MANAGING INSPIRATION.

I recently had a rare, unmitigated evening to spend with Netflix. And it was outstanding––for lack of a more accurate word. This is probably old news to normal humans, but I discovered that Netflix had done an original series called "Chef's Table" which was, to put it mildly, the most inspiring thing.For those of you who don't know, I used to cook professionally. You can read about this in my smash hit series of memoirs Bringing Wine Home (Book Three out next year... maybe), but I actually moved to New York to cook professionally. After a while, though, I realized what I'd truly moved to NYC to do was drink, so I did that professionally for a few years instead to, ahem, staggering success.That being said, I still have a deep affection for, and a personal interest in, cooking. In chefs. In kitchens. As a farmer, I'm always looking to better understand the modern chef. As an ex-cook, I enjoy seeing how the world of cooking is changing. And few things have more throughly updated me than this series.Indeed, all of the featured chefs and restaurants in this series left me feeling profoundly inspired about food, about farming, about cooking and how these world's can collide. And it has also left me with this giant douse of inspiration with which I have no idea what in the world to do.One thing is for certain, Chef's Table definitely italicized, underlined and put in bold my desire to grow the most flavorful, most nutritious food I can. There is moment in one episode where chef Dan Barber asks a plant breeder if he can breed a smaller, more flavorful butternut squash for him. The breeder looks back at Barber, wipes his glasses––his own glasses, not Barber's––and says something to the effect of, "In all my years of plant breeding, no one has ever asked me to breed for flavor." And suddenly, a million loose chords in my brain connected themselves and the resulting light will not turn off.We really don't think enough about flavor as consumers, nor as farmers. We think about yields. We think about symmetry, gloss and appeal. We grow in greenhouses and under lights to better control the environment and push for food out of season––flavorful or not, perfect looking food. And although Hannah and I completely understand the need for this kind of farming, and have nothing against anyone who grows this way, we have no real interest in it for ourselves. We want to grow healthy food, outdoors. Even if it's harder. Even if it's less profitable. Even if it's uglier. As Masanobu Fukuoka put it in One Straw Revolution, "...proper nourishment is inseparable from good flavor." Great flavor, that's what we're after––that's where the health is.Anyway, from time to time I run into something as inspiring as this series and my whole view of the world changes. It happened when I first read Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential, and decided to be a chef. It happened again when I read Kermit Lynch's Adventures on the Wine Route, and my entire perspective on what wine could be––nay, should be––shifted. Then of course, The Omnivore's Dilemma, by Michael Pollan, planted the seed that ultimately grew into farming. What the seed from this documentary will turn into is hard to say. But it's germinating. I can feel it. And I'm curious––if I may lightly abuse the analogy––to see what fruit it will bear. I'll bet it will be tasty.- Jesse