One of the things that makes the Bay Area such an irresistibly lovely place to live is that, by and large, we're a buoyant lot. Let those on the other coast stomp slushily to the treadmill this morning to suffer for all their bacon-and-eggnog holiday excess. We'll be out here in the Pacific sunshine, picking Meyer lemons to squeeze into our green tea and visualizing abundance--not necessarily around our midriffs, but in our lives and others'.

Too often, it seems, gastronomic New Year's resolutions are all about "don'ts"--don't love the deep-dish at Little Star or the bacon cheeseburger at Marlowe so much; don't demolish half a loaf of Outerlands' bread in one sitting unless you've walked from Russian Hill and back to get it; don't spend more at Blue Bottle than you put in your savings account every month.

Instead of focusing on cutting things out (like the freebie salumi at Adesso's twice-daily aperitivi hour or the chocolate egg creams at Sidekick in the Ferry Building, to name just a few of my own local pleasures) this year, why not focus on adding things in? Things that are fun, things that last, things that do good for your community and for the beautiful and winter-greened land we all call home.

This year, why not resolve to:

Mural and compost at Free Farm

Get Dirty, Grow Locally

A community garden plot is a great place to start, but why not share your labor and get to know your neighbors? Volunteer at one of the numerous urban farms that have sprung up around the Bay Area. Willing hands are always needed, especially in the cold, rainy, tomato-less months. And not all the jobs require heavy lifting or complete mobility; I've spend many afternoons poking seeds into flats, transplanting seedlings, and making signs.

Dig, dine, and dance! Sign up for the monthly newsletter from Pie Ranch. The country outpost of Mission Pie, this small farm is located down the coast in Davenport, just north of Santa Cruz. On the 3rd Saturday of each month, the ranch hosts a community workday, followed by a potluck supper and a barn dance with a caller.

A fun outing for families is Marin Organic's Monday afternoon Glean Team. Each week, a different organic farm in Marin lets locals pick through their already-harvested fields for not-quite-as-pretty (but just as delicious) produce. The boxes of fresh, local veggies are distributed directly to schools in Marin. Afterward, gleaners can pick a round for themselves. (You'd be surprised what kids will eat when they've picked it themselves--especially if they've gotten good & muddy in the process.)

Strawberry Jam

Can It, Brine It, Carve It

Would-be urban homesteaders have a lot of choices these days. Longing to swap out the Heinz's for your own homemade ketchup and pickles? Then the folks at Happy Girl Kitchen have a workshop for you. (And for the truly serious among you, there's "Advanced Jam," prerequisite required.)

Charmed by winter's citrus, but afraid of ending up with sticky clementine soup or Meyer-lemon jello blocks? Put yourself in the knowledgeable hands of June Taylor, the British-born queen of marmalades. No one in the Bay Area takes fruit work as seriously (or finds it as fascinating) as Taylor does. At $200 per person, her small, hands-on classes are pricey, but her intelligent, carefully structured how-tos will forever take the guesswork out of your canning.

Prefer salami to jellies? The nose-to-tail classes in butchery and meat preservation at Fatted Calf will expose your sexy inner butcher. Get on their mailing list to sign up for a class; they sell out fast. (Classes are offered in both their Napa and their Hayes Valley locations.)

In Bernal Heights, Avedano's offers monthly "Butchery for Adults" and "Advanced Butchery" classes, as well as classes in trussing, carving, and curing.

...Then Talk About It

What do we talk about when we talk about food? Everything from the eco-sustainability of small-scale meat production to the history of heirloom apples has become food for thought lately. If you're curious as to what the Bay Area's farmers, writers, makers and thinkers are thinking about, check out the calendars at Kitchen Table Talks and 18 Reasons. Both offer an intriguing roster of thought-provoking events, talks, and panel discussions.

At Headlands Center for the Arts, performances, artists' presentations, and gallery talks are often preceded by a communal meal in the old mess hall. Sometimes, however, the meal itself is the event, as local or visiting artists and chefs come together to get inspired by the palette of the windswept, (supposedly) ghost-ridden landscape of the Marin Headlands, using mostly local and mostly organic produce, meats, and fish as their medium. Have more time than money? Volunteers are often needed to help in the kitchen, set up, serve, and clean up.

Elsewhere in Marin, the Marin Agricultural Land Trust (MALT), which works to preserve farmland in Marin while educating the public about conservation, is currently accepting volunteers for its two training sessions in January and February. The training will include trips to farmers, ranchers, and dairy farmers in the area.

...And Give Back

The holidays may be over, but the need at local food banks, soup kitchens, and food pantries remains just as strong. Find out when, where, and how to help, now that the Thanksgiving-to-Christmas volunteer crush has subsided.

Farms...in Berkeley? Well, dairy cows may not be drinking lattes on Shattuck Avenue, but there are working urban farms in the Bay Area. So if you're garden-deprived or just longing to get dirty without leaving town, here are a few opportunities to dig in, learn, and taste what's growing in your city's backyards.

On Tuesday, Oakland's City Slicker Farms is hosting a BBQ and a showing of the movie "Fresh" at Fitzgerald and Union Plaza Parks (34th and Peralta in West Oakland). Come on down, meet your neighbors, and find out how City Slickers is going to turn part of the park into a new community farm. Can't make it on Tuesday? Check their website for volunteer hours at one of their half-dozen community farms, all dedicated to growing affordable produce for West Oakland.

Graze the Roof is Glide Memorial Church's innovative community-gardening project. The church's rooftop garden focuses on hydroponic and container gardening, and hosts community workdays every weekend and workshops throughout the month.

What could be a better mitzvah, or good deed, than growing food for those in need? That's the philosophy between Congregation Emanu-el's The Pe'ah Garden in Colma. This garden in, yes, a cemetery (hey, it's Colma. What did you expect?) is planted, maintained, and harvested by congregation members and volunteers, with the bulk of the harvest going to the San Francisco Food Bank. Jonathan Silverman, who coordinates the garden volunteers, also teaches ongoing gardening workshops throughout the year.

The nice folks at the Garden for the Environment in the Inner Sunset are compost evangelists. Put your soggy leftovers into the green bin, sure, but carrot peels, wilty lettuce leaves, grass clippings and more --anything that's strictly plant matter--can get turned into a fabulous soil booster right there in your own backyard. (Or even under the sink, if you get a wormbox working). Composting workshops are always on the class roster, or you can come to one of the twice-weekly workdays (Wed 10am-2pm; Sat 10am-4pm) and get a more impromptu lesson as you fork, turn, and rebuild the garden's three ever-evolving piles. Since this is an educational demonstration garden, not a farm, the amount of fruit and veggies produced here is small, but depending on the season, helpful workers should go home with at least a salad's worth of greens. Plus, there's often Arizmendi pizza to share after the morning's work.

Play hooky Monday afternoon and join the Marin Organic Glean Team, a new project from Marin Organic. Every Monday from 4-6pm, volunteers gather at a different local organic farm to "glean," or pick what's left over after the day's commercial harvest is done. This second harvest is then donated to local school lunch programs. And of course, volunteers get some too. This Monday, the gleaners are converging on Paradise Valley Produce in Bolinas.

If you've ever buzzed down 280 to the airport, you've passed what's probably San Francisco's largest urban farm. It's very easy to miss, but it's there: the Alemany Farm, at the southern edge of Bernal Heights. Like most urban farms, it's also an educational non-profit, working with kids and teens from the surrounding public housing along with energetic volunteers. There's a lot growing here, from strawberries, carrots, and collards to green beans, broccoli, kale, lettuce, tomatoes, flowers, fruit trees, squash, wild blackberries, and more. Workdays (alternate Saturday and Sundays, plus Monday afternoons) end with a harvest, and the haul is divided up between workers.

When my friend Natalie asked me if I had any plans for Easter weekend, I was mildly embarrassed to admit that I hadn't. I just hadn't given it much thought this year.

"Well, you do now," she said. "Want to help plant a farm?"

Plant a farm. I couldn't think of a good reason not to. I welcomed the excuse to get outside and do something interesting, something for free. Something more than a little dirty.

It had been a while since I've weeded, hoed, or lugged 4 cubic yards of soil, but I was game for it. I just wasn't sure what I was going to wear. I haven't owned a pair of overalls since the 1980's.

It seems Natalie has gotten herself involved with an organization called MyFarm-- a business that specializes in decentralized urban farming. It's a Community Supported Agriculture organization with heavy emphasis on community. In fact, every herb and vegetable grown comes directly from community members' backyards. Want to know where your mustard greens are really coming from? Well then, go ask your neighbor. With 71 MyFarms planted at the time of this posting, you are likely to know someone who's got one.

When we arrived at the site, we were introduced around to the various MyFarm staff members and volunteers, one of whom came all the way from Santa Cruz to help.

Fortunately, there were a good many people volunteering for the day's planting. With lots of farmhands, well, on hand, the work was swift and enjoyable. I was especially grateful for our numbers when it came time to move the small mountain of soil from a gigantic pile dumped in the driveway to the garden awaiting it in the back-- through the garage, one bucket at a time. At times I pretended I as though I were an ant-- a cog in a great earth-moving machine, but without the ability to lift 25 times my own body weight or smell things through antennae. Of course, in the unseasonable warm April weather, it sometimes felt as though a large bully were holding a magnifying glass over me, trying to set me on fire.

The next time you see me, please feel free to compliment me on my newly-found shoulder muscles and red, red neck.

I was rather stunned by how smoothly everything went. From start to finish, the garden was weeded, top-soiled, dug, irrigated, and planted in less than five hours.

We were a well organized, well-oiled, and well-hydrated team-- the couple hosting the garden kept a blender of filtered water filled for us at all times. I was certain the water was placed in a blender because it was made of non-breakable materials, but I couldn't look at it without thinking that whenever I took a sip, I was drinking a water smoothie.

It was a great day spent outside. I highly recommend it to anyone with a strong back and a good attitude.

And I don't care that someone can't spell Kohlrabi, I'm just glad someone is actually planting it. In an effort to add my own special skills to the endeavor, my pleas for matching font styles on the planting tags went unheeded.

Until the next time, that is.

How MyFarm Works:

MyFarm's Vision (from the website):

At MyFarm it is our mission to make growing food and growing community one in the same. We believe in the power of the individual. But we believe true power comes from working together towards a better future for all.

We want to offer everyone in our community a chance to participate in achieving greater personal sustainability by installing local organic gardens, selling organic vegetables to neighbors and continually seeking ways for others to lend their ideas, their time and their hands to our growing organization.

Interested in hosting a farm?

Their complete list of services include:

* Initial garden set up and weekly follow up to keep your space growing.
* Organic techniques to grow nutrient rich vegetables.
* CSA style pickup a weekly box of very local edibles from a nearby neighbor.
* Permaculture techniques implemented to beautify in a sustainable way.
* Garden design consultations and networking with high quality suppliers.
* Local food feasts with chefs featuring foods from your backyard

Sign up today to host your own garden or volunteer your time-- the kohlrabi and your neighbors will thank you.

Warning: This is not a piece extolling the virtues of Slow Food Nation '08, so if there are delicate sensibilities out there who can't bear the suggestion that Slow Food Nation is anything other than shiny, happy people eating food, you should probably stop reading right now.

It would be one thing if this rant was all about how I volunteered at Slow Food Nation and all I got was this lousy apron.

That's not even the half of it. In fact, it's just emblematic of the entire SFN volunteering experience as I lived it. It's emblematic of the rudeness, the exclusion, the contradictions between what SFN advertised and what was actual, and the overall disgust I came away with after volunteering. The blog posts about what SFN did right are already thick on the ground, and the praise is prodigious; this is not going to be one of those pieces.

All my life, I've volunteered at various non-profits, churches, and events, and this is the first time I've been made so boiling mad by the attitude and treatment received. Building houses for Habitat for Humanity in the 105° Missouri heat was a more rewarding experience, and we even had one of our newly-paned HFH windows shot out by a friggin' drive-by!

I volunteered at SFN to help a friend and to help a vendor I believe deeply in; my beef is with neither of those parties. They took care of their volunteers the best they could. They celebrated our participation and did what they could to make it a pleasant experience. Not so for the rest of the SFN organization.

Let me get it out there right away that I appreciate the idea of slow food. (Note the lowercase.) It's the execution of this particular event I take exception to. Do I think it's awesome that there were, like, 26 different preserve makers there? Of course. Do I celebrate all 110 olive oils made in the Slow Food way? Well, I didn't get to taste any of them, but who wouldn't celebrate that range of fat? Was I completely disgusted by the way the organization treated the unpaid volunteers? Oh, hell yes!

Slow Food is about counteracting the "disappearance of local food traditions and people's dwindling interest in the food they eat, where it comes from, how it tastes and how our food choices affect the rest of the world." Slow Food Nation '08 "was created to organize the first-ever American collaborative gathering to unite the growing sustainable food movement and introduce thousands of people to food that is good, clean and fair."

But how about how they treat their workers? Their unpaid workers? People who volunteered their time, energy, and bright smiles to support them in their cause? Shouldn't that be a consideration?

Directly from the SFN website:

Slow Food Nation is a community event and we welcome your participation. We’re seeking volunteers to help in all aspects of planning and on site. Let us know if you'd like to join in this exciting endeavor—we promise plenty of fun and food!

In the cold light of morning, after an exhausted sleep following a long volunteer shift, I just have to laugh at that: "we promise plenty of fun and food!" So, the fun is debatable. You make your own fun; I've always believed that. And we did. At our vendor, we joked with each other, with the "paying guests," and we laughed a lot. One of my "paying guests" friends even told me I looked like the happiest person at the entire event. But the food? Sure, there was "plenty" of food, but none of us volunteers were allowed to eat it.

I direct you to the "food" portion of the multi-page dos, don'ts, and behavior modifications we received in advance as volunteers (bolding mine):

CIVIC CENTER: Although some small snacks may be available to our volunteers, please note that meals are neither provided nor reimbursed. Affordable meals are available each day from 15 unique Slow-On-the-Go vendors in the plaza."

FORT MASON: Volunteers wishing a simple meal may take one as available from our sponsor, Whole Foods. No additional concessions are available for purchase at this location. Volunteers are asked to refrain from eating samples from our taste partners, as these are intended for our paying guests and we will run out.

SFN never pointed out where these "simple meals" were, and I never saw them. If they meant the cheese and bread and juice they had at our check-in location, well, that was a-ways away from where we were working and would take more than a 10-minute break to get there, bolt the food, and get back to our post.

Keep an eye out for all the shouting "NOs" and "NOTs" in the additional portions quoted below from what I'm calling the SFN Dos and Don'ts. They make the overall tone quite objectionable. Get an editor and learn how to convey things in a more palatable manner, especially to people WHO ARE THERE TO HELP YOU.

Getting There: Transportation: Slow Food Nation encourages you to travel in ways that minimize our collective carbon footprint. We will NOT reimburse for parking and there is NO official parking partner affiliated with this event – plus it is a holiday weekend!

Sheesh.

(Also, given that I have a whole separate post coming about the behavior of the Slow Food Nation "paying guests," maybe SFN should have provided Dos and Don'ts for them.)

After checking in as a volunteer, we were directed to wait in our designated food area. Signs above were labeled "olive oil," "wine," "chocolate," etc. We got our one freebie -- the SFN apron -- and stood around a bit. There was milling. I joked (because the firm, bright smile never left my face ALL NIGHT) to a old friend and fellow volunteer that it's like we were the Joad Family. Day laborers from the Dust Bowl era, waiting to see if there's paying work that day.

A SFN organizer briefly welcomed us, thanked us for our time, and then said no less than five times that we were NOT to ask for food in the Taste Pavilion. If we required food during our 4pm-10pm shift, they had food for us there. However, we had to make sure to ask our managers if we could leave our post and really should consider planning our hunger around a lull.

A lull? Sorry, we didn't see a lull at my vendor. None. Not in six hours. My only lull was a 10-minute break that I used to stretch my legs and call home to report a Top Chef Marcel sighting. We never stopped serving people as fast as humanly possible.

"Do NOT ask for ANY food," he repeated. Again. I turned to fellow Joad Family member and shook a finger in her face, "Don't even THINK about food," I ordered her, "You're thinking about it. I can tell. DON'T!" Because you gotta laugh. Or else you'll scream.

Moving on to the "perks" portion of the Dos/Don'ts, we were told:

Each volunteer will be given a Slow Food apron to wear during their work shift, which is then yours to keep. Please note, however, that aprons only are not valid for entrance to ticketed events. Volunteers will be admitted, with their Managers, to work shifts only and do not receive free entrance to any other events.

Let's put my whines about the lack of freebies for the hard-working volunteers aside. Let's instead consider a case where a volunteer actually tried to BUY a Slow Dough coupon so they could participate in the events. They tried and were reportedly told, "You can't, you're a volunteer."

So, let me get this straight: As a volunteer, I work for free. I work for love and laughs, and I don't get any perks aside from an apron that is probably compostable if I add Slow Food-approved olive oil to it. And as a volunteer, I can't even PAY you to let me enjoy the promised "plenty of food and fun"? Unique.

Maybe they weren't allowed to sell to volunteers in case those volunteers shirked their shifts, but shouldn't that be something the volunteer's vendor policed? Maybe the volunteer was going to use the Slow Dough the next day when they weren't working. Is that not allowed?

When we were herded to the Taste Pavilion to start our shifts, a SFN manager came over to get us. "You [food group]?" she asked unsmilingly, "Follow me." "She's very excited about her job," fellow Joad Family member confided in me. We followed her. We got a warm, happy, and grateful welcome from our vendor.

Since we're still and always on food, I'll quote what the Dos/Don'ts said about water:

Water stations will be located in all locations, so please be sure to bring your own water containers to fill. Individual bottles will NOT be available.

SFN never pointed these stations out to us and I never saw them, so I'm thankful for two things: I brought my own container that I'd already filled at home AND our vendor provided us with filled water bottles. Because our vendor? Is awesome beyond the reaches of the SFN org.

Hand-Outs: Please do NOT give food, samples, or leftovers of any kind to any homeless person, at any location, under any circumstances. Word will spread of free food and we will soon have an encampment. Be sure to clean up all waste at days' [sic] end.

Of course, this is just ironic when part of Slow Food's mission is the professed belief "that everyone has a fundamental right to pleasure."

On two totally separate occasions, two UNPAID volunteers on their 10-minute breaks were ordered quite rudely by extraneous SFN workers not connected with our specific vendor, "Bus that table!" When both volunteers explained that they were not general staff but were working for [specific vendor] and also on their break, the response was, "Yeah. Bus that table!" No please, no thank you. Just an apron.

Maybe I've got this all wrong. Maybe every person wearing a SFN apron -- official ribbons or no -- was an unpaid volunteer who was also working just out of the pure goodness of their hearts. Because they believe passionately in the cause. If so, shouldn't that have brought us together in a more cohesive state of camaraderie where communications are clear, polite, and respectful?

At the end of the sweaty six-hour shift, a bar designer came over to us during clean-up and shook out dozens of cocktails composed of Gin 209, St. Germaine, mint, cucumber, and agave for us. He announced, "I've worked enough of these things to know you guys got nothing tonight." He gave the cocktail some name like, "Multi Spa," but I prefer to call it, "Faith Reviver." Maybe not faith in being a SFN volunteer again, but faith that there are still kind people out there who know how to treat others with respect, dignity, and gratitude.

My parents -- my dad, especially -- didn't raise me to turn a blind eye to the inconsistencies and contradictions of the world. They raised me to speak up and out if changes are to be made to the accepted status quo and not to sit idly by hoping everything will all work out somehow.

Next time you do an event, Slow Food Nation, take better care of the people who turned out to help spread your message. We may not have been "paying guests" in the monetary sense, but we paid with our time, energy, and goodwill and we deserved to be accorded the same respect as those forking over cold hard cash. This was a high-profile chance to show a whole mess of people that you are better than the average food industry expo, and in some ways you did. In other ways, you really didn't.

Bless you and your gleaming cocktail shaker, Bar Designer.