This book is like a hybrid of Jared Diamond (Guns, Germs, and Steel), Michael Pollan (the Omnivore's Dilemma), and ... Donald Trump. Barber is a prizewinning chef at a ultra-ultra restaurant and has won multiple James Beard awards, including the country's outstanding chef of 2009. He also has the ego to match.
Barber quite correctly points out that our current, faddish obsession with farm-to-table is not sustainable. In his telling, contemporary American cuisine has traveled through two phases, or plates. The first plate was made possible by nineteenth- and twentieth-century technological innovations in agriculture and the plate was centered on a seven-ounce prime cut of protein (e.g., corn fed beef, feedlot pork, Perdue-style chicken). The second plate appeared in the waning decades of the twentieth century, as we became somewhat cognizant of the terrible ecological costs of industrial monoculture and concentrated animal feedlot operations. Barber points out, however, that the second plate was also dominated by a seven-ounce prime cut of protein and surrounded by organic fruits and vegetables. Chefs have changed how they source ingredients, but not what they source, or how they think about the way their food preparation fits into an overall cuisine. Barber argues that we need a new way of envisioning a cuisine, as the totality of how food is grown, and that we must be more sensitive to the overall, long-term ecological sustainability of food systems. In this, his arguments fit very well with other contemporary writers who have thought about food systems (e.g., Pollan, Eric Schlosser), although Barber harkens back to an earlier generation of ecologists, such as Aldo Leopold and Wendell Berry to a greater degree.
While I don't disagree with Barber's overall conclusions, I have two major gripes with the book. First is that Barber is almost unbearably elitist, and seems to truly believe that chefs will be the ones to drive this type of ecologically-minded change. At the start of the book he writes, "chefs are known for their ability to create fashions and shape markets. What appears on a menu in a white-tablecloth restaurant one day trickles down to the bistro the next, and eventually influences everyday food culture (p. 10)." Barber is apparently a chef who has never eaten really great street food off the back of a truck. He does not seem to really grasp the possibility that culinary influence may flow in the opposite direction, i.e., that chefs may be inspired by humbler, local cooking traditions. It's a curious blind spot, since he describes a vivid memory of seeing Palladin at work in the kitchen, making a delectable sauce that made the poorest cuts of a chicken delectable. The book describes a decade-long journey that Barber took to arrive at his new ecological sustainability, and he meticulously traces his shifting perceptions and deepening understanding of sustainability. This journey takes him to Spain, where he observes how centuries-old practices have produced not only the famed Jamon Iberico, but a thoroughly integrated system of crop, forage, and livestock production. It amazes me that he could come away from a setting like that and still cling so tenaciously to a top-down assumption about how foodways are created and sustained. I suppose I shouldn't find it surprising, considering the milieu that he works in at his own restaurant, and I suppose that the clientele who patronize Blue Hill would find his trickle-down cuisine as comforting as the trickle-down economics they have been peddling in this era of growing social and economic inequality.
And this brings me to the second complaint I have about the book, which is that although Barber argues elegantly for a more holistic sense of ecology in food system production, he completely ignores the social and human inequalities that are embedded in our current food systems. There are a host of authors writing about the social injustices that are perpetrated within our contemporary food system, and yet Barber turns a completely blind eye to the people who work in our fields and feedlots. I'm thinking about people like Schlosser, but also Barry Estabrook, whose investigative reporting for Gourmet magazine revealed the injustices that are heaped upon pickers in Florida's tomato fields. Or Sara Jaraymaran, who writes about the plight of restaurant workers throughout the American restaurant sector (not only in fast food joints but in the very kind of white-tablecloth establishments where Barber works). It amazes me that Barber could spent a decade soaking in the literature (e.g., Aldo Leopold's land ethic, or Carl Safina's sea ethic) and completely ignore the human ethics in our current food systems that are so problematic. I'm especially puzzled about this omission, given that he traveled so extensively and talked with so many big thinkers in the process of developing this book. If this had been an exercise in armchair philosophy, I could understand how someone might read Thoreau, Emerson, and Leopold and retain such a single-minded commitment to agrarian idealism. But he was out there, in the field, quite literally. There's a glimmer of this kind of consciousness when he visits the North Carolina low country to study how people are reviving the tradition of planting Carolina gold rice. He writes, "there was an uncomfortable duality to this short historical period. Flavorful food was widely available; in many places, it was the only food available. But it happened at a time when the South was still in the grips of slavery. 'At least initially," Glenn said, 'everyone experimenting with kitchen gardens had a slave. They did the work. They almost always did the cooking, too. We had a bunch of wealthy white people who could afford to write books about what some really smart black people were doing.' (p. 347)" Our food system has not evolved very far at all from that time.
Barber makes a gesture toward Big Picture thinking. At the end of the book, he argues for the realization of a third plate, one that uses all parts of the harvest. In this mode, we would not abandon the current farm-to-table model, but deepen our commitment to it, to execute an honest nose-to-tail enactment of that ideal. He designs a menu that would use bycatch, harvestable portions of cover crops, spent grains from beer making, etc. That's all well and good, but at the end of this book, I'm still left asking the question, who will do this work? And how, exactly, would it transform American cuisine on a broad scale?