Right now, an attack of biblical proportions has unfolded onto the masses. And the wrong people are being held responsible to “fix” it. Our collective dreams and goals are on a dialysis machine. The people controlling that machine, however, are removing more than would naturally be removed were society left to make it’s own decisions. We have been forced to make sacrifices for wrongs we had no part in constructing. When you break a society down to it’s core parts, and I mean deeply colored fabric, there are only a few things that surface. It’s these things that will suffer more so than any material facade many have accepted as signs of a life worth living.

Fortunately, I come from a part of the country where sacrifice is the thread that binds all those fabrics together. Since 1755, thanks to Governor Charles Lawrence, my direct ancestors began to slim their lives down to necessities. What emerged and is still to this day our most valuable export, is food. And rooted in limited resource, we created some of the most complex, hearty, and unique flavors the world has ever known. The culture became and extension of what was on our plates. It too started oozing with flavor and spiciness that still is rampant throughout the area. From this, I can deduce one thing: when attempting to grasp the true spirit of a place, what really expresses how all these things come together, one needs to look no further than what the locals are Eating. You’d be hard pressed to find a better single example of what a place has to offer on all fronts, than the communal palate.

There has been a upwelling of interest in truly good food over the past few years. Shows have been spread across networks showcasing how we all can create culinary deliciousness from our small kitchens. Chefs have reached fame that reaches beyond the food critic’s choice and become household names. True foodies may argue that this new found interest is fake. More goes into these creations than people realize or take away from it. I’ll submit though, that few industries today have such an appreciation for the craft that goes into a product. No matter how “fake” that interest is, it’s more than other craftsmen and artisans of their field can ask for today.

With all this hype of food, has sparked a comeback of the restaurant. It’s shaken the ground, far from the epicenters of New York, San Francisco, and the like to small town America. Restaurants here in San Diego, are no exception. Small boutiquey spots have sprung up all over the place. Across California, pioneers have worked diligently to end the culture of processed, dyed, and mass packaged foods. Truly good things come from the farm, not the factory. Farm-to-table has become the business card of places around the city. I should say, rightfully so…

There is a problem here though. I don’t go to restaurants for the ease of not having to decide, cook, and simply nourish myself with things I require to function. I do it to have my taste buds kicked with everything I look for in the place I reside. I want to feel the connection of what I’m eating with what makes this place tick. This is where food and the resultant culture is lacking here. That farm-to-table idea has spawned such a naturalness that when going out to eat, I may as well stop by the farm itself and just pay the farmer to graze out in his field for a while. Buy a boat, a few fishing poles, and spend my nights filleting fish and eating them right there. A deeply personal note to purveyors of the area: You’re more than an extension of the supplier.

This extends beyond food. I don’t go to bars to find out what beer makers are doing these days. I don’t listen to bands to hear how guitar makers are upholding a true craft. I don’t buy books to see how publishers are using paper and ink. Art is not an advertisement for companies that make paint. These things meld together in the creation of something greater. Something that speaks to all of our senses and makes all this crap we deal with daily, a little less crappy. It’s something we expect to enjoy. Together. In these times where our very ideals are being attacked by politics and business, these things should be our line in the sand. Somehow, this fabric doesn’t drape over San Diego. “Good” food exists here as nothing more than a novelty. It isn’t a part of some larger fusion of a great culture. Where is southern California’s Holy Trinity of ingredients? Should we be eating something that fires on all pistons and makes dinner and our lives a little more interesting? Or accept that our food is nothing but a mix of vitamins and minerals existing for nothing more than nutritional value. I say, find the spice rack or start clipping coupons. Might as well save a little money if this is what I’m expected to regard as societal flavor.