New York City Gritty Commitee Pity the Fool...

... that acts shitty in the midst of the calm and the witty.

Thursday 7th August 2008
6am

So.... New York City. By sunrise. Quite a sight. And coming up the Hudson sure is a great way to arrive. Cunard should pay me for writing this. Well, after 6 days at sea, it's a relief to see dry land. I'm going to miss this though. The free room service. The ever-clean bathroom. And the evening turndowns.

We're floating in towards Brooklyn, police helicopter escorts like flies in the sky. We pass the Statue of Liberty over on the West Bank (of the Hudson, not the Dead Sea), with New Jersey behind it. In front, the Manhattan skyline glistens with office windows like stars in a concrete sky. The crimson sunrise just to the right sets the scene as I stand on deck in my Elegant Casual wear from last night, jeans, a shirt and my suit jacket. Later, I'll wish I hadn't bothered with the jacket, as the continuous cooling effect of the Atlantic at 20 knots has melted away.

Friday
11pm

Somewhere out here there's an old skool jungle night recommended by DJ C. Not that we can find it. We're sitting in The Four Faced Liar on West 4th St, and I'm drinking a double Wild Turkey bourbon and cola (thankfully not Coca-Cola). It comes recommended by a couple of students as the least expensive in the area. Love, the club hosting this night we're looking for, hasn't appeared on our radar. In finding the nearest place to its supposed location, we entered a jazz club seeking libation. After dodging the $20 door tax each, we pored over the drinks list, and finding mediocre cocktails for £7 a pop we hastily re-emerged onto West 8th St, collaring the nearest folks for their advice.

Last night, we had dinner at Marlow and Sons. The proprietors also happen to be our truly wonderful hosts. As family of dear friends of ours, they have very kindly agreed to put us up for a few nights while we find our feet.

What they've helped create made me warm inside not just my stomach. My calamari were absolutely fresh and perfectly soft, not slightly chewy and slid down like butter. On a fishy tip, I went for scallops for main, which were served just as I like them - lightly seared on one side - on a bed of greens, served in a bowl. Mmmm mmmmn. Very tasty food, served in the antithesis of pretentiously formal dining environments - cosy, friendly and comfortable. My partner's homemade chorizo was like none other I've tasted (even from The Better Food Company in Bristol), all meat, none of those chunks of fat that really put me off. It reminded me of Bordeaux Quay, excellent food rooted in a strong philosophy. And the waitress explained the whole menu without having to look once. Cool.

What these guys are famous for pioneering in New York is the resurgence of the grass-fed cow movement. Yes, that's where the address of this blog comes from, in case you were wondering. Ecologically speaking, it promises many things for the States. Coming from a background where veganism is a radical political ecological solution to our carbon problems, part of me feels uncomfortable advocating solutions that involve the subjugation of animals for human consumption. But while many of my friends are, I'm not vegan. If it's local and organic, I'll eat it. I object wholeheartedly to factory farming, and make every effort to avoid buying such meat or dairy products. I try to only eat meat a few times a week, and at home cooked 90% vegan.

So, grass fed cows. It's about ecosystems. Grass pastures put carbon back into the soil. They support species that break down cow dung faster and better. Pastures support ecosystems of worms, insects, and birds. A crucial part of the argument against dairy herds is that such a huge proportion of the carbon helping cause climate change comes from cow farts. Corn fed cows fart more than their grass fed friends. Ergo, less farts mean less climate change.

Now this isn't just some trendy, marketable label to greenwash us into happy and healthy consumerism (or is it?). For Marlow and Sons, along with this goes the whole philosophy of raising consciousness about what we eat, and understanding every step of the process from calf to cappucino. Calves separated from their mothers at 12 weeks simply have not developed the stomach linings in order to properly digest their food. Hence the farting, from improperly digested food.

I think it is the duty of every food industry proprietor to know and have seen the farms and met the farmers from which their food is sourced. Of course, the catering industry itself can be argued to be fundamentally unsustainable. I think that the economies of scale also weigh in though - it's better than prepacked TV dinners. And it's more sociable. Either way, I found the whole experience fascinating - to see food politics approached radically, in a very cool way. Their journal, Diner Journal, is a beautiful piece of art lapped up by New York coffee bars and coffee tables. I want a subscription for my birthday please.