I arrived early in the morning, and the winter air was crisp for Southern California. There was smoke bellowing from the chimney, and the pleasant smell of burning wood.
George walked me from grove to grove, tasting, and talking about his journey to this splendid place of solitude so many years before. The land had been in Gayle’s family, and there was no one else interested in farming, so George, a young man from New York State, jumped at the opportunity.
The farm has a micro-climate that is beyond perfect for growing sub-tropical fruits, and there were so many varieties growing! If you’ve ever met me, you know that my excitement at the discovery of such a fine fruit grower is what brings pure joy. I had found a treasure in George!
We traipsed from mandarins, to Morro blood oranges, to Cocktail grapefruit, to Budda Hand citron; George trying to keep up with my non-stop questions. And then there was a pause. There were these odd shaped green orbs that were reminiscent of the Paw Paws in the wild woods back in Sodus, where I first discovered the immense power of authentic full-flavored fruit. Cherimoya. Around another grove of trees was a young planting of bananas – in Southern California?
An innovative fruit grower, George Cunningham understands each square foot of dirt on his farm. He has worked with the soil and experienced many seasons of the climate, and has experimented with so many types and varieties of citrus and sub-tropical fruits that he knew what to plant where to achieve other-worldly flavors.
Flash forward to Wednesday, February 10, 2010:
We are unloading our order from George. There are nine types or varieties of citrus on the pallet. With my refractometer in hand, I head for the porch on the east side of the store and begin sliding the telescoping box tops from each variety.
First, the Cocktail grapefruit; their Brix is 18%. I have never seen citrus fruit with such a concentration of sugar. I am thinking cocktails, then salads with Hass avocado and fresh fennel. Then a Fremont mandarin; Brix sugar at 14%, and fragrance and flavor that nearly has me staggering as if I had just witnessed a punch from Muhammad Ali (he had a farm and training gym very near the farm in Sodus where I grew up.).
On and on, we tasted until my palate was in ecstasy. Oh, for the joy of truly delicious tree ripened fruit. If only everyone could have this experience, the world would be a better place.
I gathered a few pieces of each fruit and headed toward Pago – a local favorite restaurant – where I shared tastes with Chef Mike Richie. As we progressed from one to another, I sensed Mike’s joy in the depth of flavors and sweet, tangy juiciness of each. He requested that I deliver a selection of Morro blood oranges, cocktail grapefruit, and some Atwood navel oranges from Ken Olsen’s grove up in Lindsay, California. Mike shared my excitement for this fine fruit.
I departed for Forage, where Chefs Viet Pham and Bowman Brown were joyous in my sampling of this most authentic, organically grown, and carefully harvested fruit. There is definitely something wonderful about sharing a bountiful harvest with those who are passionate about the flavors and textures created by the rare collaboration of a committed fruit grower and Mother Nature.
As I departed Forage, I telephoned George Cunningham to share my joy in tasting his nearly perfect fruit. How I so admired the perseverance it must require to battle nature’s wind and rain to grow and harvest such a bounty of deliciousness. George was so happy with my call that he asked me to say it all once more, so his granddaughter could hear.
At a time when fast and cheap seem to be the mantra of most eaters and supermarket operators, men like George Cunningham are becoming a rarity. Civilization just isn’t as civilized if a moment of happiness while savoring the delight of a single piece of fruit well grown and carefully harvested becomes unknown to so many. We are so fortunate!
We have “endangered species” of creatures whose environments have been so devastated by our industrial and consumer lifestyles; yet no one considers the fate of the passionate fruit grower, cheesemaker, or baker; those who quietly enrich the lives of so many while they eke out a modest living in obscurity. It’s just not right.
We must honor those who choose the solitude and modest life of farming as a vocation before they become extinct. And we must educate and excite American eaters about the produce these farmers bring to the table before it’s too late.
For now, I will feast on the fruit of the season. And with each section of citrus I enjoy, I will think of George Cunningham – his gentle voice, his love of the land, and his commitment to bringing pleasure to all those lucky enough to taste from his harvest.
Raise a glass to George and all of those fine fruit growers who care so deeply about taste.
Hey, Eat!
