Weekly eatonomics
Jun 3, 2009 |
Image: almond cruz
While most of us who work in the publishing industry are broke most of the time anyway, these tough economic times (our favorite phrase!) leave us–and a large part of society–with even less money than before. In December of 2008, Honolulu Weekly’s Adrienne LaFrance wrote a story about the recession and its impact on the local arts community. In the conclusion, she quoted The ARTS at Marks’ Rich Richardson saying, “You know I’m kind of hoping people rely upon their own creative impulses to keep them entertained as opposed to consumer impulses…Maybe it will force us to be more self-reliant. Instead of going to the latest restaurant, I’ve been spending more time learning how to make a soup.” The necessity of doing more with less and relying on one another to keep a community prosperous is even more urgent now than it was in December.
Like too many others around town, we at the Weekly have suffered the loss of valuable colleagues, and we’re forced to put in longer-than-ever days and work weekends for peanuts (or just the shells). But that doesn’t mean that we still can’t try to enjoy our time together. Strumming a guitar or recalling a weekend story like a stand-up comic bring moments of joy and amusement. Sometimes staffers bring in fresh bagels, manapua or homemade apple pie, which brighten our days, not to mention fill stomachs and keep wallets from becoming emaciated. Even walking around to share a bag of cherries is an act that brings us together and reminds us that gestures of sharing, no matter how small, are also signs of strength.
Drawing upon these random acts of interoffice kindness, and wanting to exercise our frugality as a community, we decided to pool our resources and throw ourselves the first Honolulu Weekly Recession Potluck. The rules: make a dish large enough to substantially feed four people with $15 or less. Participation wasn’t mandatory, but if one wanted to eat, one had to bring something to share. While the thought of additional rules came to mind, such as sticking to local and/or organic ingredients, the guidelines remained open–both to see the creativity of people’s dishes as well as to accommodate the reality that some people do not have access to organic, local ingredients all the time.
The usual stages of potluck anxiety unfolded in the days leading up to the big event. I don’t know what to bring! What if my dish turns out badly? Will there be time to buy something else? Am I going to be judged? However, we found that the anxiety was lessened by the budget restriction. Instead of thinking, “Is so-and-so from such-and-such department going to show me up with truffled morels wrapped in gold leaf?,” imagined scenarios were reduced to, “Is that so-and-so from such-and-such department going to bring tuna casserole, too?” But above all else loomed the question: would there be meat? For a fairly carnivorous office, visions of all tofu, beans or potato dishes were a bit worrisome. But we held faith.
To feed oneself on a budget, the general rule is to cook at home. But with Hawaii’s import costs making Honolulu the American city with the most expensive gallon of milk, one has to consider a grocery budget more carefully than one would in other major metropolitan areas. This added component to our challenge forced us to be a little more creative.
On the day of the potluck, the decided lack of fanfare for its arrival didn’t stem from the fact that we weren’t excited to eat–one of the highlights of general office culture is free food. It was more the fact that a lot of us don’t take lunch breaks.
Tentative at first, about 50 percent of the office chose to participate. Among the participants of this potluck, no one had dietary restrictions–no vegetarians, no food allergies. Out of the seven dishes that turned up, intern Almond Cruz made the most popular dish, which was also one of the simplest: meatballs in a spicy mushroom sauce. “Where are the meatballs?!” was the phrase that could be heard the rest of the day as well as the following day from anyone in digging through the company kitchen. The most novel dish was bookkeeper Pamela Farris’ version of bazargan, a Syrian dish “I’m sure no one here has ever had,” said Farris, along with an amusing story of her hunt for the recipe that started in Indiana and took years to find. Editor Ragnar Carlson made toasted and untoasted caprese bruschetta, managing editor Adrienne LaFrance made a hearty bowl of pasta salad, production manager Manny Pangilinan made “Manny’s Famous Fried Rice,” distribution manager Kate Paine gave us an organic raw kale dish that was surprisingly tender and flavorful, thanks to a dressing and preparation technique that helped soften the tough leafy greens, and I made a parmesan asparagus frittata. [Editor’s note: Margot’s contribution was both artful and absolutely delicious.]
While the initial e-mail that went company-wide mentioned making a dish, it was still surprising that no one threw together beanie weenies or ran down the street to buy a bucket of Zippy’s fried chicken. As welcome as those meals can be at times, the conclusion is: we’re awesome cooks! Who knew? Dishes complemented each other well despite the fact that no one knew what others were bringing–the tamarind in the bazargan complemented the balsamic vinegar in the bruschetta, which brought out the tartness of the Italian dressing in the pasta salad and so on.
The potluck was enough to feed the participants and three of our interns, with leftovers to boot. To maximize the purpose of the recession potluck, we decided that having it on a Wednesday was best, so employees could still score another meal or two during the rest of the work week.
Next time? We hope there’s a next time. Have one or two people bring dessert. And maybe up the ante of the challenge by reducing the budget or having stricter guidelines, either by imposing the local-and/or organic-food only rule, or perhaps bringing our own dishes and flatware to be more environmentally friendly. Either way, as Pangilinan told us, “feelin’ potlucky” is a sign of good times no matter what.
