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 

VISION.

There have been a million changes to my vision in the past decade or so of my life, but three that really stand out. And by vision I don't mean, "My vision for the world," or "My vision for the future." I literally (okay, and as always, somewhat figuratively) mean how I see.The first came in 2007. I was in Burgundy, France, where I was staying at a small Bed and Breakfast for the night on a trip through wine country. The B&B had this beautiful patio and garden area for guests where I spent the evening reading Michael Pollan's Omnivore's Dilemma for the first time. After that day, I could hardly put the book down. And when I returned to the states a few days later, I couldn't stop thinking about what I was eating. The entire world of food was suddenly punctuated with giant question marks––where did it come from? How was it raised? What's in this? My blissful ignorance about food was irreparably destroyed by that book. Never again could I ignore factory farms, or artificial ingredients, or the impact those things have on ourselves and our environment. My vision, in this sense, was forever altered.The second change came from farming itself. I remember I returned to New York for a visit after my first year interning and the city looked tangibly different to me. It wasn't just a city of buildings, bars and concrete, but I could suddenly see Nature, creeping up out of the cracks in the sidewalks. I could see yards, parks, trees, animals. I noticed flowers and insects. I had lived in New York for nearly five years and never once did I really consider how much nature was there. Not enough, some might argue––I might argue––but more than I'd ever seen.And the most recent, and arguably most profound, change to my vision has been parenthood. My God, has parenthood changed my vision. I recently went to the market and all I could see were the kids. I saw infants and thought of Further in his first month on the planet. I saw toddlers and thought of his next few years. There were a few awkward teenagers, tall and gangly and uncomfortable. That, I couldn't help but think, will one day be Further. If I had never become a parent, I would have probably never noticed the other fathers, the other Furthers, the other mothers and families. But now I see them. Now I understand them. Now I get it. Now, I love it.What I appreciate about these three changes is how complimentary of one another they have been. The concern I developed for food through Omnivore's Dilemma pairs nicely with my newfound appreciation of nature and my life as a parent. I care about the future of this place for Further. I care about it for myself and for Hannah and for all the other parents. Nature, I care about Nature for every reason. Sometimes I admittedly wish I could just go back to fast food and laziness, but it's just not possible. I can't unlearn those things. Not as a parent. Not as a lover of food and Nature. Not with these eyes. Never again.- Jesse.