Summary of “Lessons From a ‘Local Food’ Scam Artist”

My instructions were to claim that all the produce was local, although nothing was or could be local: It was early June in northwestern New Jersey’s Kittatinny Mountains, and the produce had been shipped from warmer parts of the world to the distributor who’d sold it to my boss.
“The tomatoes aren’t from around here, but they did arrive this morning. Local tomatoes won’t be ripe until July.” “The corn’s not local, but it was fresh-picked this morning. Local corn won’t be available until July.”.
I said, “The stand down the road is lying. Local Silver Queen won’t ripen till August.”
He had hired me – an Asian-American who didn’t look the part of the rustic local – and a bunch of other kids for the summer.
One New Yorker opined, “I’ve been summering here since I was a kid, but people like you keep coming here and buying up the local businesses.” They wanted to know where I came from, originally, and how selling them melons fulfilled my American Dreams.
It started when an old man in dungarees and a baseball cap parked his pickup truck and asked me, “How local are these local red peppers of yours?”.
I sized up the way he was sizing me up and said, “They’re local to Mexico.”
The New York locavores taught me that “Local” didn’t mean a quasi-mystical authenticity, or, for that matter, only a special kind of deliciousness, but also a relationship with the people who’ve produced the food, in a sustainable, equitable, regional network of labor and land stewardship.

The orginal article.