Slow down, food!

Labor Day weekend in San Francisco brought not only sunshine and weather one could reasonably associate with summer, but Slow Foods Nation, a four-day celebration of the slow foods movement.

Slow food is an international movement, one started in Italy and fostered in the United States by Slow Food USA. On their website, they claim to support "good, clean, and fair food," an idea that, in practice, means eating food that at once nourishes our bodies but also nourishes the earth (think biodiversity and healthy ecosystems). The last piece of this is that food should be cared for by laborers paid a fair wage, given excellent working conditions, and be available to all, not matter their economic status. In a nutshell, the slow food movement is everything that fast food isn't. In a nation where we rarely simply sit and eat (eating is most often accompanied by television, the internet, or a car ride, to name a few), slow food is a refreshing change. And it is, arguably, a food movement that more closely aligns eating with art.

Slow Food Nation, the first gathering of its kind in this country, brought together over 50,000 people to celebrate and relish this idea of slow food. Events ranged from local farmers' markets to tastings, performances, restaurant specials, and music. I attended two events in the celebration: the Saturday Slow Food Rocks concert as well as Sunday's farmers' market.

Both events were enjoyable ventures for me, the hand-pulled noodles I ate at the farmers' market being quite possibly my favorite experience of the weekend (if ever there is an art to food preparation, these hand-pulled noodles would be at the top of the list. They were reportedly from the Imperial Tea Court, although I find no mention of them on the tea house's website). I thoroughly enjoyed the experience of tasting raw milk and hearing about the health benefits of ghee, prepared while mantras are chanted, or sampling local honey that cost $10 per bottle. But one thing stuck with me all weekend.

Ozomatli, one of my favorite bands, performed at the festival on Saturday. They're a band that not only performs exceptional music, but they're committed to social justice and to using their fame and music as a platform for social change. In my mind, what could be a better mission for artists? During a break between songs, Raul, the guitarist, spoke about the slow foods festival of which we were all a part. He encouraged listeners to sample some of the food sold at booths around the stage once their set was over. He praised the slow food movement. But then he said: We have to figure out a way to bring some of this good food into the neighborhood. Give people a choice other than McDonald's.

And isn't that the truth? It was all well and good for us to out in San Francisco on a sunny day listening to good music and eating delicious foods, but it was, of course, a great priviledge to be there and to have the means to do so. Slow food is a movement I support and enjoy, but for those people (myself included in this category) who can't afford a meal at ChezPanisse or even a bag of local, organic spinach, what's the point? What's the point of the revolution if only certain groups are permitted, economically, to take part?

The good news is that the celebration attempted to answer these question. In the plaza outside the civic center, an organic garden had been planted, all the harvest going to local food banks. World leaders on the global food crisis spoke to sold-out crowds. Sessions convened on farm worker and meatpacking worker advocacy. What I come away from this weekend with is an admiration for the cause, an honest look at the act that many argue is the universal tie that binds us: eating.