If, like me, you spend quite a bit of time on the road, and you just hate those MacWimpSters with the funny flat little hamburgers, the weird, pale, slightly rancid-smelling chips and the superannuated salads, you probably spend ages trying to find a place to stop over that won’t make you feel like a faceless component in an industrial process eating featureless “food” made from dubious ingredients to institutionalised recipes by disinterested automatons.
And the best way to do that is to eat at farm stalls. Farm stalls are where you can get real food, made with real ingredients by real people, and often made with love. Some farm stalls are absolutely fabulous, some are just OK, and some are a bit dodgy, but they are all real and true, and they reflect the terroir and culture in which they operate.
While the MacWimpSters are alienating, farm stalls are grounding. They are of the earth, they fit into the landscape and they exist in a synergistic interplay between the soil, the sky, the seasons, the long road, the day to day struggle for survival, and the joyful celebration of the land.