Saving Children, Saving Ourselves & Saving the World
Our Dinner With Anna (with recipes)
DeWayne & Marilyn Boccali: An Edible Ojai Grower Profile

SAVING CHILDREN, SAVING OURSELVES & SAVING THE WORLD

By jane Handel

The United Nations International Children's Emergency Fund (UNICEF) was created at the end of World War II in order to address the far-reaching impact of that horrific war on children. By 1953, it was clear that many of the world's children, especially in developing countries, continued to be in dire need of its assistance so UNICEF became a permanent part of the U.N. In an ongoing effort to protect and serve the children of the world, the organization took things even further, and in 1959 the United Nations General Assembly adopted The Declaration of the Rights of the Child-to education, health care, and good nutrition. In other words, for almost half a century it has been international law that children have the right to have their basic needs met, and the world has an obligation to protect that right.

One would think that parents and communities would not have to be told by any government or international entity that our first priority should be to nurture and safeguard our children. After all, aren't children the hope of the future? Aren't they our "most valuable resource?" The sad fact of the matter is that despite the well-intentioned efforts of UNICEF and many other altruistic organizations, the world's children are more at risk than ever before. So what's wrong with this picture?

Let's begin at home-with the United States of America, which is, arguably, the wealthiest nation on the planet. A few days ago, in his State of the State address, the Governor of Oregon, Ted Kulongoski, said, "Of all the challenges we face, none is more troubling that the fact that thousands of Oregonians-many of them children-don't have enough to eat. Oregon has the highest hunger rate in the nation." Among the 21 most affluent countries in the world, the U.S. has the highest percentage of poor children-two times that of the next in line. According to the National Center for Children in Poverty, 22% of the nation's children under 18 are living in poverty, 25% under the age of 12--all at risk of being hungry. Given the recent economic downturn, these figures are expected to grow dramatically. At the same time, a large percentage of the citizens of this fertile and wealthy land are experiencing a major health crisis. It is called obesity. According to our Surgeon General, the number one disease in the United States is obesity and it is having a devastating and even deadly impact.

The topic of obesity is big news at the moment as some food industry giants like McDonald's and Kraft are racing to make changes in their marketing and the content of their products in order to "preemptively" ward off lawsuits. Like the tobacco industry, the food industry is running scared. Is it just a coincidence that Kraft, the maker of Oreos and Velveeta cheese, is owned by tobacco giant-Altria Group, Inc.?

There are many well-documented reasons for why obesity is epidemic: The fact that children now spend an average of 4 and a half hours per day parked in front of some sort of screen is one, and of course the proliferation of fast food and junk food is another. When surveyed, many parents express an awareness of and concern about their children's health, and some make an effort to rectify the problem if there is one. But too many are in denial-they are either apathetic or feel an overwhelming futility in the face of it. To the extent that they already feel over-extended and embattled in their daily lives, at the end of a long work day they don't want to then do battle with their kids. And there is the current trend in parenting to be flexible rather than firm, to be the child's friend rather than parent. It's just so much easier to give in to the child's demands-a child who has been brainwashed since infancy by the marketers of junk food to think that that is the most desirable food. And of course many of our children's role models are overweight or obese themselves which is caused by similarly sedentary lifestyles and poor eating habits.

The statistics and their implications are increasingly alarming. A recent Los Angeles Times article about the rise in diabetes quoted a scientist with the Center for Disease Control and Prevention who contended that one in three U.S. children born in 2000 will become diabetic. Type 2 diabetes, which used to show up primarily in middle-aged adults, is not only on the rise but affecting younger and younger people. It is significantly more prevalent in black and Latino children, especially in our inner cities where there is a corresponding rise in asthma cases. Not only is diabetes a raging epidemic, which is scary enough, it also leads to many other problems including blindness, heart disease, kidney failure and amputation. The good news is that it is preventable--through weight loss, regular exercise, and a sensible diet.

In the past month, the city of New York has declared obesity to be an epidemic. In order to address this crisis, the city, which has the nation's largest school system, has banned candy, soda, and other saccharin snacks from its vending machines. It is also serving more nutritious meals with less fat content in its cafeterias. One might ask why candy and soda pop were ever allowed onto school campuses in the first place? They certainly weren't available when I was in grade school. The answer is that vending machines are a lucrative source of revenue for cash-strapped schools that have had funding cuts. And, the purveyors of junk food have grossly exploited this opportunity in a profoundly insidious manner-just as Kraft has persistently advertised its products on Channel One-the educational channel shown in schools. Fortunately, Kraft, as part of its intensive effort to overhaul its modus operandi, has just announced that it no longer plans to advertise on Channel One.

As part of its farm bill, Congress recently allocated $6 million dollars to fund an experimental program in four states-Ohio, Michigan, Iowa, and Illinois, as well as seven schools on the Zuni Indian Reservation in New Mexico. The program gives away fresh fruits and vegetables to students and has been astoundingly successful. Not only is it impacting the levels of obesity, but teachers say that students are more attentive in class. But we have long been aware of the correlation between nutrition and learning capacity.

Another innovative program is The Edible Schoolyard at Martin Luther King Jr. Middle School in Berkeley, CA. Founded in 1994 by Alice Waters, along with the school's Principal, Neil Smith, teachers, and others in the community, the Edible Schoolyard is an integrated program that teaches a deep awareness of ecology, sustainable agriculture, community, and values of responsibility, patience, aesthetics, etc. It includes a seasonal organic garden that is maintained by the students as well as a cooking program in the cafeteria that teaches them how to cook what they have grown. It is the desire of the programs' creators that the Edible Schoolyard serve as a model for other schools, and to that end, their website (www.edibleschoolyard.org) is beautiful, inspiring, and informative.

Ventura County has its own progressive program. Eight elementary schools now have salad bars two days a week that serve locally grown produce. Each student is able to choose from a variety of fresh fruits and vegetables and create his or her own meal. Local farmers also visit the schools to talk to students about where their food comes from and how it's grown. Our very own revolutionary farmer par excellence, Jim Churchill, and his cohorts at CAFF (Community Alliance with Family Farmers) have been spearheading this successful farm to school program for several years.

These are just a few of many organizations in place that address our children's needs and right to have healthy food. But we need more and we especially need more parents to get involved in overseeing the nutritional content of the food their children eat. We have been caught between two extremes--starvation and obesity-for too long. With every passing year, the number of those affected is growing at an alarming rate.

Since those suffering from obesity are also suffering from poor nutrition despite the over-abundance of calories consumed, I would posit that these individuals are also starving-for healthy food. When I think about this crisis, I cannot help but remember the words of one of the 20th Century's most internationally beloved and visionary songwriters, Bob Marley:

"Them belly full but we hungry.
A hungry mob is a angry mob."

Many of our children will grow up to be angry--angry because they didn't get enough to eat, and therefore were unable to concentrate in school, and are now unemployable. Or, they will be angry because they ate too much bad food, were unable to concentrate in school, and are therefore unemployable. Adding insult to injury, these latter individuals will not only be suffering from any number of life-threatening diseases, but will most likely have low self esteem because of how they look. When all of them find out that it was their RIGHT to have had an adequate amount of nutritious food and this was denied to them, they could very well turn into an angry mob.

I think it is in all of our best interest to do something now to prevent that anger from fomenting. Let's feed our children healthy food and protect their rights in the process. Support UNICEF. Support the children of the world.

OUR DINNER WITH ANNA (WITH RECIPES)

By Lisa Robertson

Anna stands near the stove in her spacious kitchen, opening a bag of dried porcini mushrooms. She's just brought them back from Italy, and they smell heavenly - like wood and earth. Rachel is the one who asks to smell them. Some of us exchange sly smirks at this point. It is a good move, smelling the mushrooms, and we wish we'd thought of it. Clearly, Rachel is going to be a standout student in this garrulous group of friends.

We've come to Anna Thomas's house tonight to learn her secrets for making wild mushroom risotto. For many of us, discovering Anna's first cookbook back in the early 1970s was a pivotal culinary event. Before The Vegetarian Epicure was published, giving up gourmet meals had seemed a necessary sacrifice for embracing a meatless diet. Who knows how long we might have sat around our Indian print tablecloths, dutifully munching brown rice and tofu, if Anna hadn't introduced us to Onion Tarte Lyonnaise.

Fast forward thirty years. Truth be told, there isn't a vegetarian holdout among us. Even Anna confesses that a lobster isn't safe within her sight. The Indian prints are gone. And the rice? Tonight it's Arborio. The wines are red - various Italians - and plentiful. The company? Anna is doing a laudable job of managing eleven personalities whose spirits are high with culinary expectations, and emboldened with Chianti.

Anna drops a generous handful of the porcini into a bowl and covers them with steaming water. While they rehydrate, we are to get an impromptu lesson in how to make hummus from sprouted garbanzo beans.

Anna has simmered a pound of spouted garbanzos earlier that day and left them to sit in their salted cooking water until now. Unlike the dried sort, these require almost no cooking time And although opening a can would have be easier, there's no comparison when it comes to taste.

Our garbanzos go into the food processor with some chopped garlic. Tahini, lemon juice, and toasted sesame oil are added to taste, along with a pinch of red pepper. Anna puts about half of the mixture in one bowl, and to the rest she adds chopped olives, parsley and oregano. We devour it with toasted pita chips and bread.

Some of us have watched the preparations from seats near a long pine table where we can sample, furtively, from Anna's platters of goat cheese, Kalamata olives and marinated red and yellow peppers. A plate of roasted green beans is a revelation. Doused with salt and just the smallest bit of olive oil, they were placed in an oven until they began to shrivel slightly and caramelize. Served now at room temperature as finger food, they prove addictive.

Back to the stove for risotto. The porcinis have plumped to a resemblance of their former selves, and now it's time to remove them from the water without losing the infusion they've left behind. Anna pours the mushroom water through a filtered coffee cone to remove the gritty silt. What remains is a rich-smelling broth. Turning to sliced fresh mushrooms now-Portobellos, browns, and shiitakes-Anna sautés them in olive oil with some onions. As they release their water, she adds the porcini. Kate notices that Anna keeps her ingredients moving all the time, and nudges Lisa to make a note of this, Lisa being the only one balancing a notebook with a wineglass.

While Anna cooks, we plumb her brain for more epicurean gems. What cookbook authors were her inspiration, Patsy wonders? Robert Carrier, offers Anna. And Julia Child, of course. What sort of olive oil does she favor? Bariani, it turns out, a California oil from the Sacramento Valley. The conversation drifts to the subject of sustainable farming - the idea that people eat local ingredients so that they can support small local growers, artisans, really, who choose the crops they care passionately about rather than those that will bring a good price from a produce conglomerate. By supporting the Davids over the Goliaths, we, as consumers, end up with fresher foods and more varieties. Witness for example the swelling assortments of apples and tomatoes available as small farmers expand our tastes, and liberate us from the bland rows of predictable supermarket fare.

Anna adds some of the mushroom broth to the sauté pan, as we consider the rich role of food in our lives. "Just think of our memories," says Rachel, leaning into the counter around the stove, pulled there, undoubtedly, by the swirling scents. "When we think about what we did, we think about the people we were with, the music that was playing, the stories we told, and the food we ate."
"Yes," agrees Anna. "Food is the story of our lives."

Two new sauté pans appear on the stove, and to each of these Anna adds some olive oil, a teaspoon or so of butter, and a chopped onion. Next she adds two cups of the Arborio rice. We watch the rice become translucent as she nudges it around the pan. She adds several glugs of Marsala wine, then some of the mushroom broth. The liquid should be kept at a simmer, and added to as it is absorbed by the rice. In go the mushrooms, and then it's time for the novices to take over.

Peter and Fritz volunteer for what will be 20 minutes or so of constant stirring. The friction will release the starch from the rice into the liquid, and give the dish its signature consistency. It appears that risotto is the perfect subject for a cooking class, because the recipe can look complicated in a book, yet watching the process allows us to appreciate its perfect, intuitive sense.

Now that Anna has been relieved, momentarily, from her cooking duties, Barney steps in to provide some commentary. Can any of us, he wonders, name the biggest herb? We are stumped. "The banana!" he announces, and is met with groans of skepticism. But Barney assures us this is true, also that there is a lot of money to be made by flaunting this sort of knowledge in late night barrooms.
The risotto is done when it reaches the desired consistency. The grains should be al dente but not crunchy, distinct from each other rather than creamy. We add some salt and pepper, enough liquid to make it soupy, and head for the dinner table. There, a salad awaits - romaine lettuce, arugula, and watercress from the stream that winds through Margaret and Fritz's citrus ranch. This is tossed with mandarin oranges, olives, and toasted pecans.

Conversation wraps round the diners in changing, easy patterns. Anna alerts us to save room for dessert, because it will be marvelous. We lean towards her for the description, which takes the form of a story.

One night, a friend named George was to come to Anna's for a dinner party, and asked what he should bring. Anna has learned to answer this question by suggesting dessert, because then she can fiddle independently with the menu, and allow her guest to do something as effortless as visit a bakery or select some fruit. But George wanted to arrive with something special, and contacted one of Ojai's private chefs, Jeri Oshima. Jeri dreamt up a concoction that required imagination, also theft. A neighbor, it seems, has some marvelous lime trees, and the story that has grown up around this event has Jeri stealing over a fence in the dead of night, dressed variously as a ninja or a Navy Seal, then pilfering the fruit to make a mousse cake that will melt in our mouths.

At one end of the table, the conversation splinters into a debate about limes, specifically, whether Kate's, which she grows exclusively for Tequila drinks and calls Mexican limes, are in fact key limes, or if key limes are exclusive to the American South. Peter will research this on the Internet tomorrow and broadcast his findings via email. Also, he's not at all convinced that bananas qualify as an herb. We will hear more about this as well. Inexplicably, Lisa's notes have degenerated into a drawing of a moose wearing a sombrero hat.

When the dessert arrives, it is indeed glorious - light enough to find a place in even the fullest stomach. It has shavings of white chocolate, and a crust made from ginger snaps. More than one person at the table is convinced that Jeri can make a fortune from this, and wants to be in on the business plan.

The meal concludes, and we retire to the living room. Barney moves silently towards the piano, and we hear the opening strains of Alfie, followed by Suicide is Painless, Misty, and Satin Doll.

The evening ends and we go to our cars, sated and dreamy. There, during the short drive home, we begin to compose our memories - of the people we were with, the music we heard, the stories we told, and, naturally, the food we ate.

Lisa Robertson recently moved to Ojai from Santa Barbara. She was drawn here by deepening friendships, and by the idiosyncratic nature of a town where dinner conversations regularly mix talk of books and music with reports on crops and pets.

DEWAYNE & MARILYN BOCCALI:
An Edible Ojai Grower Profile

By Jim Churchill

DeWayne Boccali's grandfather came from Lucca, Italy to Santa Barbara, where he had wagons and mule teams, farmed a little bit, had a business hauling dirt. He used to come to the Upper Ojai to buy grapes to make his wine, which is how DeWayne first came to see the property on which he now grows valencia and navel oranges, hass, zutano and other avocados, pumpkins and corn, Christmas trees, and assorted specialty tree crops.

None of that was there when the Boccalis first started coming around the place: there was some barley (DeWayne just calls it "grain", a holdover from his years growing and harvesting it), an oil field, a spring, some grapevines (old even then), and the hawks, rabbits, coyotes, bears and other indigenous wildlife. No structures.

DeWayne's dad was always interested in farming, and his mom, he says, was "quite a business woman." DeWayne grew up in a walnut orchard in East Ventura. In 1951 his dad leased the property from Richfield Oil Company, grew hay and ran cattle on it. The Boccalis didn't live at the place but DeWayne loved it and spent a lot of time there. Richfield quit pumping oil right after the Korean War, leaving the old boilers and tarpits in place. "It was wild, you can't imagine how wild it was," he says.

If you know DeWayne at all, you know he has two pizza restaurants, sells pumpkins in the fall and Christmas trees in the winter, operates a small farmstand at Boccali's Pizza, has a sideline in singing, and runs his farm. You might wonder where he gets the energy to do all of that. I don't know, but listening to him talk about his younger days, it's clear that wherever the energy comes from, he's had it for a long time. When DeWayne was 16, in 1962, his dad died. After the death of his dad, his mom wanted to get rid of the property, but DeWayne convinced her to let him take it over. He started farming on his own at the age of 18. He was also, during those days, singing and playing guitar as a member of The Countrymen, a folk-singing group that played around the tri-county area and toured some around California; and performing in light opera productions in Santa Barbara, Los Angeles, and other areas, including some big shows-Most Happy Fella, Li'l Abner, The Unsinkable Molly Brown.

One year when he had planted grain the guy never showed up to harvest it, so DeWayne bought a harvester. This led to a business harvesting grain for other people as well. In those days there were a lot of grain growers in the county, and two major feed lots to sell to, Taylor Ranch on the headland over the Ventura River, and Berylwood in Somis. Partnering with Jim Smith, he started Tri-County Harvest. They had their own harvesters and their own trucks; in 1968 they thrashed grain for 105 days. When the local feed lots went out of business, in '82 or '83, the logistics got horrible, but until then he harvested every year.
He had moved to the farm in 1965. In 1967, he must have had a burst of sanity because he stopped doing The Countrymen, though he continued somehow to do theater. In 1968 he met Marilyn (she was go-go dancing to "Wooly Booly" in a Ventura College talent show), and they got married pretty soon afterwards. Marilyn had been going to Venice High School until her parents moved her to Oxnard; she attended Camarillo High School, which meant taking the bus through Somis. She'd see the bus dropping kids off at the ends of long driveways to farms, and think, "Gosh, this is like watching Lassie." Nonetheless, hooking up with DeWayne doesn't seem to have presented her with much difficulty adjusting to the life.

In 1972 DeWayne started farming crops other than grain: he rented ground in Camarillo and grew lima beans, sugar beets, parsley, vegetables, canning tomatoes. The deal seemed to work pretty well, so he acquired a partner, they went to the bank and leased more ground on the Oxnard Plain and in Somis, and planted more crops. In 1976 DeWayne and his partner, with production loans from the bank at 3 points above prime, had 550 acres of tomatoes, 300 acres of dry lima beans, 100 acres of sugar beets, and 25 acres of parsley. On September 9 it rained 7 inches in one day, and DeWayne and his partner were wiped out. The parsley came through okay, and they got 15 acres of the tomatoes in; everything else rotted in the field.

The next 12 years of DeWayne and Marilyn's life were spent getting out of the debt. His partner declared bankruptcy but DeWayne never would. He bought his partner's half of the equipment from him, and kept farming, but he couldn't get out of debt. He'd grow broccoli in the winter, beans in the summertime, practically everything but strawberries. The worst year was the year he got $100,000 for his crop, walked over to give it to the bank, and all it did was cover the interest on the loan, which had risen in those inflationary days to 25%.

When Richfield merged with Atlantic in 1970 they had purchased the land. Kids came along: Joseph in 1972, Marde in 1975, Nick in 1978. He built the barn in 1974, planted his first orange trees in 1976, built a house in 1979. He piecemealed the planting of the trees, in fact, he's still planting trees. At the present time the Boccalis have about 60 acres of valencias, 5 acres of mostly young hass avocados, 15 acres devoted to the farm stand rotation of pumpkins and corn and Christmas trees, an acre and a half of navels, plus lemons, limes, grapefruit, pixie tangerines, and Granny Smith and Fuji apples; he also runs 22 head of cattle and grows hay. This does not include the land around the restaurant.

In 1985 he quit growing on leased land and came back to the ranch. He'd already been selling pumpkins and corn; that year he also started selling Christmas trees.
In 1986, still in debt from the 1976 debacle, he leased the closed and derelict Papa Romano's from Carl Rynerson. What made him think he could successfully run a restaurant? "I'd wanted it for a long time. I've always had pretty good confidence in myself. My dad loved to cook, I've always loved to cook; I know how to run a business, how to run a crew, how to get things done. I'm a project guy." You will notice a certain overlap of DeWayne's reasons for starting a restaurant with the delusions of all those folks who start restaurants and fail; the main difference is that DeWayne's confidence in himself paid off. (While I am interviewing them, the phone rings; Marilyn answers it and comes back to the table to say, "Another reservation for 200.")

DeWayne was also in a stalemate with the debt: he was determined to keep on farming, and the farming was paying the bills but not paying down the debt. He needed a way out.

In those days-not so very long ago, actually-you could still get a "character loan" from the bank, and that's what he and Marilyn did. They practiced their recipes on their neighbors and friends. They bought a couple of abandoned pizza ovens from behind a liquor store in Santa Barbara for $200 - the paint had weathered off but the stones were brand new. They started on a shoestring. They characterize the recipes as "Ojai Italian" - informed by grandpa from Lucca and the cooking of DeWayne's father and aunts, but really just what DeWayne and Marilyn know and like.

DeWayne has about 3 acres planted around the restaurant. He grows tomatoes, bell peppers, eggplant, zucchini, yellow squash, basil, cucumbers, onions and leeks for the restaurant and hot peppers, corn, and nopales "for the guys." In Italy this might be normal; in Los Angeles, you'd expect a restaurant with a 3-acre kitchen garden to make an enormous deal out of the fact. Boccali's is different: although they tout their summer tomato salad, their strawberry shortcake with local (though not DeWayne's) strawberries, and their apple cobbler (made with the apples from the ranch), they don't actually make an enormous deal out of the fact that so much of what they put into the food comes from their own ground. It's as if DeWayne has actually figured out a way to cook for 200-500 people a night the food he'd cook for his family - hearty, plain, filling. And he cooks from the garden because he can.

The restaurant supports the farm.

DeWayne says, "I set out to make…a working ranch. Every tree on this ranch is here because I planted it. I planted valencias because the returns were always just a little bit better than navels…we grow beautiful navels in Ojai, I really don't know why we can't sell them, but the packing houses always seemed to want the valencias."

"Farming is cyclic. Valencias have been this bad before. The problem with the valencias (now) is no money for juice. We do okay with the fresh, but we don't get any money at all for the fruit that goes to juice. Let's say you get 20 boxes of fruit from a bin, and let's say you pack out 14 boxes for the fresh market. If you would get something for the six boxes that go to juice, you'd be okay, but when they pay you nothing for that fruit and you still have to pay to pick it, haul it and pack it, it just subtracts from the money you get for the fresh."

Marilyn says, "People need to know that you can't make money farming. That's what makes me mad…prices suck because people buy from other countries… Australian navels at Vons in the middle of the valencia harvest!"

DeWayne says, "I'm proud that I'm a farmer. It's the most noble of professions. I don't ask a lot of the ranch, but it's a little discouraging when it won't pay the bills. It's not a business where I get to set the price for my produce; I grow it and then mostly people tell me what they're willing to pay."

The one time during the interview that DeWayne gets exercised is during this part of the discussion; he starts to riff on retiring, counting up the cost of the health insurance, the liability insurance, the worker's compensation insurance, and his eyes flash with anger. "Farmers just want to farm," he says. "They want to make a living at it."

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