening in each others’ lives.  Watching neighbors come and go on their various ways.  Learn who’s away and where and who’s coming to visit.  Learning more about where people come from, where they hope to go.

Still, meal planning for this interesting and diverse group isn’t easy.  We have a gluten-free neighbor, one who can’t eat any form of pepper, two who have walnut allergies, a dairy free guy and several vegetarians.  When you come to dinner here you see the big trays or pots alongside single, labeled servings for these folks.  But I think it’s true that none of us minds these extra steps.  Offering delicious, safe food to each other is an honest expression of our appreciation for each other.  You can’t help having this kind of affection for the people who babysit for you for free, who brush the snow off your car, clean the bathrooms in the common house, plant the common garden, bring your compost to the pile for you.  Make some baked tofu alongside the chicken?  Sure.

And I do love coming up with the menus.   I wanted one that was festive and fairly opulent, but vegetarian.   So what developed was:

I had a great, capable cooking team to put it all together, but we also had Melissa and Allison from the Burlington Free Press on hand to do an article on cohousing, asking questions and taking pictures, which may have made it a tad more unfocused, but definitely made it much more exciting.  Whisking eggs!  Crimping pastry!  Giant pot of greens!  All photo ops.  I felt like a celebrity when I took the pies from the oven and the photographer swooped in to capture them as they emerged.

But what made me really feel like a star, as it does every time, was the thumbs-up, back-pats, and whispered compliments as I walked around the dining room that night.   To have my neighbors and friends receive and return the caring we put into that meal feels like deep community.  Like family.  Like, well, love.

(Oh, and my kids?  They picked the puff pastry off their plates, pronounced it delicious, drank two sips of milk, then ran off crying when I suggested they try something else.)

So that’s dinner here.  We do it every other day, usually with as much TLC, but often with less fanfare … though we’ve been known to burst into applause at all the wanton yumminess.

(Check out the 12/20/08 BFP article!)