Chris Smaje is a social scientist but has been coworking a small farm for two decades. In his book Saying No To A Farm-Free Future he tackles ecomodernism and Monbiot’s claims head on: “I believe a response is necessary because the ecomodernist programme is technically unfeasible, politically problematic and it risks wasting a lot of precious time that we don’t have”.

In ‘Regenesis, George Monbiot ticks many of the ‘ecomodernist programme’ boxes: moving people from rural areas into cities, restoring wildlands instead of farming and promoting technical solutions to produce food. Smaje focuses on Monbiot’s Regenesis “because it’s probably the most detailed and accessible ecomodernist treatment of the issue” which, he says, campaigners and influencers have described as ‘visionary, rigorous and practicable’. It’s none of that, writes Smaje. He goes on to debunk Monbiot’s concepts one by one in a thorough manner, while proposing an alternative solution that he calls ‘agrarian localism’. He wants us humans to be a ‘good keystone species’, which means seeing ourselves as part of nature and acting accordingly.

“It’s clear that we can’t techno-fix our way out of the crises and we can’t protect nature by alienating ourselves from it”. Smaje very simply does the math. “The RebootFood campaigh that he (Monbiot) is fronting invites readers to imagine rewilding three-quarters of the world’s farmland and producing the entire world’s protein on an area the size of Greater London”. For his film Cow Apocalypse Monbiot visited a company that is pioneering the cultivation of a bacterium, Cupriavidus necator, in bioreactors. Fed with hydrogen and oxygen, the bacteria multiply and produce a protein rich soup which supposedly can be made into something resembling food. Smaje dives deep into Monbiot’s calculations and concludes that on a global scale this type of ‘food’ production would require around 43% of the world’s electricity consumption. If we want to save the planet, we can no longer rely on fossil fuels, but need to either build more nuclear power plants or use solar and wind energy. A bioreactor capable of churning out 43,000 tons of microbial protein would need an area of 3,000 hectares covered with PV (photovoltaic) panels to produce the necessary energy. “If you aggregate that up to cover the protein needs of the entire US population, there would need to be about 140 such facilities, with a total annual capital cost of $12.9 billion and over 400,000 hectares of PV panels”. Scale this up to the protein needs of 9 billion people, and there isn’t much land left to re-wild. And as Smaje rightly points out: this is simply the energy requirement for operating the bioreactors. It does not take into account the energy needed for the production of the steel vats which last for a maximum of 25 years, nor for the millions of PV panels or the environmental and energy costs for necessary mineral production through mining.

Chapter by chapter, Smaje walks the reader through Monbiot’s ecomodernist arguments and why they don’t hold up to scrutiny. Banning all livestock and all of us becoming vegan would not save the planet. Nor could all the vegetables and fruit we’d need be grown without the use of animal manure or chemical fertiliser – which cannot be produced without fossil fuels. Iain ‘Tolly’ Tolhurst, the organic vegetable grower from Oxfordshire (who was recently honoured with an MBE), has demonstrated that it is possible to grow an abundance of fruit and vegetables by replacing manure with composted woodchips to maintain soil fertility. He sources the woodchips from a local tree surgeon. “Monbiot says Tolly estimates he could supply his own woodchip if he devoted 20 per cent of his farmland to trees”, writes Smaje. Is that really preferable to using organic manure from cattle that have grazed the fodder crops needed in a multi-year rotational system?

But maybe it isn’t about the numbers, about studies, statistics and projections. “Is livestock grazing essential to mitigating climate change?” was the topic of a debate in Oxford earlier in July. Participants were livestock farmer Allan Savory who pioneered holistic management and George Monbiot. Savory explained how livestock and managed grazing can reverse desertification and enhance soil fertility, a system he has developed through careful observation, field testing and measuring the results. “Savory has failed to produce any scientific evidence”, said Monbiot, and called Savory’s methods “mumbo jumbo”, “pseudo-science” and “bullshit”. It was an exchange between Savory, who works with nature and sees himself and us as part of nature, and Monbiot who believes technology will fix the climate crisis and to whom scientific proof is only what can be measured in a lab and written up in a peer reviewed study.

Smaje’s excellent book shows that Monbiot and ecomodernism fail even by their own standards.

Chris Smaje

Sying No To A Farm-Free Future

Chelsea Green Publishing 2023, RPR GBP 14.99

Marianne Landzettel is a journalist and author writing and blogging about food, farming and agricultural policies in the UK, the US, continental Europe and South Asia. She worked for the BBC World Service and German Public Radio for close to 30 years.Follow her on twitter at @M_Landzettel Images used with kind consent @M.Kunz

The Slow Food blog welcomes contributions on the topics of Food, Farming and Agriculture. The contents may not entirely match the views of Slow Food, but reflect the journeys of the authors. To write for us please click here

The post Why George Monbiot is wrong. Chris Smaje makes the case in his new book: Saying No To A Farm-Free Future appeared first on Slow Food in the UK.

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No amount of reading prepared me for meeting Dewayne “Lee” Johnson in person at a ‘Beyond Pesticides’ conference in New York: I tried hiding the shock when I first saw his once handsome face, now marked by scars and fresh lesions, and I can’t but admire the courage of this terminally ill man to keep on fighting by agreeing to be the prime exhibit as to what damage glyphosate can do. In The Monsanto Papers, investigative journalist Carey Gillam tells the story how Johnson, a groundskeeper from California became the lead plaintiff in the landmark lawsuit against Monsanto, now Bayer-Monsanto. Throughout his career and as part of his job, Johnson sprayed school grounds and sports fields with RoundUp, the glyphosate based herbicide produced by Monsanto. He was provided with little or no protective gear – after all, glyphosate was supposedly even safe to drink. On one occasion, when the sprayer broke he was drenched in RoundUp. In 2014 he was diagnosed with non-Hodkin lymphoma which he and his legal team alleged were caused by his repeated and prolonged exposure to the herbicide. Gillam followed the case from the very beginning, when a law firm in Virginia became interested in a growing body of research indicating that RoundUp might not be safe and warning of a cancer risk, non-Hodkin lymphoma in particular. In his Virginia law firm, attorney Mike Miller had made his name holding some big pharmaceutical companies to account and he believed he could make the case against Monsanto. Gillam follows the efforts of the initially small team of lawyers who got together with other law firms in order to bring about a class action lawsuit. Out of the thousands of people with non-Hodkin lymphoma they chose Johnson to represent the case. While all of the plaintiffs had been exposed to RoundUp, Johnson had been drenched in it on at least one occasion and he could prove it.

In US law, ‘discovery’ is a pre-trial procedure which allows both parties to obtain evidence from the other side through depositions and the request for documents such as internal reports, letters and emails. One way to hide incriminating material is to dump tens of thousands of pages of documents and printouts on the opposing side – which is exactly what Monsanto did. The law firms involved on Johnson’s side spent an extraordinary amount of the time, effort and money on analysing the Monsanto papers and eventually struck gold: the documents they found prove that the toxicity of the products under real life circumstances was barely tested, that Monsanto suppressed findings that showed adverse effects and payed supposedly independent scientists to ‘ghost-write’ studies on which the regulatory body, the EPA, would then base the approval of their products, including RoundUp.

The debate in the EU whether or not to reapprove the use of glyphosate at the end of 2023 and the lack of any such efforts in the UK make Gillam’s book a timely read.

Sarah Vogel didn’t fight a multinational corporation, she single-handedly took on a part of the US-administration under Reagan. In the 1970s, the US sold huge amounts of grain to the Soviet Union and the government encouraged farmers to invest and expand by offering favourable credit and loan conditions. Then grain prices dropped and farmers began to struggle financially. From 1980, the Reagan administration, hell bent on reducing the federal deficit, demanded that farmers repay these loans in full or face foreclosure. Suddenly, tens of thousands of farmers were at risk of losing their land, their homes and their livelihood. And the Farm Home Administration, FmHA, the government agency tasked with helping farmers with grants and loans, enforced the new policy without mercy. In North Dakota, farmers on the verge of losing their farms found their way to Sarah Vogel by word of mouth: the Vogel family, her dad was a lawyer, too, had a long-standing reputation of being socially minded, standing up to power, and doing ‘the right thing’. The Farmer’s Lawyer is part memoir, part court room drama. Vogel, a young lawyer and newly divorced, had quit her job in Washington D.C. and returned to North Dakota to open a law practice. She had yet to fight her first court case, but faced with the plight of these decent, hard-working farm families who stood to lose everything, she brought a class action law suit on their behalf. Vogel not only tells the story of the legal battle, she also paints a picture of life in North Dakota, of community and community spirit, and she shares what impact the case had on her own life: the farmers, unable to pay her, supplied her with homegrown produce instead, but over the long pre-trial period Vogel, too, accumulated so much debt that she lost her house.

There is so much knowledge, courage and passion in Vogel’s story that it made me want to meet her in person. And when a research trip brought me to North Dakota in autumn of 2022, I contacted her and we met up in Bismarck. In person, not only is she as quick witted, charming and inspiring as she comes across in the book, she also introduced me to what she mentions as an aside in one of the chapters: rhubarb caramel rolls at Kroll’s diner. We managed one between us – these fruity sugar bombs really are spectacularly good, just way too big.

After she won the trial, Vogel served as North Dakota’s agricultural commissioner and she continues to care deeply for family farms and farmers, the rights of native Americans – the Standing Rock Indian reservation is just a half hour drive outside of Bismarck – and environmental protection. At a time when it seems so hard to effect change, The Farmer’s Lawyer is the uplifting tale of what a single woman can achieve.

What do you do when your neighbour is a contract pig farmer, raising thousands of animals in confinement and spraying manure so close to your house that it falls on your roof like rain? What do you do, when even in a hot North Carolina summer you can’t open the windows because of the stench? What if the smell of hog waste has you run from your car to your house and you still end up gagging and wheezing? When traces of faeces lodge in the clothes you had tried to dry in the sun? When moving is not an option because nobody will buy your house? These were the conditions many people living close to intensive pig units in Duplin county, NC, had to endure for years. North Carolina is the home state of Smithfield, the world’s largest pork producer and processor. Annually the company, which is now Chinese owned, produces some 16 million pigs. The neighbours of the Smithfield contract farms, many of them black and poor, had endured the stench, which isn’t just unpleasant but a serious health hazard, for decades until the Wallace & Graham law firm from Salisbury, NC finally took on their cases. Wastelands by Corban Addison reads like fiction, and in this instance, John Grisham actually has written the foreword, but the hurdles and threats the legal team faced, are very real. Smithfield not only had a formidable team of lawyers, they also got several North Carolina legislators involved who did their best to pass last minute legislation to scupper any attempt to get fair compensation for the victims, whose lives and often heart wrenching fates Addison chronicles. The jury sided with the plaintiffs and awarded compensatory damages, the appeals court upheld the verdict, but the story is far from over. Across the US, states have passed or prepare to pass what are called ‘Right to Farm’ Bills, a euphemism for letting big ag companies build and expand confinement operations and curtailing the rights of neighbours and rural towns to object on grounds of air, water and noise pollution. It remains to be seen how the courtroom dramas of the future will play out.

The books mentioned are:

Carey Gillam, The Monsanto Papers (Island Press, 2021)

Sarah Vogel, The Farmer’s Lawyer (Bloomsbury Publishing, 2021)

Corban Addison, Wastelands (Alfred A. Knopf, 2022)

Marianne Landzettel is a journalist writing and blogging about food, farming and agricultural policies in the UK, the US, continental Europe and South Asia. She worked for the BBC World Service and German Public Radio for close to 30 years.Follow her on twitter at @M_Landzettel Images used with kind consent @M.Kunz

The Slow Food blog welcomes contributions on the topics of Food, Farming and Agriculture. The contents may not entirely match the views of Slow Food, but reflect the journeys of the authors. To write for us please click here

The post Courtroom dramas and hero lawyers – three non-fiction books on ag crime and punishment appeared first on Slow Food in the UK.

            Mara Seaweed was founded in 2011, when information surrounding the harvesting of seaweed was rare. Now, ten years later, the difference Fiona tells me, is like ‘night and day’. ‘We were ahead of our time,’ she says, ‘and although the world is catching up, it’s still not what you would call mainstream.’ Endangered, is a word used by many to describe this food group, not at all due to lack of supply, (seaweed is both regenerative and restorative), but in the demise of labourers armed with the skill and knowledge it takes to farm it. ‘We lost the link to the land,’ Fiona says. ‘People in coastal communities moved away, so direct access was limited.’ This is where Fife based Mara Seaweed, focused their industry as both a food brand and also an aquaculture and production company, covering all aspects of seaweed from ocean to plate. With its principles grounded in both social and environmental concerns, sustainability is a concept at the top of their agenda. As with all produce, there is a wealth of history when it comes to its cultivation, and the growing of seaweed epitomises this. By analysing the low tides, Fiona began to discover an abundance of incredible seaweeds within the country’s natural landscape. Although there is a thriving market for it across the globe, mainly in Asia, where seaweed is a staple property of the nation’s diet, the concern is that here in the United Kingdom, the story of seaweed has yet to be communicated widely on the plate. Mara Seaweed intends to mark that change. In fact, the journey which Fiona and her team have embarked on, investing in its cultivation and harvesting, allows for a rediscovery of our local food systems, fortifying them for the future.

            The extensive health benefits are also a draw, relevant to a common society, so focused on wellness and the environmental impact of diet, and seaweed is often used to lower sodium salt intake, a staple alternative to those seeking a healthier lifestyle. The complex nutritional benefits of seaweed are varied, its location offering a distinct flavour native to these parts. The production process begins with the harvesting, alternating between wild and farmed, according to season. The latter extends the variety of species available depending on how it’s cultivated. Comparatively, the seasonal aspect of wild harvesting is governed by the tide of the sea, and reliant entirely upon the earth’s elements for its growth. ‘By the following spring,’ Fiona tells me, ‘you don’t even know where they’ve been.’ The production of farmed seaweed begins with the aqua culture, when sori is sprayed onto a rope around the months of  October and November. Fiona talks me through the process. ‘It establishes itself on the rope over winter and takes off in spring time, growing up to 50cm per day.’ Seaweed absorbs its nutrients through fronds rather than roots and these oscillate in the water, gathering nutrients in the process. Its regenerative environmental impact is considerable, as seaweed absorbs carbon dioxide and releases oxygen into the air, where an increasing amount of carbon is restored. The crop of seaweed is then gathered by boats during May and June.

            This commitment to a sustainable environment has led to accreditation by the Soil Association, who monitor their position and practice each year. Like many types of produce, there are clear distinctions between quantity, rarity and quality. The variety of seaweed is widespread, from the rare Pepper Dulse, which is wild harvested and has a flavour complexity similar to that of truffle, to the Purple Dulse and Brown Kelp, which can grow up to 5 metres in length, capable of catering to a much wider market. After harvesting, the seaweed enters the drying process, using low temperature heat, not high enough to cook it, but warm enough to extract much of the moisture. ‘The difference in the flavour is extraordinary,’ Fiona says. ‘It’s all about quality for us. Both technical quality and taste. So when you buy it, you know exactly what you’re getting.’ Across the coastline, stretching 30km, local fisherman take responsibility for the harvesting, with Fiona and her team relying heavily on their in-depth knowledge of the ocean. The impact this has had on the local community is positive. At a time where the importance of locally sourced produce is paramount due to the adverse effects of climate change, it may seem unnecessary to import seaweed from the other side of the world when we can cultivate it right here on or doorstep. The work of Mara Seaweed supports the collaboration between the company and community, where the team of local fishermen have fostered a resilience against the cold, wet and dangerous environments. She values their ‘expertise in the handling of the boats, making uncertain conditions predictable for safety.’ There is also a generational benefit to fortifying the industry of working alongside the ocean. ‘Seaweed harvesting supports coastal communities,’ Fiona says, ‘and there is a new generation of fishermen looking forward towards their future. If you want a life associated with the ocean, you have to look towards sustainability.’  

            As many consumers, now more than ever, are looking at the environmental impact their own diet may have on the earth’s resources, perhaps an ingredient both regenerative and restorative, provides the ideal place to start this exploration. When contemplating the size and wealth of the ocean, it’s hard not to see the value of the eco-systems that live within it, and as society strives towards a more sustainable influence, perhaps the goal is not to narrow one’s diet but rather broaden it, to include as great a variety of produce as possible. The precious heritage of seaweed is a balance of both tradition and modernity, available to us in abundance. It is one of the true riches of our oceans, and so perhaps one can see how a sense of romanticism might help tell this story, how the cultivation of seaweed involving the oceans, the moon and the tide, can transform our diets beyond the ordinary, towards something far more extraordinary.

https://maraseaweed.com/

Louise Leverett is a writer and novelist currently living in London. She has recently completed a diploma in ‘Advanced Gastronomy’ at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris. Follow her on Instagram @louiseleverett 

The post A Rare Breed. Fiona Houston and ‘Mara Seaweed' appeared first on Slow Food in the UK.

            Beekeeper Leigh Goodsell has lived in Brancaster, Norfolk, for many years, a place close to the tidal marshes that provide optimum growth for flowering. ‘It is rare as there are very few places in the United Kingdom where Sea Lavender can thrive,’ Leigh tells me. With limited locations available to maintain the conditions required for it to prosper, the practice has become incredibly rare. ‘A good crop from sea lavender is an exception rather than the norm,’ he explains, ‘only adding to its rarity.’ When sourcing the right location, geography is an important part of the process and this comes from a series of mud flats and sea walls that protect the environment against erosion. These safeguards enhance the plants ability to prosper.  ‘Topography, soil type and distribution of flora play a huge part in finding the right site,’ Leigh replies, when I ask if the flavour of the honey is impacted by the geography of the landscape. ‘Two ostensibly similar areas may have very different outcomes in terms of honey production. Often it will take several years of trying to work out whether an apiary site will work in the long term.’ It is this skill, as well as the produce, that needs to be protected if eco-systems of the future are to thrive. In the same way historical artworks or a valuable artefact are preserved with care, food heritage too is built upon the wisdom of those who have gone before us. With their expertise and experience, skilled practitioners like Leigh are able to direct society towards future innovation.

            Leigh’s apiary takes the form of several dark green boxes, dotted along the landscape like small sheds. The process is hard work, and something which builds up over a long period of experience and learning. I was interested to find out just what led Leigh to dedicate his time to this preservation. ‘My previous careers included relatively long-term periods as a photographer and a horseman, interspersed with time as a lumberjack and an inshore fisherman. Keeping bees professionally has been the hardest work, the most stressful and the most damaging on my body yet ultimately the most mentally rewarding and wholesome of all my pursuits.’ Compared with previous careers, his average day is now changeable, dictated entirely by the temperament of the bees. ‘Let’s take a day between mid-April to mid-June,’ he says. ‘This is the part of the season where strong colonies will often wish to swarm. This is their way of reproduction, and the old queen will leave the hive with about half of the worker bees. With luck, they will establish a new home in a tree or some other space but the likelihood of their  long-term  survival is very slim. Most will die out within 3 years or so due to the Varroa mite, which is now endemic in the United Kingdom.’ The varroa mite is the main killer of bees, although other diseases are becoming increasingly common. Due to inexperienced people buying a hive or two with good intention, it is actually this practice that has become a conduit for spreading the disease in the locality. The term ‘swarming’ whereby a single colony splits into two or more distinct colonies, raises the risk of this spreading. ‘If they are found to be in this state,’ Leigh says, ‘then various procedures are put to work to ensure that the bees urges are managed.’ The control of the bees is paramount, the skill of managing them in their natural state is the very thing that this heritage rests on. ‘In a good day,’ Leigh tells me, ‘I’ll inspect and manage around 40-60 colonies of bees. The work continues until dusk.’

            It’s been hard to avoid the fact that in recent years we have experienced a loss in diversity within a variety of food groups, and unfortunately honey is no exception. ‘What many people perceive to be “honey” found in the local supermarket, is often pasteurised, heavily filtered, blended and often gloop adulterated with synthetic fructose syrup,’ Leigh informs me. ‘Whereas honey from each of my apiaries is kept separate, so every site will yield a different flavour of honey at various times of the year.’ With regards to mass-consumption as reflected on supermarket shelves, it soon becomes clear that the commercial scales have tipped towards uniformity. The very concept of production in terms of taste often lies around regularity. It is assumed that the consumer wants a product to taste the same, each and every time. However the thought that each batch could taste different from one another is an attribute to be celebrated. ‘When first bottled,’ Leigh explains, ‘sea lavender honey has a rich deep yellow colour with a hint of green when it is poured. The aroma is strong, pleasing, impossible to describe but never forgotten.’ As with all tastes, it is the memory of the product that retains its popularity with consumers and with increased demand lies the opportunity for the product to flourish. ‘The flavour is intense,’ Leigh continues, ‘with a wide range of sweet notes, followed by a slight counterbalance of bitterness on the edge of the tongue. When set, it takes on a rich yellow hue, with a fairly coarse grain.’ As I scoop a spoonful from a jar and taste it, the result of the arduous process is felt clearly. Sea lavender honey has a rather dense and indulgent texture. In a world of excess, perhaps its rarity only adds to the luxury. However if this rare nature is to threaten the very survival of this product, then surely there is a responsibility to invest in its protection, so it can be handed down to future generations.

            As we reach the end of our conversation, I cannot help but think about the careful balance, the challenges the food industry might face in the future if we allow marginalised varieties such as this one to become extinct. Our diets may become simpler, to the detriment of complexity. Yet the yield is a reflection of the knowledge and skill required to obtain it. I wonder how one might help the cause and Leigh’s answer is simple. ‘The best thing anyone can do to help bees in the United Kingdom is to plant suitable flowers,’ he says. ‘Support the beekeepers, and expect to pay slightly more to mitigate the financial risk that beekeepers take in order to provide sea lavender honey.’ This process has existed for over ninety years and I cannot help but feel it would be a travesty should it be forgotten. The skills honed by experts such as Leigh might fall to the shelves of a historical food archive, rather than exist on the palates of those who wish to taste them. The idea of uniformity pales in comparison to the diversity of taste, expanding our produce with as much variety and as many layers as possible. The thought of extinction as a result of a failing in this preservation is profound, but supporting the battle against uniformity might just save us from it.

Leigh’s website is https://www.leighsbees.co.uk

Louise Leverett is a writer and novelist currently living in London. She has recently completed a diploma in ‘Advanced Gastronomy’ at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris. Follow her on Instagram @louiseleverett

The post A Rare Breed. Leigh Goodsell and ‘Sea Lavender Honey’. appeared first on Slow Food in the UK.

            Following a succession of five generations, Janet’s father believed strongly in the sustainability of the land, by putting back what is taken out of it. Originally a medical scientist, Janet returned to E. Oldroyd and Sons Ltd, to preserve this legacy. Rhubarb, or Rheum rhabarbarum, as it is scientifically known, is by tradition a spring plant native to Siberia, originated not as a food but as a medicine dating all the way back to 2,700 BC. Historically, the roots were transported via the Silk Road from Siberia to China where it was formulated into an herbal remedy. Rhubarb leaves and roots contain Oxalic acid, which by all accounts are poisonous, but in small amounts the powder obtained from the roots were used to treat gut, liver and lung disorders for thousands of years. For this purpose, the medicine obtained from the root was first imported to the UK in the 13^th century, but by the 16^th century as the medicine was so very expensive the first seeds were brought in to produce the roots here. ‘After this time, modern medicine became paramount,’ Janet tells me, ‘and rhubarb as a medicine was forgotten about.’ From here its properties turned to food where it flourished and, rather cost effectively, grew in abundance. Rhubarb was so popular during the War that the Government curbed the price of forced rhubarb to one shilling per pound, so necessary were its health benefits regarded for the population. ‘After the Second World War the story changed,’ Janet tells me. ‘Rhubarb went out of favour, probably due to sugar rationing of this time, making rhubarb very tart for the sweet taste of the era. When transport refrigeration was introduced in the 1950’s, exotic fruits were brought in, casting rhubarb aside, this made its popularity decrease even further.’

            As Janet walks me across the farm towards the forcing shed, it occurred to me that there is a cyclical nature to the popularity of foods that this renaissance is battling with. Here lies a societal inheritance of tastes as well as practice, and a renaissance it is, because rhubarb is making a comeback. ‘People are now more open to tart flavours,’ Janet tells me, unlocking a small door of the forcing shed before leading me inside. ‘There is also a health implication, because people have cut down on the amount of sugar in their diets.’ This is where the attributes of Forced Rhubarb are noted. Grown in the dark, the plant grows faster than traditional plants, forcing its way upwards in search of the light needed to make glucose with chlorophyll, normally obtained by the process of photosynthesis. In the dark sheds this is impossible. The plant instead utilises the energy store, which was laid down over two summers, in the root as carbohydrate. The frost naturally converts this to glucose whilst in the outdoor field, prior to being lifted and brought into the forcing sheds. Thus, frost is an important stage to the process. Due to being grown in the dark, the resultant sticks are very tender, and by utilising its roots glucose store for growth, the flavour is much sweeter and less acidic than can ever be obtained with outdoor grown rhubarb.

            Due to this unique flavour complexity, it is treasured by chefs across the industry. Discovered by accident in 1817, by the horticulturalists of Chelsea Physic Garden in London, the rhubarb plant was accidently grown in darkness. On tasting it they discovered its characteristics to be far superior than any rhubarb grown before. ‘Market Gardeners of the time, engaged in growing fruit and vegetables commercially here in Yorkshire, were looking for something to grow and harvest in winter,’ Janet tells me. ‘The technique we use today was developed here in the rhubarb triangle where the conditions required to produce high quality and yields proved to be perfect. The production in other areas of the country simply could not compete, and died out leaving Yorkshire to be regarded as the centre of the world for Forced Rhubarb production. Special sheds were erected, and the growers multiplied within the Triangle to over 200.’ There are many ways in which she is cultivating the history of this practice and Janet holds public tours in order to foster interest and educate people. ‘You can actually hear it growing,’ she says, as she walks me through the forcing shed, following the same footsteps as a guided tour. We are met with rows of roots covering the floor of the shed like a carpet. ‘The buds on the surface of the roots swell as the stick inside grows up and pushes through. The sound you can hear is the pop of the first leaf breaking through.’        

            To add to the mystery, and thanks to a series of spectacular photographs online, people are often drawn to the candles, wrongly deemed to be an integral part of the growing process. ‘Candles are not used to grow the crop,’ Janet says. In fact, total darkness is necessary. ‘The candle illuminates the area that they’re picking without causing damage to the rest of the shed.’ It is a meticulous balance, passed down to her through generations. As she points out a heater in the corner of the shed, thermostatically controlling the temperature, it is clear that modern-day growth has been made easier in many ways, but there is still a heavy reliance upon tradition and heritage. ‘It’s done by knowledge and understanding, gained over generations,’ Janet says. ‘It’s not guess-work anymore.’ Following in their footsteps, the key elements retained are productivity and sustainability. The soil is still treated with ‘shoddy’, a biproduct of wool from the 19^th century textile mills that would usually have gone to waste. Its high levels of nitrogen, created upon decay, acts as a natural fertiliser. Careful consideration is applied to the picking, a delicate process done entirely by hand, whereby the index finger is pushed three-inches down the side of the root before it is gently twisted and pulled. The only machine required, is used in the removal of the root from the ground. Taking into account the authentic process and labour costs, there’s no getting away from the fact that it’s an expensive practice. This culture has been challenged in recent years, threatening the very survival of its heritage.

            As I walk through the shed I find myself hit with a sense of catharsis. There’s a delicacy to it, a tenderness, which combined with the ambience of the forcing shed and candlelight, leads to quite a humbling experience. I’m not alone in this feeling. ‘On the tours, people don’t want to wake it up,’ Janet says. ‘They start talking really quietly.’ As with all industries that pass down through generations, there is a constant conversation between the past and the future, but quite often the greatest successes, are those that are a combination of the two. By retaining this custom, they haven’t deviated away from traditional methods but are two generational styles of working in action; the precision of modern agriculture supported by the culture of the past. The greatest legacy of this heritage lies in the working of the land, the perseverance that’s required to sustain it, leading to the continuation of Forced Rhubarb for future generations.

Louise Leverett is a writer and novelist currently living in London. She has recently completed a diploma in ‘Advanced Gastronomy’ at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris. Follow her on Instagram @louiseleverett 

The post A Rare Breed. Janet Oldroyd Hulme and ‘Yorkshire Forced Rhubarb’ appeared first on Slow Food in the UK.

Let’s start with the good news. At the end of January, the government finally provided details on ELMs[1], the Environmental Land Management scheme that is to provide ‘public money for public goods’ and help farmers compensate for the loss of direct payments from Brussels. The 101-page document lists the payment rates for 280 individual measures farmers can take. They range from £10.38 for establishing a skylark plot or £22 p/ha for soil assessments, to £537 for creating fenland out of lowland peat. Some payment schemes will open this spring, others will only be rolled out later in this year or next year.

This is where the good news end.

Until Britain left the EU, basic payments often accounted for 90% of farm income. The wet and hilly regions of England, Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland are ideal for growing grass and raising beef cattle and sheep. Such extensive agricultural systems are good for the environment, but not for making money. That’s why for so many farmers the farm’s profitability depended on direct payments from the EU. But because such farms already are low input and environmentally friendly, farmers don’t stand much chance to get alternative compensation through ELMs. Those who stand to benefit most are farmers who until now have done little or nothing to increase biodiversity or soil fertility, but instead went hell for leather to increase yields. And even the paid for measures will make such farms at best a little more environmentally friendly: “Individual actions on their own won’t achieve our climate and nature targets. (…) There remains the need for join-up between actions to avoid a piecemeal approach[2]”, says Martin Lines, the chair of the Nature Friendly Farming Network.

Brexit, trade and more hoops to jump through

Brexit would result in numerous new trade agreements that would deliver huge opportunities for export – that was the promise ‘Brexiters’ like Boris Johnson made when Britain left the EU. Since then, Britain has signed trade agreements with New Zealand and Australia. Both treaties came under fire from agricultural organisations such as the farmer association NFU. The main criticism: animal welfare standards in both countries are lower than in Britain. The agreement disadvantages British farmers and the domestic market is likely to be flooded with cheap beef and lamb meat, in particular if and when demand in China decreases. Even George Eustice, the minister at the helm of DEFRA when the agreements were signed, said in a speech in November 2022 that the treaty with Australia is “not actually a very good deal”[3]. He continued: “Overall the truth of the matter is that the UK gave away far too much for far too little in return.”

The agreement with New Zealand isn’t good for British famers either. In 2022, imports of New Zealand lamb were up by 11%[4], the sales’ price in supermarkets was on average 30% lower than that for fresh British lamb.

EU countries remain Britain’s most important trading partners, but non-tariff trade barriers such as phytosanitary checks and documentation requirements have made the import and export of agricultural goods and food significantly more expensive and time consuming. Researchers at the London School of Economics have calculated that during the first two Brexit years, 2020 and 2021, British consumers had to spend an additional £6 bn. on food[5]. They say Brexit alone is responsible for year on year price increases of 3%. Before Brexit, 77% of all food imports came from EU countries. Once the UK had left the EU, companies in EU countries did not hesitate to pass on the additional administrative costs they incurred – or simply stop selling to UK buyers.

Food safety and animal welfare at risk

Things might get worse. Britain is still on course to have a ‘bonfire of EU-law’ by the end of the year[6]. 4,000 pieces of EU legislation will be automatically revoked by 31^st December unless they are actively preserved by parliament. 1,700 of these EU regulations deal with food safety, animal welfare and the environment. Staff at DEFRA is stretched as it is, there is little hope that the EU laws in question will be properly assessed. Ministers were asking for a “blank cheque” to get rid of regulations without consultation, Orla Delargy from Sustain told Farmers Weekly[7]. “Putting our food and farming standards at such risk is foolhardy and an unwelcome distraction from dealing with the problems our farmers and wider food system are facing”.

Lots of pain for little gain

In food, margins are tight and in Britain, it is supermarkets which pocket the biggest share of profits, leaving next to nothing for farmers. That was the result of a widely reported study by Sustain. “Farmers hold a disproportionately high amount of the risk when it comes to producing food, but receive a disproportionately low amount of the reward, reflecting their relative weakness in the supply chain,” Vicki Hird, the head of Sustain, told Farmers Weekly[8].

Why do supermarkets pay farmers so little? Because “they are also facing additional costs and are working incredibly hard to limit price increases for consumers during a cost-of-living crisis where many people are struggling to afford the essentials”, Andrew Opie, the director of food and sustainability at the British Retail Consortium told Farmers Weekly.

Circular firing squad

Farmers, too, are facing increased costs: for energy, for feed, for fertilizer, for transport, for diesel to operate machinery, for cold storage and for labour – which brings us back to Brexit and the fact that for this year the government has made 40,000 seasonal worker visas available and increased the minimum wage they need to be paid. The horticultural sector alone needs 70,000 to 90,000 workers. Add to that the number of workers needed in the dairy sector and in the fishing industry; slaughter facilities still haven’t found enough butchers, and while Britain was short of vets even before Brexit, the situation now is just downright terrible: not only did many vets from European countries return home, now even more vets are needed because of the increased Brexit paperwork such as phytosanitary certificates for exports.

In the meantime, farmers are running out of options. While production costs are continuing to increase, they are unlikely to get higher prices for their produce. Increasing mechanisation in order to save labour costs is not always possible, and, in any case, it would need investment which most cannot afford. Which leaves two choices: scaling back production or getting out of farming altogether.

According to Farmers Weekly, the National Pig Association believes that 80% of pig farms could go out of business in the next 12 months if the situation does not improve.

A survey by British Grower Association just found that more than a third of orders for new apple and pear trees have been scrapped because ‘the sums just don’t add up’: costs have risen by 23%, farmgate prices rose by 0.8%. Fruit and vegetable growers are therefore significantly reducing the acreage they plant, big enterprises are shifting production abroad.

Egg and chicken producers are in a similar situation. Since last summer, many producers have not fully restocked their barns, which led to an egg shortage before Christmas.

Just how serious the situation is by now became clear at the end of November in a speech by the former head of the secret service, MI5, Lady Manningham-Buller: “I argue that food is part of our national security, including those ‘essential workers’ who grow and harvest it, and produce crops, vegetables, fruit, and even wine.”[9] She said food production in the UK had been taken for granted for too long and now constituted a weakness in the nation’s security. “The doubling of fertiliser prices, soaring energy costs, shortages of seasonal workers, plus apprehension about trade deals that may favour places where farming standards are low and imported supplies liable to disruption – all are impacting the farmers that produce our food and we urgently need policy to address this.”

Except that no such policy is forthcoming. Instead the government banks on cheap food imports to keep consumer prices low – no matter what the consequences are for British farmers – and for all our physical wellbeing and health.

It’s a sad post-Brexit reality, in particular as Britain could be moving towards a better, more local and sustainable food system by rewarding diversified farms with long rotations, keeping animals on grass and transitioning to organic. Farmers could produce healthier, more nutritious food which would help to take pressure of the NHS. Good food is medicine. Which we are not likely to get any time soon.

[1] ELMs is only available to farmers in England, as devolved nations, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland are responsible for their respective agricultural policies, but how much money is available is still decided in Westminster

[2] https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2023/jan/26/details-long-awaited-farming-subsidies-overhaul-england-revealed

[3] https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2022/nov/14/flagship-post-brexit-australia-trade-deal-not-actually-very-good-george-eustice

[4] https://www.fwi.co.uk/business/markets-and-trends/meat-prices/frozen-nz-lamb-brings-jitters-with-trade-back-15

[5] https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2022/dec/01/brexit-added-nearly-6bn-to-uk-food-bills-in-two-years-research-finds

[6] dto.

[7] Farmers Weekly, 10.2.2023, page 7

[8] https://www.fwi.co.uk/business/markets-and-trends/farmer-frustration-at-low-returns-from-supermarkets

[9] https://www.fwi.co.uk/news/farm-policy/former-mi5-boss-says-urgent-action-needed-on-food-security

Marianne Landzettel is a journalist writing and blogging about food, farming and agricultural policies in the UK, the US, continental Europe and South Asia. She worked for the BBC World Service and German Public Radio for close to 30 years.Follow her on twitter at @M_Landzettel Images used with kind consent @M.Kunz

The Slow Food blog welcomes contributions on the topics of Food, Farming and Agriculture. The contents may not entirely match the views of Slow Food, but reflect the journeys of the authors. To write for us please click here

The post British food and agriculture – going from bad to worse appeared first on Slow Food in the UK.

            In 2004, together with his partner Neal’s Yard Dairy founder Randolph Hodgson, Joe Schneider set about the idea of returning to the traditional style of producing a Stilton-style cheese using unpasteurised milk, on a dairy farm in Cuckney, on the edge of Sherwood Forest in Nottinghamshire. In 1996, all production of Stilton using unpasteurised milk ceased, making this tradition of cheesemaking extinct. It’s a heritage dating back generations, when it was last made on a farm as far back as the 1930’s. Despite his quest to resurrect the process, the use of the name ‘Stilton’ was denied by the Stilton Maker Association due to the use of unpasteurised milk which led to the birth of Stichelton. The very name resonates a bygone era, made by combining the words Stichl’ meaning style and ‘Tun’ meaning village, Stichelton was one of the early Anglo-Saxon names used historically for the village of Stilton. ‘It is the holy grail of cheesemaking to bring back this process,’ Joe says, as I sit across from him over a cup of coffee. Here at Collingthwaite Farm all aspects of the cheesemaking process are just a few yards away. I can even see the herd of Friesian-Holstein cows from the window. ‘We produce around 43 tonnes a year,’ he tells me, ‘which might sound like a lot but compared to commercial cheese production, it’s quite small.’ This control of quality, and dedication to the culture is what sets Stichelton apart from commercial cheesemaking. Maintaining this tradition is crucial if the legacy is to be preserved, so it’s no surprise that his reasons for preserving this heritage are grounded in philosophy. ‘Cheesemaking is the perfect example of how food and farming go together,’ he explains, referring to the pastures green stretched out beyond his office window. The terroir is as important to him as the cheese itself. ‘There is a connection to the craft that makes this process so fascinating.’ In fact, each part of the process becomes a factor to the overall flavour, a perfect combination between instinct and science. One small tweak, and you find yourself with a whole different cheese. We walk across the field as Joe talks me through this. ‘It’s about the land, the animal and the climate,’ he says. The three factors essential to cheesemaking that sets apart the flavour. ‘That is the pleasure of what we taste.’

            Once inside the dairy, my attention turns to the artisanal aspect of the cheese. ‘The process of cheesemaking is the connection to the craft,’ Joe says, as we change into blue aprons and work boots. He walks me through each stage, as we navigate a culture that has all but been abandoned by traditional cheesemakers. ‘The milk is pumped from the dairy directly into the vat,’ Joe says, in a testament to the importance of locality. He doesn’t want to be making cheese in the isolation of a dairy where the milk is delivered by a lorry, far removed from the source of the ingredient. Instead he opts to keep the cows on the land, set out to pasture across 250 acres. By playing an active role in the farming, Joe has the ability to monitor things like quality of diet, ensuring the cows are fed on a mixture of grass, sugar beet and silage. It is a consideration imperative to the well-being of the cow and as Joe explained, directly effects the flavour of the milk. ‘The flora of the milk expresses the land, breed and climate,’ he tells me. ‘It’s the expression of what the milk has to offer.’ From here, I am shown to a metal machine where the milk is pumped directly from the parlour into a large vat, the source of the milk just a few yards away, the freshness of the ingredient adding a complexity to the flavour. A blue penicillium mould is rehydrated the night before and is added to the milk as it is pumped. The milk is then heated before a starter is added, after which a traditional rennet is applied that gives the cheese its unique soft and silky texture. The curds that form sink to the bottom and lie untouched for two hours. The whey is then removed from the top surface of the vat using a traditional saucer shaped ladle. The meticulous nature of production is reminiscent of an ancient ceremony, and witnessing it I feel as if I’ve been transported to another era.

            As with each part of this methodical routine, the drainage process is slow. It is important that the curd is well-drained before it begins to acidify. The next morning, these blocks of curd are then run through a peg mill, breaking them up into small, individual pieces. Salt is then added by hand, fluffing the curd to aid its consistency. This milled curd is then added to a tall hoop and turned upside down each day. Once firmed, they are removed from the hoops and taken to the rubbing up room where they are scraped using a knife, blocking out air so that it doesn’t blue prematurely. Lastly, they are taken into the drying out room where the cheese begins to develop a crust. It is this crust that is renowned for its distinctive flavour, only attributed to here. ‘It’s tied to a sense of place,’ Joe says, as he examines the crust on a large wheel. ‘It simply can’t be replicated anywhere else.’ This crust is one of the unusual aspects of Stichelton, a deep orange colour signifying the richness of flavour that has been created through the maturing process. Within a cooler second maturing room, and after six weeks of maturing, the cheeses are pierced to allow air into the cheese so that the blue mould can break down the cheese into a soft texture. The process is arduous and painstaking, but it’s not just the cheese itself that Joe is dedicated to preserving, it is the security of this heritage of cheesemaking.

            As Joe hands me a sample to try, I am met with the powerful correlation between taste and memory. It is clearly an inherent part of Collingthwaite Farm. The restoration of the flavour of this cheese protects the very memory of its lineage, and adds a certain romanticism towards the relationship between man and pasture. But to Joe it’s something deeper. ‘It is a war of attrition with dumbed down food,’ he tells me, ‘when we taste something with a certain complexity we are often overwhelmed.’ In the age of mass-production, diversity of flavour has inevitably declined and many traditional practices have since fallen by the wayside. It took this visit to a farm in Cuckney to appreciate the enormity of  this threat. But there is still cause for optimism. Through modernisation, regional heritages are often tempered, but they are still there for those who wish to find them. With his unique process and devotion to all elements of traditional cheesemaking, Joe has restored a flavour that is distinctive. Stichelton is a cheese preserved in this very philosophy.

http://stichelton.co.uk

Louise Leverett is a writer and novelist currently living in London. She has recently completed a diploma in ‘Advanced Gastronomy’ at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris.

The post A Rare Breed. Joe Schneider and ‘Stichelton Cheese’. appeared first on Slow Food in the UK.

            As I turned the corner, and weaved my way through the winding country roads, the sky was the colour of greyish lavender, dissipating after a heavy rainfall. Perhaps I was a little too captivated as before I knew it I’d hit a dirt road, driving half a mile in the opposite direction before a kind local took pity on me. He knew the farm, most people do around here, and with his guidance I was back on track, rolling up the gravelled driveway protected by a giant ironwork of a stag’s head standing majestically above the entrance gates. I was greeted by Richard Vaughan, his wife Rosamund and their small but committed team who tend to the animals and farmland. I changed into a sturdier pair of shoes and downed a stiff cup of coffee before setting out to explore the farm. I marvelled in the natural smell of the farmland, filled with an honesty reminiscent of the origins of our food. The realisation of what efforts have been made, far beyond the plate. Under a large sky it’s a far cry from the industrial nature of commercial farming. Raved by the likes of Michel Roux and Heston Blumenthal, these animals have been preserved from extinction through Richard and his teams tireless efforts. I followed him outside and across the courtyard as he talked me through the careful consideration for their housing; a row of outhouses lined up like a small street of terraced houses.

            Richard has been breeding Middle White’s for over 30 years. Bred from crossing the Small White, a breed of pig now extinct, and the Large White, the Middle White is considered an endangered breed. To gain some perspective, it’s now rarer than the Giant Panda. Distinctive through its short nose, in the 1930’s it became known as ‘The London Porker’, due to its high popularity in London restaurants. It is a pig heralded both nationally and far beyond these shores, so adored by the Emperor of Japan that he reportedly commissioned a statue in its honour. But due to the aftermath of the Second World War where focus was placed on affordability rather than quality, and with the introduction of meat rationing, their numbers rapidly began to decline. Within modern society, which favours the mass-production of cheaper factory meat farming, the Middle White does not cater to such a widespread market. They require a more careful and dedicated breeding approach. It is here where Richard’s passion is securing the breed’s future. He calls it the ‘pursuit of excellence’.

            ‘Food production is commonly driven by economics,’ Richard tells me. ‘The main concern is often how one can make something cheaper, rather than better.’ Meat consumption and the environment is a topic of extreme relevance in today’s society, and one that dominates a large part of the conversation. This is demonstrative of a careful consideration for the cultivation and sustainability of a breed rooted in three main principles: how they are looked after, the conditions in which they are housed and the quality of diet which they are fed. Such careful attention to their environment is paramount to Richard, who believes that ‘an outstanding life gives outstanding meat.’ As I observed first hand from across the field, the pigs are either eating or sleeping. The straw is clean, scattered with food, a hearty diet of wheat and soy, emulating the way acorns might drop onto the undergrowth in the wild. For Richard it is the ‘modern understanding of how pigs operate that guarantees the best of the herd.’ The aim is to ‘de-stress’ the animal, something which has developed through years of study and attention. Here, great lengths are taken to ensure the optimum environment for breeding.

             ‘Society is so divorced from where our food is coming from,’ Richard says. ‘People don’t often consider the life of the animal or its environment when dining.’ One can often find themselves trawling rows of supermarkets and restaurant menus with little consideration for the origins of the produce, of the lengths the breeder has taken to retain such quality. In times of global uncertainty and change, this ability to play a role in preservation is reinforced by our connection to the land, the vast open space I find myself standing in, supporting the day to day lives of those actively preserving it. An endangered breed is one that is threatened by extinction, the sense of finality in the most simplistic terms that once it has gone, we can never get it back. As I consider this, Richard leads me back up to the house where lunch has been prepared. As I filled myself with warm crusty bread and a cheeseboard so satisfying that I indulge myself with two helpings, I asked Richard about the characteristics of the Middle White. ‘Through understanding nature, one is understanding the animal,’ Richard explained. ‘Different breeds come in all forms. The Middle White will never be mainstream, it’s not one of those breeds that are churned out for commercial consumption.’ The financial impact of breeding in this way swiftly returns to the question of economics. Globally, these are challenging financial times, but despite this it seems that society is happy to pay a premium price for other produce, such as wines. If we take the grape, there is often so much more interest paid to the land, the terroirs, and the year in which the fruit has been harvested. Aside this, very little is known about the heritage of an animal, the environment it has been bred in, or the nature and quality of the rearing.

            At Huntsham Farm, Richard owns over half of the entirety of UK stock. The overall objective is to measure the optimum breeding capacity that for an endangered breed, is vital. To see these environments first hand, Edward, one of the workers on the farm, guided me through the large outhouses. It quickly became apparent that he shares Richard’s passion for quality. On the way to see the Middle Whites, we stopped off to visit the Longhorn cows. Under Richard’s guidance, and with a rave review from famed chef Heston Blumenfeld, these species have gone from a ‘rare breed’ to a ‘minority breed’, all through careful breeding and recognition. I followed Richard back across the yard and on to where the Middle Whites are housed. At Huntsham Farm, Richard has retained all of the bloodline, both boar and sow in an astute protection of the breed. As Richard notes, ‘quality of breeding is essential and although there are ancestors of this species elsewhere in the world, often these bloodlines become quite far removed in terms of retaining quality.’ To maximise interest between the sexes, the wooden outhouses are built on the opposite sides of the yard from one another; one side for boars and one side for sows’. As with all good breeding, it is this protection of the bloodline that is vital for the protection of the breed, for its very survival.

            The farmland of the Wye Valley offers a rather philosophical backdrop to such a conversation. With the winter sun setting remarkably early behind us, we made our way back up the gravelled pathway to the house. As the natural sunlight melted away into the clouds behind me, I found myself reflecting on Richard’s endeavour, his ‘pursuit of excellence’. It’s easy to ignore the attention to detail, the careful consideration of the environment and the perseverance it takes to get there. It’s also tempting to look beyond the hard work and focus on the final achievement. But it was the glimpse into the commitment behind the scenes that I found most admirable. It is this dedication that has prevented the Middle White from extinction. As I contemplated our role in preserving this species, I found it to be a pursuit of something greater than excellence, it is the pursuit of the conservation of its future.

Richard’s Huntsham Court Farm website www.huntsham.com

Louise Leverett is a writer and novelist currently living in London. She has recently completed a diploma in ‘Advanced Gastronomy’ at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris.

The post A Rare Breed. Richard Vaughan and ‘The Middle White Pig’. appeared first on Slow Food in the UK.

In addition to the public vote, each nation director chose their Person of the Year, their stories are below, with one of those of winners being crowned Slow Food in the UK Person of Year as well.

Best Butcher                                   Pipers Farm, Devon
Best Baker                                       Peter Cooks Bread, Malvern Hills
Best Greengrocer                          Slemish Market Garden, Ballymena
Best Fishmonger                           Rockfish, Brixham
Best Deli or Grocer                        Broad Bean, Ludlow
Best Cheesemonger                       Neals Yard Dairy, London
Best Market                                   Borough Market, London
Best Restaurant/Food Eatery       Cafe St Honore, Edinburgh
Champion Slow Food Product     Kentish Hogget, Claringbolds Farm, Kent

Person of the Year: Dan Saladino. Dan has long championed the Ark of Taste. Whether through the BBC Food Programme, or his multi award winning booking Eating to Extinction which has won every award from the Jane Grigson prize to be named in the “100 books you must read” by Time Magazine.
Dan is a storyteller, and he tells the stories of the producers and products in a way which just makes you want to keep exploring with him at your side.
Nominated by the directors of Slow Food in the UK.

The post Slow Food in the UK Award winners 2022 appeared first on Slow Food in the UK.