Vermont is where farm-to-table kitsch comes to die.
In New York City, restaurants oftentimes emphasize their connection to local markets; they are “market restaurants,” “farm-to-table,” or participate in “sustainable foodways.” Still, eating fresh produce sequestered in a metropolitan fortress of steel and concrete feels disingenuous. Knowing the name of the farm that grew those ramps or raised that rabbit means little without context. A name is only a name when stripped of the named object. So we go to the farms, the creameries, the foragers, and the fishermen, seeking the intrinsic narratives of the food we consume. So we go to Vermont. Continue reading