Hooked on Food - and Community
IS FOOD A DRUG?
Do carbs not elicit cravings?
Do we not fiend for food?
Just because we need it to survive—which, of course, we do—does that mean it can’t be thought of in the same way as other mood-altering substances?
For years, as I developed my craft, I felt like a drug dealer. Clients would reach out—on social media, or by text if they had become regulars—looking for a fix.
“You got any stuff?” they’d say.
“How much do you need?”
We’d arrange a meet-up, sometimes in public, at a park or a café somewhere. I’ve even done deals on the street, selling out of the trunk of my car, but more often I’d make house calls, driving all over Metro Detroit. Regular customers might come over, and we’d spend a few minutes, sometimes more, catching up. The substance was what brought us together, but the relationships it formed provided their own buzz. Seeing old friends is one of nature’s more underrated stimulants. It’s how we’ve survived, hardwired to build bonds. Sharing is caring, as they say. And in my case, what we shared was bread.
I never wanted to be a baker.
It’s not some dream I had as a boy. I’m not following a heritage that’s been passed down in my family. It was a hobby that fulfilled a cheap desire. The more I baked, the more addicted I became to the breadmaking process. Drawn to these simple ingredients and the connections they helped me form; in the process, growing closer to my own spirit. Countless early mornings and late nights spent alone, time focused on subtle improvements. Heat, water, time, temperature; simple elements that when used properly, create something profoundly satisfying and agonizingly short-lived. A drug of sorts, even if it is legal in all 50 states.
As weed has become ubiquitous in Michigan, more available than fast food in some areas, and as I’ve just recently opened a little bakeshop of my own, I’ve been thinking about the nature of food as a drug. About what food represents in our society. If people are addicted to quick, convenience consumerism, is there still a place for the little guy?
I don’t think big agriculture is evil. Cultivating food on a large scale is as important as ever. Whether you’re digging in the dirt with your bare hands, or monocropping hectares of rural pasture with industrial machines, to elicit a viable crop from the earth requires faith, practice, sweat and a certain degree of good fortune. Weather is unpredictable. Nature shifts and flits, never in a straight line, never the same year to year. But in an environment where control and convenience are so preferred over quality and craft, I fear that the community effect of slow food is being squeezed out.
“The substance was what brought us together, but the relationships it formed provided their own buzz.”
So I encourage you to find small-scale producers. Walk through the farmers market. Take your time. Visit little cafés and restaurants. Ask questions. Be curious. An addiction like that might even be good for you.
Maxwell Leonard is the founder of the Secret Bakery, which recently opened in a not-so-secret brick-and-mortar location in Ferndale. Learn more at maxbread.net or @leonardmaxbread
