P: Yeah, I got to try it. I have an oversupply of Meyer lemons, as you know happens in Berkeley.
R: Oh, I am not a Meyer lemon person.
P: You’re not? You don’t like Meyer lemons? Not tart enough?
R: No. They’re, you know, a lemon crossed with an orange . Why would you want to do that? I like acid.
P: So what kind of lemons do you like? Conventional lemons? As sour as you can stand ’em, right?
R: You know, lemons from Sorrento are really good. I also feel that way about onions now. It’s so hard to get an onion that still makes you cry.
P: Everything is trending toward sweetness.
R: They’re muted. I hate the fact that everyone loves Meyer lemons. I just hate it.
In the end Michael ate half my dessert. We finished the wine. And then, reluctantly, we got up to leave; we both had a long drive ahead of us. Walking out we were stopped by a group of young butchers sitting at the bar discussing the morality of meat. Owner Mark Firth came over to join the conversation and talk proudly of his pigs. It was 2013, in a rural Massachusetts town, and I had a moment of pure joy. In 1970, when I first became concerned about the future of food, I could not have imagined this moment. Even as recently as 2006, when Michael came out with The Omnivore’s Dilemma, it would have been foolhardy to hope that this could come to pass.
We looked at each other. We smiled.