It began 25 years ago in a small restaurant serving local specialties in the north Italian town of Bra and has grown to become an 80,000-strong international movement against living in the fast lane. Slow Food boasts more than 700 chapters worldwide, sponsoring everything from lectures on agricultural biodiversity to a manifesto defending raw-milk cheese. The Ecologist, a British environmental magazine, recently called it “a movement to save the world.”
Amen, I thought to myself, listening to the man from Bra. I’d heard of the movement before, of course. But I had finally decided it was time for me to slow down and appreciate the finer things. As the crowd cheered news of progress in Britain’s anti-GM-farming campaign, I imagined inviting friends to dinner parties of free-range lamb and organic potatoes, my cheeks glowing. Yes, I am one of those yoga-loving, “think about what you’re putting in your body” types. But when it comes to causes, Slow Food felt like something larger–namely, the earth.
Not a week earlier, I’d been appalled to see a twentysomething professional male striding down Oxford Street, dipping a French baguette into a carton of strawberry yogurt, stuffing it into his mouth, then downing the yogurt–all in the time it took to walk from one McDonald’s to the next. An average Brit spends $435 a year on this sort of “on-the-move” food, four times that of the Spanish and nearly twice that of the Italians. That’s when I decided to test out being a slow foodie.
One Saturday, I strolled through one of the 30 farmers markets in London, chatting with lively farmers, patting their frisky dogs and taking in the smells of fresh flowers and blueberry scones. Prices were about the same, or only slightly higher, than at London supermarkets. But gone were the long lines, nudging elbows and fluorescent lighting of my local grocery a few blocks away. I left feeling refreshed, not stressed.
Next I visited the whole-foods store in my Notting Hill neighborhood. Apparently, this is the place to be on a Saturday afternoon. Yuppie moms-to-be sauntered in and out with their golden Labradors. I (literally) bumped into British actor Alan Rickman sifting through organic spices. But the prices! When packaged for the elites of the gastronomically correct, organic food turns out to be 20 percent to 30 percent more expensive. And most of the produce costs double what I normally pay. According to EU Business, Europeans are spending twice as much on organic food as they did in the late 1990s–but price remains the barrier to more growth. I paid for my two-for-one unsalted rice cakes and split.
That week I tried to maintain my slow-food regimen. I cooked a leisurely dinner for my flatmates from my farmers’ market purchases. But at work, Tupperware containers of organic tofu sat unopened on my desk as I juggled deadlines and e-mails. Slow cocktails soon replaced slow canapes. Still, I keep the faith and am heartened by a new survey showing that Brits are actually less pressed for time than we think. Maybe there is hope that we can learn to put the pleasure back onto our palates. At least I now sit down to eat.
