Perks

Joining the co-op isn’t all work shifts, kale, and rutabagas. There are, in fact, perks. This Sunday was a prime example.

This Sunday, co-op members were invited to a cocktail hour to celebrate the holidays, kindly hosted by Donna Hammond and Anne Pavek, owners of the Hudson Street Café. The co-op’s board and other members laid out a stunning array of snacks. Sweet potatoes wrapped in prosciutto and fresh herbs. Weensy potatoes stuffed with kale (there it is!), garlic and sun-dried tomatoes. Little boats of endive loaded with nuts and cheese and vinaigrette. The kind of sweet potato and onion pie that they eat in books about great food. Incredible beet ravioli—believe it. Steamed. Brussels. Sprouts.

Guess where the ingredients came from? Okay, not the prosciutto, nor the shrimp. Did I mention the shrimp?  Because there was shrimp. The garlic, on the shrimp?  Co-op.

Norman Rockwell himself couldn’t have done this any better: during the festivities, the town gathered at the bandstand across the street to hear choral music and watch the lighting of the Christmas tree. Back inside, the board raffled off a co-op gift basket and a considerably smaller, but fresh-cut and sustainably harvested, tree of its own. Elvis sang “Blue Christmas.”

A couple of speeches and many thank-yous later, there was a pause. Everyone patted their stomachs.

And then it was time for dinner. Unlike the free cocktail hour, this was a benefit. Members who ponied up a donation got a cozy spot at one of several long tables and chowed down on another round of exquisite offerings from Donna’s storied kitchen: curried carrots and string beans, fresh roast ham and cracklings, roast turkey, a savory apple compote, a gratin of potatoes and sweet potato topped with Talitha’s goat cheese, freshly baked foccacia, hummus, black-eyed peas and all that (if you could still move) was finished off with poached pears in maple syrup, apple crisp and whipped creammpfffthm.

While that was all passing around the tables and everyone was clapping for the chef —Donna was joined by the café’s staff plus the co-op board and members to stage the extravaganza—and toasting the farmers, and each other, and their ancestors, and the season (did I mention there was wine?—there was wine), conversations were passing around, too.  The place operated at an excited, buzzing roar.  It helped that kids were leaping around (some miscreant broke a railing, and has been admonished—ahem).  People were making new acquaintances, solidifying old ones, and branching off with new ideas born of the mix of ingredients on offer.  How do you sustain the local economy?  How do you eat better, healthier food?  How do you keep farms working and keep your countryside green?  How do you cut down on pollution by carrying food shorter distances to market?

Most important: at one point, turning from one conversation to join another, a tablemate nudged me to point out two little girls who’d been seated together (full disclosure: one was mine).  They’d never met before.  But there was something in the room that made it clear that we were all in it—whatever it is—together.

The girls got it.  That’s why they sat there, not looking at one another, chomping on couscous and apple compote, and holding hands like best friends.