Chapter 3. Farm To Table To Tastebuds #2
“Yep.” She went on to inform us that HIV had spread to humans after they’d butchered infected chimps for food, not to mention bird flu, swine flu, mad cow disease, and trichinosis, which came from eating undercooked meat.
“The meat and dairy industry also leads to antibiotic resistance because the animals have to be pumped full of antibiotics to stay healthy in the crowded conditions they’re forced to live in.
The feedlots cause air and water pollution, resulting in respiratory problems in humans.
With so many healthier and more sustainable alternatives, it just makes sense that the human diet needs to evolve. ”
“But what about protein?” Buck said.
“Not to worry.” She turned to the back of the menu and pointed to a page with a long list of plant-based sources of protein.
Nuts and beans of all varieties. Lentils.
Mushrooms. Peas. “Big Ag’s got everyone thinking they have to eat meat to get enough protein, but it’s a big, fat lie—pun intended.
What meatpackers won’t tell you is that, unlike vegetarian protein sources, meat has no fiber.
Only five percent of Americans get their daily recommended fiber intake.
That’s why so many people are backed up. ”
Buck cocked his head. “You think Big Ag is in cahoots with Big Laxative?”
“Could be,” Deborah replied. “Fiber is about more than digestive health. It reduces the risk for strokes, heart disease, obesity, diabetes, and some cancers. The bottom line is that we want to offer sustainable food with a focus on protecting our environment, animals, and the health of our customers. After all, if we kill you with cholesterol, you can’t come back.
It’s our secret ploy to corner the restaurant market. ” She gave him a wink.
As she stepped down from the soapbox, Buck mulled for a moment. “As they say, the proof is in the pudding. What would you recommend?”
“You can’t go wrong with the stew,” she said, “especially if you pair it with a side of cornbread. And if you want to be literal about the pudding, we’ve got a delicious chocolate chia pudding for dessert.”
He handed her his menu. “I’ll take all of that and an iced tea, please.”
“You got it.” She turned to me and raised her brows in question.
I, too, held out my menu. “I’ll try the cauliflower steak with a side of grilled asparagus and mushrooms, and a Blueberry Bliss smoothie.
” According to the menu, the shake had twenty grams of protein, plenty for me and my baby.
“Add a cranberry-orange muffin, too. I’ve been craving something sweet. ”
“Craving?” Deborah leaned to the side to take a look at my belly. “Does someone have a bun in their oven?”
“I’m due in late September.”
“It’s a girl,” she said, her tone matter of fact. “Sweet cravings mean girl, because girls are sweet. Salty or sour? Those mean boy. Bring your baby by once she’s here. I’ll take y’all on a tour of the barn. Kids love meeting the animals.”
Deborah’s sister picked up the soapbox and returned it to its place behind the smoothie bar while Deborah headed to the kitchen to put in our order. Meanwhile, Buck and I turned the conversation to the barn project.
“What are you thinking?” Buck asked. “Should we turn the barn into an event venue?”
I mulled over the idea. I could visualize the place transformed into a rustic venue for intimate concerts, weddings, small conferences, or other events such as book festivals.
On the other hand, with the high ceiling, it could easily be remodeled into an arthouse cinema featuring indie and foreign films. I could also see the barn making an interesting two-story retail space.
Then again, with so many large estates and upscale subdivisions nearby, maybe this area needed some affordable rental units.
“What about barndominium-style apartments?” I asked.
The term barndominium had been coined to describe barns turned into human homes, though it was also used for structures intended to accommodate both human occupants and animals.
The term became more commonplace after Chip and Joanna Gaines transformed a barn into a contemporary house on their Fixer Upper program on HGTV.
“I haven’t seen any apartments in the area, and all the housing developments around here are full of upscale single-family homes.
Regular folks with jobs in the area are going to need somewhere to live. ”
Buck took a sip of his iced tea before responding. “I like the idea of apartments. It would be a shame to see much of that pretty acreage turned into a parking lot for a commercial space. But with apartments, we’d be talking, what, ten, maybe twelve units?”
“Something like that.”
“The parking lot wouldn’t need to be big. We could use gravel, maintain the rustic aesthetic.”
“Did I just hear Buck Whitaker use the term aesthetic?”
“I might not look too clever, but I know a few three-syllable words.”
I mused aloud some more. “Maybe we could build a riverfront deck for the residents. The old chimney could be turned into a fireplace for an outdoor entertainment area.”
While we waited for our food, we browsed through barndominium images on our phones to get ideas.
“Adding windows on the upper floor would ruin the look,” I said. “What if we kept the upper floor open, loft style? The loft would get light from the downstairs stall windows.”
“Smart thinking. It would be easier and less expensive to do loft bedrooms, too.” Buck’s eyes narrowed for a moment, then he snapped his fingers, his eyes popping wide. “The building could be called the Hayloft Lofts!”
“You’re on to something, but the Hayloft Lofts sounds repetitive, like ‘How much wood would a woodchuck chuck.’ Maybe it should just be called The Haylofts.”
“I suppose you’ve got a point.”
Deborah returned with our food and placed it in front of us. She tucked her tray under her arm and waited with a raised brow for Buck to sample the stew.
He scooped a steaming spoonful into his mouth and paused as the flavors hit his tastebuds.
After taking a moment to chew the chunky vegetables, he swallowed and set down his spoon.
He broke off a piece of cornbread, slathered it in the salted oat milk butter, and shoved it into his mouth.
He moaned in bliss and rubbed his belly.
“I take back everything I said about your food. I didn’t want to like it, but I won’t lie. This stew is delicious.”
“I knew you’d come around.” Deborah winked at Buck again, then looked from him to me. “I noticed y’all drove here from that old stable behind our farm. Something going on over there?”
She must’ve seen us on the Collie Cam or Moo View feeds. “We’re contractors. We were talking to the property owner about rehabbing the barn.”
“Oh, yeah? She’s fixing it up?”
“You know Gail Pittman?”
Deborah shrugged. “Not really. Never met her in person, anyway. I found contact information for her online and called to see if we could buy some of her land. We were hoping to expand the farm, but she didn’t want to sell.
It’s just as well. No matter how good food is, people will only drive so far for a meal.
We realized it makes more sense to open a second location northeast of Nashville so we can tap into that market.
We’ve put in an offer on ten acres near the Hermitage instead. ”
The Hermitage was Andrew Jackson’s home, and a popular tourist attraction. No doubt a farm-to-table restaurant would get a lot of traffic there.
Circling back to Deborah’s question, I said, “We’re thinking of turning the barn into apartments.”
“Great idea. There aren’t many rentals out this way and the cost of housing is through the roof.”
I gestured to the Collie Cam feed, though it didn’t actually show the dog, only the view from her collar. “Your dog’s a cutie.”
“Ruby?” She smiled. “She is. A sweetie, too. She considers herself a cattle dog, but the cows are of a different mind about that.”
“I noticed,” I said. “I admire her effort.”
Buck and I enjoyed our meal, paid our tab, and headed out. I could hardly wait to get home and get started on my design!
On the drive home from the Victory Garden, I cued up Tyler’s podcast and played the episode about the brawl at the book club, which met at a wine bar in Murfreesboro.
A group of avid romance readers had devolved into a heated debate over that month’s selection, a novel titled Eenie Meenie Miney Mine, with a love triangle that ended on a cliffhanger.
Readers would have to wait another year for the sequel to find out who the female protagonist chose to spend her life with. Such torture!
Half of the club thought she should choose the hunky architect.
The other half thought she should choose the equally hunky veterinarian.
All hell broke loose when the group was seven bottles in and one member jokingly suggested the three form a throuple.
Another attendee threw a glass of wine in the woman’s face.
Big mistake. Doused in wine, the woman who’d suggested the throuple took the wine tosser to the floor.
The other women piled on. By the time the bartenders pulled the women off each other, they were covered in scratches and bruises and banished from the wine bar.
I spent the evening alone at the kitchen table, working on a design for the barndominiums. Barns, like warehouses, carried the weight of the roof on the perimeter, meaning there were no pesky load-bearing walls in the interior to dictate design and I’d have free rein to redesign the horse stable as I chose. Woo-hoo!