A friend recently asked me, with regard to farmers’ markets, “How do you respond to people when they say, ‘But food at farmers’ markets is so much more expensive than at the grocery store.’ I mean, what do you say to that?”

I say, Yes, it is more expensive. And it’s better tasting, and you can trust it, and it doesn’t carry a lot of food miles, and frankly, food is too cheap to begin with. And if the person is willing to still listen after I say all that, I go on about the fact that when the price tag in the supermarket is low, it means that the price tag somewhere else is high. Like on their taxes, where, buried deep within, is the cost of maintaining kiwi-carrying-18-wheeler-friendly roads, or the costs of peculiar subsidy benefits that some (not all) farmers receive in order to keep afloat from one poorly paid growing season to the next. Or… and then I frankly peter out because I really don’t know all the ways that costs get hidden in cheap supermarket veg, even though I know they’re there somewhere. Then, if my audience is still listening, to cover my ignorance about hidden costs, I’ll go on to say something about farmers having gotten screwed year after year, cause we seem to think that food should be inexpensive--cause industrially produced food IS. But wasn’t there a time when food used to be 50% of a household’s budget? And shouldn’t there be a time when we regard farmers’ work with the respect it deserves? Because do we really want to get to a time (if we’re not there already), when we treat farmers with as little value as we do, say, teachers? Do we really want our farmers, like our teachers, to give up their professions to become urban refuse collectors because the pay is better? (Yes, I know that a lot have already done that.)

By this point, I’ve usually lost even the most die-hard social-foodwinists, who originally had cared more about my subject that I did. I’m not so good in social settings.

But in thinking about this question--of high-cost organic lettuce and peaches--I come around to the issue of choice, and everyone’s right to it. If farmers’ market foods are too pricey for Agatha, then Agatha shouldn’t have to buy them. If Agatha wants to buy supermarket food and spend the savings on more upmarket wine, or DVDs, or the mortgage payment, or baby clothes, okay. And Agatha shouldn’t be made to feel bad about her choice. Let her save the world in a different way. Or perhaps Agatha can buy one locally grown tomato today, and enjoy it, and when they’re in season again next year, she can buy another locally grown tomato. That kind of incrementalism should be supported and applauded, because though we all might want Agatha to go from being a microwaved-sauce-in-a-jar kinda gal to a restorer of Nonna’s long-lost puttanesca recipe, it probably ain’t gonna happen. Small steps are okay.

Small steps, taken consistently, day after day, by many many people, lead to great distances being traveled. Many of us are looking for revolutionary change in politics, our bodies, food systems, social issues, our monotonous relationships--but we should think first about making a bit of incremental change. A big turnaround would be great, but is it likely? So too should we be looking for ways for people to take small steps at all points along the spectrum of food behavior, no matter where they are on that spectrum. Move a Burger King consumer to an In ‘n’ Out eater. Then get that person eating burgers at home, maybe grinding his or her own beef. Eventually encourage a conversation with the butcher about the best cuts for mince or--dare we dream?--buying direct from a local producer at the fortnightly farmers’ market. Whoa. Did our BK Broiler fan suddenly become a filiera corta co-producer? Nope. It took a long time, and if there hadn’t been that first small step (from one crappy sizzle joint to a slightly-less-crappy-more-freshly-made sizzle joint), the longer-term change might never have happened.

Yes, this is an illustration to serve my own argument. But I know from first-hand knowledge that there are simply some people in this world who will NEVER appreciate what I consider really good food (even using all the buono pulito giusto paradigms that there are). Some people will ALWAYS prefer American “egg noodles” to DiNola pasta. That’s gotta be okay, and there’s gotta be a place for them at our table. AND there’s gotta be some different kind of small steps in place for them to take, too. Everyone’s incrementalism is welcome and necessary.

I like to think of this world of change that I am a part of (and probably you are, if you’re reading this) as a long long chain of people, standing in a row, sorted according to some absolute definition of food sensibilities. (It’s a very complicated definition, and no doubt imperialistic, flawed, and challengeable.) The person ahead of me knows a bit more about food than I do. The one behind me, a little less. I get to help him, and a few people behind him, move up the ranks a bit. I get helped up the ranks myself by Joe Food ahead of me, and we all take a few small steps together every once in a while. Waaaaaay down the line, using a pair of binoculars that Joe has leant me, I see Agatha. She’s smelling a peach that her neighbor has just handed her, and seems to think it might be worth buying. Terra Madre and Slow Food are the flagstones that help this long line of people, hand-in-hand, get traction. Everywhere, up and down the line, there has to be some option for traction, and respect for the people we can only see with binoculars. Okay?

Altogether now, folks. Here we go. Small steps.

--DS, with appreciation for Arthur C. Clarke’s compelling argument for incrementalism in Contact