Jicama in the 'hood

Indeed, for all the ruminations on the perils of the modern food economy -- from bestselling author Michael Pollan's disturbing finding in "The Omnivore's Dilemma" that industrial corn so thoroughly dominates the American diet that we are "corn chips with legs," to the widely published statistic from Iowa State University that most food travels 1,500 miles to make it onto American store shelves -- a more rudimentary concern has begun to present itself: Proximity to plate. Even when Gallagher's researchers controlled for income and education, rates of obesity rose as the distance to the nearest grocery store increased. "We did find a real relationship between obesity and grocery store placement," she says. There's also reason to believe that better access helps foster better diet. For every additional supermarket in a census tract, for example, fruit and vegetable consumption has been shown to increase by as much as 32 percent, according to a 2001 American Journal of Public Health study.

Food deserts are almost exclusively found in poor, urban areas, where premier retailers -- particularly shops like Whole Foods, which have based their business on charging a premium price for premium foods -- often fear to tread. Even when large retailers are eyeing an urban locale, nuts-and-bolts concerns such as complex zoning laws, high land prices and few available lots often pose difficulties for companies that are used to dealing with the suburbs. That leaves small-scale corner stores to fill the gap -- and residents with fewer food choices and higher grocery bills. Low-income communities have an average of one midsize or large grocery store per 80,000 residents, compared to one for every 25,000 residents in wealthy communities, according to a recent Brookings Institution survey of 10 American cities. The same study also found prices to be higher in small stores; a survey of 132 food items found that over two-thirds were more expensive at small grocers than at supermarkets. And even the simple fact of higher cost may lead to health problems. A Rand Corporation study published last year linked higher prices for produce with greater rates of obesity.

But obesity itself comes with a hefty price tag -- yet another reason legislators are joining the food fray. Annual spending on obesity-related health problems in America in 1998 was an estimated $80 billion, according to the journal Health Affairs, and likely has risen since. Nor does it appear that it will abate soon; ever since the surgeon general declared an obesity epidemic in 2001, the bad news just keeps coming: Obesity could soon overtake tobacco as the No. 1 killer in the U.S., according to the Centers for Disease Control.

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Well before food access was making it onto the legislative roster, getting good food in the 'hood was being tackled by a scrappier set of operatives: the people who lived there. "We were observing local health problems in the community related to diet," says Brahm Ahmadi, co-director of the People's Grocery, a West Oakland, Calif., food justice group. "The initial goal was to create a worker-owned community grocery store and education center."

When Ahmadi and his two co-founders confronted a steep learning curve -- none of them had run a business before -- they scaled back the retail component to a "mobile market." They bought a milk truck, then outfitted it with a booming sound system, a graffiti paint job and a load of fresh produce; it has since become a community fixture. This year, they're hoping to get a "Soul Box" program off the ground, where they'll hook food stamp recipients into community supported agriculture clubs, groups that partner with a farmer who delivers fresh produce weekly in exchange for payment upfront. Next year, the group hopes to finally open a store.

Though it would be easy to rest on its laurels, the growing organization -- it now boasts five full-time positions -- is thinking bigger than just one truck and one store. People's Grocery devotees pride themselves on addressing a complex, interconnected set of food-related issues. At the top of the list is advocating and practicing sustainable agriculture and urban farming, with a goal of creating a locally based food system, ideally while generating jobs and stability in their communities.

All of which situates groups like People's Grocery not in opposition to the affluent, consumer-based charge led by Pollan and Waters, but rather as the grass-roots flip side of it. "They've been pioneering quite a bit," Ahmadi says of the food luminaries. "But that hasn't quite trickled down to the challenges of healthy food in West Oakland." Which, he adds, is precisely where groups like his come in. "A lot of our current planning is geared toward a long-term vision of placing people into food companies to bridge that divide," he says, emphasizing that organic companies have traditionally aimed for an up-market consumer.

They may have their work cut out for them. Back at Stone Barns, the cooking class has finished and the students have reassembled en masse. Animated chatter bubbles through the room -- there's a general distaste for the haute cuisine sandwiches dispensed at lunchtime by farm staff, and talk of a McDonald's run back in the city is making the rounds -- and then a dozen kids take center stage at the front of the room.

The presenters are summer interns and volunteers with EatWise, the nutrition education group that has brought everyone to Stone Barns today. Joelina Peralta, a feisty 18-year-old from Bushwick with a mane of curls sprouting from a ponytail, starts the group off with a quick go-around about the benefits of eating locally. Everyone seems to grasp that local food is fresher, better for the environment and helps the New York economy -- an achievement that would make even the most dyed-in-the-wool foodie swoon. Then Victor Lopez, a diminutive 15-year-old from East New York, sporting bling in both ears, takes over.

"Have any of you heard about a farmers market?" He pauses for effect. "Not too much? That's OK, that's why I'm here." With a magician's showmanship, Victor announces that they will be having a taste test and unveils two paper plates of diced tomato, one from a farmers market, the other a grocery store.

To a trained eye, it's easy to pick out the farm-fresh tomato's bright red, juicy flesh, and cast a disdainful look at the pinkish, mealy option on the other plate. Yet, for most of the kids gathered, this is their first encounter with taking a critical look at food. When the three volunteers come up for a taste, results are mixed. Two choose the farm tomato, to the delight of the EatWise interns -- but Cesar Pimentel, a lanky 21-year-old youth program staffer who brought several students with him, shakes his head. "I like that one!" he says. "The grocery store!"

The scene hits home for Joelina, who says she's gone through a metamorphosis since joining EatWise. "They just grew up with that type of food, so they are used to that," she says of her fast-food-loving peers, adding that before she started working with EatWise she was the same. Now, she's trying to eat well, but she's finding it rough going in Bushwick. "I was in the supermarket not too long ago; I was trying to buy some organic stuff and I couldn't find anything at all," she explains. Another time, she stopped at the corner store and picked up some tomatoes, only to find that her palate had begun to outstrip her budget. "It was like, it had no flavor at all," she groans. "It was disgusting."

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