The following essay is by Angel Medina, an "award-winning writer, filmmaker, and restaurateur; lover of coffee and mezcal; founder of TODOS Media; co-owner of República & Co." according to his bio on Substack. His recent newsletter, Between Courses, dropped in my in-box and I was in tears reading it. I immediately wrote to ask if I could share it with my readers. He generously agreed.

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When Hospitality Becomes a Hunting Ground:
Why I'll Close Before I Collaborate

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In occupied Paris during the Second World War, the city’s great cafés and dining rooms took on an uncanny second life.

At Le Meurice, just across from the Tuileries, German officers planned operations beneath chandeliers designed for diplomats, artists, and foreign ministers. Rooms meant for elegance became rooms for strategy. Velvet absorbed conversations it was never meant to hear.

At the Ritz Paris, Hermann Göring and other high-ranking Nazi officials dined lavishly while the rest of the city survived on ration bread, turnips, and silence. Inside, crystal glasses caught the light. Outside, Paris starved.

On the Left Bank, brasseries like La Coupole; once a refuge for writers in the 1920s and ‘30s, for painters, late-night arguments, smoke-filled conversations that stretched until morning—appeared in German guidebooks as approved establishments for Reich officers. These weren’t rumors. They were printed. Mapped. Sanctioned.

These were not makeshift spaces. They were temples of French hospitality.

Tables set for oysters, red Burgundy, sole meunière—menus printed in careful French script—were read by men in gray-green uniforms speaking the language of orders, borders, and control. Outside, Paris was hungry. Inside, the wine poured.

And for the people of Paris—the waiters, the cooks, the porters, the women emptying ashtrays, polishing cutlery, carrying glassware through rooms thick with smoke—occupation was lived at eye level.

To serve was framed as an honor. In reality, it was survival. To refuse meant disappearance.

Every plate carried across those rooms required a careful calibration between obedience and restraint. You learned how to keep your eyes down. You learned how to move quietly. You learned how to pretend you couldn’t hear the conversations happening inches from your body—conversations about raids, decrees, futures that did not include you.

You learned how to endure the presence of men dismantling your country one regulation at a time.

The restaurants stayed open. But nothing about them was normal.

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When I think about this now, I think about Casablanca—released in 1943, right in the middle of all of it. There’s a scene at Rick’s Café where German officers raise their glasses and sing Die Wacht am Rhein with patriotic zeal. The rest of the room—locals and refugees alike—sits frozen, watching. A song. A toast. A performance of normalcy.

It looks like leisure. It sounds like celebration. But every note carries threat.

That scene stays with me because it understands something essential: power doesn’t always announce itself with violence. Sometimes it sings. Sometimes it eats. Sometimes it pretends to belong.

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Last week, four ICE agents walked into El Tapatio, a small, family-owned Mexican restaurant in Willmar, Minnesota. They sat down at a booth. They ordered lunch. They ate like anyone else on an ordinary afternoon.

People in the kitchen noticed them. Maybe someone thought—or hoped—that this meant something. That they were normal enough to come in, order food, enjoy a meal.

Hours later, after the restaurant closed, those same agents followed the staff outside and detained three of them.

There was no battle. No courthouse summons. No warning.

Just their meal—and when they were finished, the hunt.

This wasn’t isolated. It’s part of what’s been described as Operation Metro Surge—thousands of federal agents deployed across Minnesota. Whether you want to call it retaliation, or politics, or a vendetta against officials who spoke too loudly or protected their communities too fiercely almost doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is the result.

Immigration enforcement has expanded dramatically and indiscriminately. Minnesotans report ICE presence in schools, restaurants, community spaces that were never meant to be policed this way. Flights leaving the state with detainees have increased. Fear moves faster than facts.

And that fear doesn’t stop at immigration status. It spreads—to families, coworkers, neighbors, business owners. To people just trying to live without constant surveillance. Even to people who voted for this administration. Power, once unleashed, doesn’t check who supported it.

El Tapatio now bears a simple sign on its door: Closed for online orders only.

If that’s not a symbol of a community disrupted, I don’t know what is.

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There is an unspoken understanding in hospitality that a meal shared, a table set, is not a prelude to harm. Hospitality is trust embodied. It’s the belief that for the duration of a meal, you are safe. That service is not consent. That feeding someone does not make you complicit in your own undoing.

When that line is crossed, it doesn’t just break the law. It breaks a bond.

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Minnesota is not an outlier. It’s a rehearsal.

This administration has mentioned Portland more than once as a place that needs to be “fixed.” A city they’ve floated the idea of sending troops into. If you know Portland, you know how dangerous that thinking is.

The fragility of this place isn’t something you learn from books or policy memos. You learn it by living here. We watched it happen in real time. We saw how quickly a sidewalk became a flashpoint, a park became a perimeter, a café became a line of sight.

Cities don’t collapse all at once. They fray. Quietly. One room at a time.

And restaurants are not neutral ground—not here. They’re where people go when they’re tired, hungry, looking for warmth, recognition, a moment of being seen without explanation. They’re where birthdays are celebrated, grief is held without ceremony, conversations happen that don’t survive fluorescent light.

A table is a promise.

You sit down believing—even if only for an hour—that nothing bad will happen to you there.

Community is sustained at those tables. Not just by food, but by the rhythm of voices, the scrape of chairs, the way laughter rises and falls like weather. By the understanding that the people cooking your food and clearing your plates are not abstractions. They’re neighbors. Parents. Documented, undocumented, and everything in between. Lives far larger than a shift number on a screen.

History keeps reminding us how easily that promise can be broken.

It doesn’t start with sirens. It starts with presence. With people who sit down and order. With uniforms that try to disappear into the room.

And when hospitality becomes reconnaissance, the room changes. Refuge becomes risk. Livelihood becomes calculation. The question becomes: Is it safe to come in today?

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If federal agents begin treating our restaurants as hunting grounds—dining at our tables and returning later to detain, surveil, or intimidate the people who make these spaces live—I will not keep the doors open.

At that point, staying open becomes participation. Silence becomes consent.

There is a difference between enforcement and intimidation. One operates in daylight, accountable to process. The other relies on fear, surprise, and humiliation. There is a difference between law and cruelty—even when cruelty wears a badge. And there is a profound, unforgivable difference between sharing a meal and setting a trap.

I will not ask my staff to enter rooms where the air itself feels compromised. I will not ask them to smile, to serve, to move through their day knowing the people who asked for another round might be waiting outside. I will not normalize terror by calling it policy or the cost of doing business.

Once hospitality becomes a mechanism of harm, it ceases to be hospitality at all. It becomes theater—a stage where power rehearses itself while the most vulnerable are forced to perform calm.

This is not what we signed up for when we opened our doors.

This is not what care is supposed to be used for.

I know there are people in power who would love to see this city fail, who would love to see its communities fracture, who would love to march through our streets and mistake fear for control.

But for me, that’s where the line is drawn.

Some things are more important than staying open. Some things are more important than revenue. And some things are more important than service.

Dignity is one of them.

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Postscript: On January 28, 2026, Medina announced the closure of his beloved República for reasons he explained in a post, writing that "one issue rose above all others. When the safety of my staff; people who built this place with their hands and their memories—could no longer be assumed, when their dignity and security were treated as negotiable, silence stopped being an option. We stayed quiet for a year, hoping things wouldn’t worsen. They did. And they will continue to."

Growing up, root vegetables were not in my mother's dinner repertoire. Well, carrots were available, but certainly not the ubiquitous so-called "baby carrots" of today—which are actually chopped, shaved down, shaped chunks of bigger carrots that weren't pretty enough to sell whole, and which are often rinsed in a weak bleach solution before bagging. (Ew.)

Back then, parsnips, rutabagas, beets, turnips and celery root either weren't available in the local Piggly Wiggly supermarket, or were passed over in favor of potatoes. Locally grown spuds were available in abundance in Central Oregon at the time, and the annual Potato Festival was a much-anticipated summer celebration in our small town, featuring a Potato Parade and, of course, potato sack races. (Read more about it here.)

These days I'm starting to love my roots, especially celery root (or celeriac), those intimidating-looking, softball-sized vegetables that look like alien spawn in a science fiction movie. But don't be afraid…once you slice off the outside rooty bits, the inside is not dissimilar from a potato and cooks up similarly.

I think they're smashing in soups like the one below, as well as stews, or mashed with potatoes, but my friends Anthony and Carol Boutard, formerly of Ayers Creek Farm in Gaston (but now happily ensconced in the Finger Lakes in upstate New York), prefer them raw, as Anthony wrote several years ago:

"So crisp and sweet, it is a shame to cook them. Prepare as a salad or celeriac remoulade. First, grate or julienne the raw roots.

"For a salad, dress with lemon juice and olive oil. We mince the greens into the mix, or add chopped celery when available.

"For a celeriac remoulade, sprinkle the grated roots with lemon juice and then dress with a remoulade sauce. The sauce is mayonnaise seasoned with mustard and a sprinkle of cayenne. We follow James Beard's suggestion of mixing a sharp Dijon with sweeter German mustard and the pungent English mustard. A nice balance. The salad is especially good the next day. On occasion, we sprinkle some caraway seed into the remoulade, a Nordic gesture."

I'll leave the final word to Josh Alsberg of Rubinette Produce, who shared this story:

"Right before Thanksgiving about 3 years ago, a customer approached me and asked if I had any suggestions to, in her words, 'jazz up her boring potato dish.' I told her one of my favorite vegetables was celeriac. 'Celeri-what?' she responded.

"I mentioned that it’s from the same family as celery and she said, 'This looks like a brain and I generally don’t eat anything I can’t pronounce. But you're saying this will help my potatoes taste better?' I said absolutely and told her how to prep and prepare it. She seemed a little unsure, but put it in her cart anyway.

'A few weeks later, she came back, grabbed my arm and started raving about what an amazing ingredient it is and how happy she was to discover something new. She's been a regular customer ever since.'

So when you're ready to jazz up a tired old recipe, go grab an alien brain…I mean…some celeriac, and let me know what you think!

Cream of Celery Root Soup

3 Tbsp. butter
2 large leeks, quartered lengthwise and cut into 1/2" slices (including the green tops)
3 Tbsp. flour
3 c. water
3 c. chicken stock
2 large or 3 smaller celery roots (celeriac), peeled and chopped in 1/2" dice*
2 tsp. salt
1 c. sour cream
3 Tbsp. chives, minced (optional)

Melt butter in soup pot or large Dutch oven over medium heat. Add chopped leeks and cook slowly for 5 min. Remove from heat, add flour and stir. Return pot to heat and cook, stirring constantly and without browning for a minute. Add water and stock, stirring well. Add diced celery root and salt. Bring to boil and lower heat to simmer for 50 minutes. Remove from heat and purée with immersion blender (or cool and purée in a food processor or blender in batches). Return to heat and warm to a simmer, then add the sour cream and stir to combine (don't let it boil or the sour cream may separate). Adjust salt and add more water or stock if it seems too thick. Serve garnished with chives.

* To peel the celeriac, Edward Schneider of the New York Times wrote, "Ruthlessly peel a celery root. In other words, forget about your Ecko peeler: Take a knife and cut away all the dirty parts, right down to the flesh; my 20-ouncer lost a quarter of its weight in the process. Rinse, cut into chunks and put into a pan."

My latest CSA update from Aaron Nichols of Stoneboat Farm in Hillsboro on what to expect in our share included this note:

"As a lot of you know, I spend some of my extra time working to protect farmland around my farm that is consistently under threat of development from data centers and other industrial uses. Unfortunately, it appears that another very big threat to 1,800 acres of Oregon's very best farmland (that is almost visible from my farm) is looming. There is a legislative concept [a draft idea for legislation before it is introduced as a bill] that has had a hearing in Salem that would make the land available for development…despite the city and the state having promised it would stay in farming for at least another 40 years."

If this sounds familiar, you're not wrong. Just last July I wrote that the city of North Plains outside of Hillsboro had "attempted to double the size of the city by proposing the biggest-ever Urban Growth Boundary (UGB) expansion by percentage basis and the largest by acres in the metro counties." The voters of North Plains responded by rejecting the city's ballot measure by a margin of 70 percent.

Well, now it's Hillsboro's turn to take a turn at snatching what has been described as some of the richest farmland in the area, and this time they've upped the ante to four times the size of the North Plains grab.

Oregon has a rigorous process for expanding the UGB that this proposal attempts to shortcircuit. Rather than basing economic policy on verifiable needs, the so-called "Oregon JOBS Act" (LC 237) proposed by Hillsboro state senator Janeen Sollman sets a precedent of awarding land on a “who you know” basis. According to land-use advocates at Friends of Smart Growth, landowners in the area have been trying for years to get their land added to the UGB—not because it serves the public interest, but because their land value would increase by 50 times. The Smart Growth website says "the precedent set by this proposal would lead to a mishmash of laws and an unpredictable regulatory climate for businesses in and out of the UGB and would set aside the rule of law in favor of a system that is open to corruption and mismanagement."

For perspective, figures from the 2022 USDA Census of Agriculture show that the number of farms in Oregon decreased by six percent since 2017, and the acreage those farms occupied was down four percent in the same period. 1000 Friends of Oregon detailed that only about 16 percent of Oregon (excluding federal lands) consists of high-value soils, with only about four percent of those rated as prime farmland, and that efforts like the one proposed in this legislative concept endanger those remaining valuable soils.

The threat these data centers pose isn't limited to Oregon's diminishing agricultural land. According to an article in The Guardian, while data centers consume just one percent of the world's electricity now, "their share of U.S. electricity is projected to more than double to 8.6% by 2035."

1000 Friends points out that corporate data centers—the kind of industrial development most often discussed for this parcel—which are touted as super-charging job creation, actually create few, relatively low-paying jobs. Furthermore, it goes on to say that "the bill that Hillsboro state senator Janeen Sollman is proposing will extend tax breaks for these same corporations—companies that can easily afford to pay their fair share.

"Meanwhile, the state is slashing social services budgets that help keep Oregon’s working families afloat, [and] data centers are expected to increase PGE and Pacific Power rates by 50 percent in 5 years (despite the passage of the POWER Act), fresh water is being used and polluted by data centers, and data centers are costing Oregon hundreds of millions in tax revenue each year. Clearly, this industry is not benefiting most Oregonians."

ACTION ITEMS: There are several actions you can take on this issue.

• Click here to send an e-mail to your elected representatives.
• Attend the community meeting and information session: Jan. 30th, 5-6 pm; United Church of Christ, 2032 College Way, Forest Grove.
• Attend Sen. Sollman’s town hall (across the street from the community meeting) immediately following the information session at 6:30 pm; Pacific University’s McCready Hall in the Taylor‑Meade Performing Arts Center, 2043 College Way, Forest Grove.

People who deny the facts of evolution completely puzzle me. Even putting aside the fossil record, DNA evidence and untold hours of programming on public television, do these people ever look around them? Stuff is changing all the time, for heaven's sake.

And I'm not even talking about the legendary example of the beaks of Darwin's finches on the Galapagos Islands, where "an immigrant first settled on one of the islands [and] it would undoubtedly be exposed to different conditions in the different islands (where) it would have to compete with a different set of organisms. ... Then, natural selection would probably favor different varieties in the different islands."

You don't have to look any further than this blog, which in geologic time has only existed for a millionth of a nanosecond, but it has evolved from a simple food blog with restaurant reviews, farmers’ market reports and recipes to a forum for discussion of issues about our food system, from the fields to our plates. And the recipes have changed, too, as I've learned more and tweaked them to fit the way we're eating now.

Take Dave's bacon recipe. On the recommendation of a friend, I bought him Michael Ruhlman's "Charcuterie: The Craft of Salting, Smoking, and Curing," considered the primer for those interested in learning about cured meat. In the five years since he cured and smoked his first pork belly, he's adjusted it to his own tastes, to the point where we find it next to impossible to stomach store-bought because even the most highly-touted examples simply don't measure up.

So if you're at all interested, it's incredibly easy. The only special equipment required is pink curing salt (different from Himalayan pink salt), two-gallon zip-lock plastic bags, a charcoal grill or smoker and a thermometer, then a week for the curing. Seriously, that's it.

And, of course, Dave's notes, which are here in his own words:

"The bacon recipe is based on the Michael Ruhlman recipe, with a couple of changes. I use half as much kosher salt as the recipe calls for—a quarter cup makes it way too salty. I use coarse sea salt rather than kosher. I use a little more garlic than called for—eight to 10 cloves, maybe. I don’t think I’ve ever made it with the optional thyme. I have made it with the optional juniper berries once or twice, but most of the time not. I usually make 12 or 13 pounds at a time, so I double the recipe as I’ve altered it. I usually have two pieces of belly, each rubbed and placed into the big plastic bags in the fridge on a Saturday or Sunday for smoking the next weekend. I turn them once a day. I put it in my Weber Smokey Mountain smoker, on the grates over a water pan, at a low temperature—I try to keep it about 200-225 degrees—over Kingsford with four or five chunks of soaked maple or cherry wood (not too much or the bacon’ll be too smoky and bitter). I smoke it until it’s about 145 degrees internally, usually about three or four hours."

But this will inevitably change and evolve— and I'll keep you posted!

Dave's Homecured Bacon

5 lbs. pork belly
1 oz. (1/8 c.) coarse sea salt
2 tsp. pink curing salt #1
4 Tbsp. coarsely ground black pepper
4 bay leaves, crumbled
1 tsp. freshly grated nutmeg
1/4 c. light brown sugar
8-10 cloves garlic, smashed in a garlic press

Place the pork belly on a sheet pan. Rub the salt and spice mixture all over the belly. Place it in a 2-gallon zip-lock bag and put in the refrigerator for seven days, turning it over once a day. After seven days, take it out of the fridge, rinse off all the seasonings under cold water and pat dry.

Place in smoker preheated to between 200-225 degrees over a water pan and smoke until an instant-read thermometer reads 145 degrees internal temperature. Cool and slice into one-pound slabs. Store in refrigerator or freezer.

Dungeness crab season started on December 16th this year, much to the relief of cooks, diners and Oregon's crab fleet of 424 small family-owned vessels that ply the waters up and down our 362-mile coast. This year's opener, while delayed by a week or so from original predictions, was still weeks earlier than in recent years when it was delayed due to concerns over the presence of domoic acid, a naturally occuring biotoxin that can build up in crustaceans.

Over the past decade, a season opener in December was a rare occurrence, a devastating blow to fishing families who traditionally had relied on holiday sales to home cooks, grocery stores and restaurants to carry them through the winter. The downstream effect on their local communities was no joke, either, causing everyone from hardware stores to grocery stores to gas stations to tighten their belts.

This season, though, with its early start and plentiful supply, should be a good one for fishers, coastal communities and crab-lovers alike. To kick off crab season at our house, I'd been jonesing for a festive crab chowder to serve on Christmas Eve. Fortune smiled when I came across my friend Nancy Harmon Jenkins's post about a lobster chowder served at Portland, Maine's iconic Fore Street restaurant. Sam Hayward, its James Beard award-winning chef and co-owner, is considered the dean of Maine's culinary scene. Jenkins wrote:

"[Hayward's] main (Maine) effort has been to inspire us all to Pay Attention—pay attention to quality, pay attention to our relationship to the soil and the waters that surround us, pay attention to what’s happening in our gardens, on our stoves, and on our tables.

"In Sam’s recipe for what he calls Scotian Lobster Chowder (the name, he says, because he learned to make it in Nova Scotia), you can see his thoughtfulness coming to play: the freshly steamed lobster, the specificity of russet potatoes, the density of the thick Jersey cream, the gentle stewing of the leeks in butter, the emphasis on shoe-peg corn."

Like many great classics, the recipe itself* is simple and elegant, with one smashingly simple technique that I'd never run across before: pre-cooking the called-for russet potatoes with leeks to jumpstart the process that lends the chowder its characteristic thickness rather than adding flour, which all to often tends to give it a paste-like, gloppy texture.

Because we are, as noted above, in prime Dungeness season, I chose to substitute our native crustacean for Maine's and make a stock from the shells after picking them of their meat. This is a company-worthy special occasion dish but it's also easy enough to prepare with shrimp or other shellfish instead of the crab on a weeknight.

Here's wishing our fleet a safe and bountiful season!

Dungeness Crab Chowder

3 oz. bacon, cut in 1/4 inch dice
Butter (around half a stick, divided)
2 large russet (baking) potatoes (or 3 medium), peeled and sliced into 1/2" dice
2 medium (or one large) leeks cut in 1/4 inch dice
2 live, large Dungeness crabs
1 c. whole milk
1 c. half-and-half
8 oz. corn cut from the cobs (or 8 oz. frozen)
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

To prepare the live crab, fill a 3 to 5-gallon stock pot 2/3 full of water and bring to a hearty boil. When it's boiling, grab the crabs by the back of the shell (their large front claws are usually banded shut) and slide them, upside-down, into the boiling water. Cover with a lid and boil for 20 minutes. Drain and allow to cool in the sink. (If you're using pre-cooked crabs, start here.)

Instructions on cleaning a crab here. My friend Hank Shaw has a guide for picking the meat here. Remember to save the shells for stock (below).

Once you've picked the meat, set it aside in a bowl in the fridge. Put the shells in a large pot and cover with water (about 1 quart). Bring to a boil on the stove and reduce heat to simmer for 30 minutes. Strain through a fine mesh sieve and reserve the stock.

In a heavy stock pot or Dutch oven, gently sauté the bacon in a teaspoon of butter until it yields its fat and starts to turn crisp on the edges. Add the potatoes and leeks and 1/2" of water, just enough to keep the potatoes from sticking. Bring to a simmer, then cover the pan and cook gently until the vegetables are soft, 20 to 30 minutes.

At the end of the cooking time for the vegetables, add the stock from the crab shells. Combine the milk and half-and-half in a small saucepan and set over medium heat. Bring to a simmer for 2 to 3 minutes to get rid of the rawness, then add to the vegetables and stock, stirring to combine. Add the crab meat and once the chowder comes to a simmer again—don't let it boil or the milk will curdle—turn off the heat, cover the pan, and leave it for 20 minutes. 

Just before serving, bring the chowder to a simmer once more, stir in the corn and simmer 5 to 10 minutes, or until the corn is just done. Adjust the seasoning and serve immediately. If you wish, float a pat of butter (a little more richness) on the surface of each bowl as you serve up the chowder.

Makes 8 servings.

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* Get Nancy Harmon Jenkins's recipe for lobster chowder by signing up for a paid subscription or a 7-day free trial.

Photo of crab boats at dawn by my friend Bette Sinclair.

I don't know about you, but my family doesn't need more stuff cluttering up our lives (or needing to be dusted). Several years ago my parents sat the whole family down before the holidays and suggested giving gifts of "meaning"—that is, gifts to charities or causes that the recipient would want to support. For instance, my mother appreciated gifts to Heifer International, an organization that has a mission to end hunger and poverty by supporting and investing alongside local farmers and their communities.

In that spirit I thought I'd put together a list of organizations that support our food system directly or indirectly, in case you or your loved ones are inclined to ditch the store aisles packed with desperate shoppers and contribute to changing our planet for the better. (Many of them would also make great year-end charitable donations, if that's more your bent.)

Food System

Friends of Family Farmers is a statewide organization that supports Oregon's small family farmers through networking, workshops and legislative advocacy.

Farmers Market Fund makes healthy, locally grown food accessible to under-served Oregonians through their Double Up Food Bucks program that provides a dollar-for-dollar match on SNAP (food stamp) purchases at over 90 Oregon farmers' markets.

Center for Food Safety works to empower people, support farmers, and protect the earth from the harmful impacts of industrial agriculture through groundbreaking legal, scientific, and grassroots action.

Pacific Northwest Community Supported Agriculture is committed to providing education about Community Supported Agriculture (CSA), supporting farmers who provide quality local food to our communities, and increasing access to healthy food for underserved communities.

Oregon Agricultural Trust works with farmers and ranchers around Oregon to safeguard Oregon’s farm and ranch lands and the rural communities that depend upon them by permanently protecting our working lands and helping them stay in production.

Gaza Soup Kitchen is a grassroots initiative led by the people of Gaza, serving hot meals to tens of thousands daily. Born from a vow to ensure no neighbor goes hungry, 99% of every dollar goes directly to feeding and supporting the people of Gaza. (Read my post about Gaza Soup Kitchen.)

Justice for Immigrants and Farm Workers

Portland Immigrant Rights Coalition (PIRC) is committed to defend the rights of immigrants in our community through education, rapid response, and legal support.

PCUN (Oregon Farmworker Union) has a mission to empower farmworkers and working Latinx families in Oregon by building community, increasing Latinx representation in elections, and advancing policies on both the national and state levels.

Community to Community is a grassroots organization led by women of color that is committed to strengthen local and global movements toward social, economic, and environmental justice. (Read my article about founder Rosalinda Guillen.)

Environment and Climate

Food and Water Watch works to protect food, water, and air, as well as fighting climate change by banning fossil fuels.

Columbia Riverkeeper is committed to protect and restore the water quality of the Columbia River from the headwaters to the Pacific Ocean by partnering with tribes and uniting communities to advocate for environmental and climate justice.

Xerces Society protects the natural world through the conservation of invertebrates and their habitats by conducting research and relying on up-to-date information to guide its conservation work in pollinator conservation, endangered species conservation, and reducing pesticide use and impacts.

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Photos: Pacific Northwest CSA (top); Beaverton Farmers Market (market shoppers); Community to Community (farm workers); Xerces Society (lady beetle).

There are many good reasons to criticize social media—giant corporations like Meta/Facebook, "X" (formerly Twitter), and Tiktok among them, owned by right-wing, anti-democratic billionaires. On the other hand, and one reason I still have accounts with at least a few of them, is that they can amplify voices seldom heard from in the mainstream media.

The past few years I've started following several Indigenous accounts like Underscore Media, which covers Indigenous-centered issues, and the Columbia River Inter-Tribal Fish Commission that advocates for Indigenous tribes and the restoration of salmon to the Columbia River Basin. (See an Action Item and a partial list of other social media accounts at bottom.)

I recently received an e-mail sent to supporters from Tony (naschio) Johnson, Chairman of the Chinook Indian Nation, acknowledging the importance of the Winter Solstice. In the e-mail Johnson outlines the efforts of the Chinook Nation to reestablish the federal recognition granted in 2001 under the Clinton administration that was rescinded in 2002 under George W. Bush. Since that time, Johnson wrote, "the Chinook committed to pursuing every pathway to restore their status, including through Congressional legislation."

That legislation took the form of the Chinook Indian Nation Restoration Act of 2024 which would have "provided a much-needed economic boost not just to the Chinook but also to their surrounding neighbors through an influx of federal funding for educational, cultural, environmental, healthcare, and housing programs, amongst others," according to the e-mail.

On the eve of its introduction, its chief sponsor, Washington Representative Marie Gluesenkamp Perez, pulled her support for the bill unless the Chinook agreed to amend the bill to strip all resource access rights from the Nation, including hunting, fishing, shellfish aquaculture, trapping, gathering, and water rights, a change the Nation's citizens voted unanimously to reject.

"It was an impossible choice: Give up our rights to live as we have done for tens of thousands of years or maintain our status as an ‘unrecognized’ tribe,” wrote Johnson. “All of our lands, villages, sacred sites, fishing, and burial grounds were taken away from us by the United States. The Chinook Indian Nation cannot be asked to give up even more. There is no world where we can accept a law being passed by the United States that takes away more from our people. We have accessed and subsisted on our lands’ resources for as long as we have been here and have a sacred connection with our plants, animals, and water that we cannot be asked to give up.”

The Nation is currently looking for a new sponsor for the bill. It is also asking the public to sign a petition in support of federal recognition of the Chinook Indian Nation.

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Social media accounts that amplify Native voices:

• Underscore Media
• Columbia River Inter-Tribal Fish Commission
• Everyday Chinook
• Necanicum Watershed
• Warrior Women Project
• Salmon Queen
• Modern Warrior

Let me know of other accounts.

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Photos: Chinook community meeting (top) and Canoe Journey (middle) by Amiran White from the Chinook Indian Nation Facebook page. 

Dave makes scones for breakfast at least once a week—they're in a regular rotation with his sky-high biscuits and bran muffins—and we routinely save one out for Fred, our letter carrier. While Fred said he's sorely tempted to scarf it down on the walk back to his truck, he fights the impulse so he can enjoy the scone for breakfast with his tea the next morning. More than once, though, his kids have discovered the baked delight in his postal bag, so he said he's taken to stashing it out of sight in the back of the fridge when he gets home.

Lately Dave's been experimenting with revising his classic Orange Currant Scones by adding toasted oats to the dough for a slightly less sweet, heartier version that reminds me of Scottish oat cakes. These brawny lads are mellowed with a generous slathering of butter and a heaping helping of homemade fruit jam and, in our case at least, a big mug of strong black coffee alongside. Let me know what you think!

Dave's Toasted Oatmeal Scones

1/4 c. (29 grams) rolled oats*
1 1/2 c. (195 grams) all-purpose flour
1 1/2 c. (195 grams) lightly sifted whole wheat flour (or AP flour if you wish)
1 Tbsp. baking powder
3/4 tsp. salt
1 Tbsp. brown sugar
8 Tbsp. (113 g) unsalted butter (1 stick)
1 c. half-and-half
1 egg
1/3 c. dried fruit like raisins, currants, cranberries, etc. (optional; also see note at bottom)
Extra brown sugar for topping (optional)

Heat oven to 350 degrees.

Spread the oats in the baking sheet and toast for five minutes or so; stir and toast another five minutes or so until very lightly browned. Put warm oats into a heatproof container; toss a couple of times and let cool.

Line a baking sheet with parchment or silicone baking mat.

Pulse flour, brown sugar, baking powder and salt in food processor. Pulse in butter until the largest butter bits are about the size of peppercorns, about 10-15 pulses or so.

Put flour mixture into a large bowl. Add cooled oats to flour mixture and mix.

Whisk egg and half-and-half in a small bowl. Add liquid mixture and dried fruit, if using, to dry mixture and mix until a dryish dough forms. Transfer to floured surface and knead four or five times. Form dough into two equal-ish balls.

Flatten each ball with hands into a 6-inch disk. If desired, lightly sprinkle flattened disks with brown sugar. Using a knife or bench knife, cut into wedges of desired size. Place wedges, not touching each other, onto baking sheet.

Put into oven and bake until lightly browned, about 22 minutes.

NOTE: You can also chop up a quarter to half of an apple, briefly sauté it in butter and cinnamon sugar, then mix this into the dough befor shaping. So good!

* Use rolled oats (often called "old-fashioned rolled oats"), not the quick-cooking oats.

It's been a minute since I've done a holiday guide here at Good Stuff NW, so I thought I'd take the opportunity to put in a word for giving the cold shoulder to the big box stores and giant online retailers, and instead spend your dollars where they'll do the most good—in your local community!

Especially this year, local retailers and vendors like those at your farmers' markets are seeing a significant drop in sales, with many wondering how they'll stay in business past the end of the year. And it's not just economic instability that's keeping people from opening their wallets, or the uncertainty over health care costs or the effect of tariffs on our monthly budgets. Those serving our immigrant neighbors are hardest hit since many of their regular customers are afraid to venture out for fear of getting detained, or worse, by ICE.

So think small and local for the holidays this year, and use the suggestions below to start your own lists.

Foodstuffs from our fields. Your local farmers' market is the place to start, with vendors offering a plethora of products featuring the bounty from our fields and pastures. Whether that's jams and jellies bringing memories of warm summer days, zingy hot sauces and flavorful condiments, beef jerky or snack sticks from cattle raised on green pastures, grains and beans grown by farmers committed to regenerative practices, farmstead cheeses made with milk from animals living with the sun on their backs and their feet in grass, or hazelnuts and honey from farmers just down the way, you can get creative and put together a basket of goodies, just wrap a pair of items or stuff them in stockings. Or you can generously give the gift of a seasonal CSA that will provide a whole season's worth of vegetables, meats and fish, fruit or flowers to your favorite family.

Fish from our rivers and oceans. Tinned fish is having a moment right now, and there's nothing like fish that's processed within hours of being pulled from the waters off our coast. Most folks don't know that the big brands not only use fishing methods that destroy ocean habitat and pull in literally tons of by-catch (non-target fish populations) but often cook the fish twice in processing, which is why they have to add water or oil to keep it moist (ick!). Many of our small processors catch fish one at a time with a hook and line, then pack the fish fresh and only cook it once during canning, sealing it in it's own natural juices. I always have a case on hand, and you can order direct from micro-canneries like the ones listed at the Oregon Albacore Commission. (P.S. Those famous bright yellow tins of tuna from Spain? A lot of it is Oregon albacore that is shipped across the world, processed, then shipped back here. Crazy! Read more here.)

Books, new or used! Most of us have talked with younger relatives or friends' kids about books we loved at their age. Have you considered giving those books to them for the holidays, especially if the topic is one that you share an interest in? For instance, my nephew was deeply fascinated with the history of World War Two, so I gifted him a copy of Howard Zinn's foundational A People's History of the United States that gives a perspective on our history that he might not find in other sources.

If someone on your list is a budding cook, you can find new and used cookbooks at Powell's, of course, but how about a combo gift of a (gently) used cookbook and a piece of cookware from the delightful collection at Kitchen Culture on Southeast Foster Road? Or give a gift certificate for one of the classes it features on knife skills, pasta making, fermentation or canning? (Read more about this unique shop.)

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention my friend Cynthia Nims's gorgeous, just-published Essential Shellfish Collection, a special edition, three-book box set of Cynthia's popular books on Pacific Coast shellfish cookery, containing titles on Crab, Oysters, and Shellfish. The description says it all: "If you dream about perfectly prepared crab cakes, showstopping lobster dinners, and joyful clambake celebrations, this endlessly giftable cookbook set is for you."

Hopefully this short list will get you thinking of your loved ones and what they would truly cherish, and better yet the gifts that benefit our local community. Stay tuned for Part Two of this guide coming next week!

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Photos: Detail of wreath from Maggy's Farm in Oregon City available from their farmstand and the Oregon City Farmers Market (top); Santa cow and friend at TMK Creamery and Distillery in Canby; tinned fish tower from Oregon's Choice Gourmet Albacore in Corvallis; Essential Shellfish box set by Cynthia Nims from Seattle's Book Larder.

It was a propitious intersection of two unrelated events. First, we were out of gochujang, a Korean miso and chile paste, and I needed to replenish our supply—we've become intolerant of store-bought varieties that are curiously devoid of texture and have no depth of flavor compared to the homemade version shared by my friend's family. Secondly, Thanksgiving was fast approaching and I needed to pull together a simple appetizer board to offer our guests. 

So I jumped in and made up a batch of the gochujang, a simple task as far as gathering ingredients goes, but one that takes a good afternoon of standing over a frying pan and stirring the paste to get it to just the right level of jammy brownness. Fortunately it makes enough to last several months, at least in our household, so it is well worth the time invested

After finishing the gochujang, I turned to the appetizers we needed for the holiday. I'd made some cheesy chile crisp crackers—actually more cookie-like in both size and texture, like French sablés—from a recipe in Dorie Greenspan's xoxo Dorie newsletter. While we love our chile crisp around here, especially her preferred brand, Fly by Jing, I wanted to make Dorie's recipe again, but substituting gochujang for the chile crisp.

The crackers are a cinch to whip up in the processor, and it's easy to form them into a log and roll it in the sesame seeds on a sheet pan. The rolled log needs to firm up in the fridge, and though I could have sliced and baked it after chilling it for a half hour, I decided to bake it the next day, making it easier to slice.

The gochujang gave the little cookie-like wafers a definite hint of umami from the miso, and the slight zing of heat from the cayenne in the sauce carried through nicely. I can't wait to hear what our guests think!

Zingy Gochujang Cheese Crackers

Adapted from Dorie Greenspan's xoxo Dorie newsletter, adapted from Helen Goh’s "Baking & The Meaning of Life"

2 Tbsp. black sesame seeds (toasted white seeds or a combination are fine, too)
1 c. plus 3 Tbsp. (150 grams) flour
2/3 c. (70 grams) finely grated parmesan cheese
1 tsp. sugar
3/4 tsp. fine sea salt
6 Tbsp.(80 grams) butter, very cold, diced
3 Tbsp.(60 grams) gochujang
1 large egg yolk
1 1/2 tsp. lemon juice
1 1/2 oz. (40 grams) green onion, slivered

Scatter the sesame seeds on a baking sheet and set aside.

In the bowl of a food processor, put the flour, parmesan, sugar, and salt and pulse a few times to combine. Add in the diced butter, processing until the mixture is crumbly. Add in the gochujang, egg yolk, and lemon juice, pulsing until it just begins to clump up (Dorie says it should resemble wet sand), then put the mixture into a large bowl and add the green onion, stirring to combine, then press it into a ball.

Place on a board or butcher block, and form the dough into a round log about 10 inches (25 cm) long and 1½ inches (4 cm) in diameter. Carefully place the log on the sheet with the sesame seeds, then roll it until it's covered in the seeds (press extra seeds into any bare patches). Wrap it in plastic wrap and refrigerate for 30 minutes.

Take it out of the fridge and leave it wrapped, rolling it into a more even log if necessary. (At this point you keep it tightly wrapped in the freezer for up to one month; no need to defrost before cutting and baking.)

Preheat the oven to 350° and line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

Slice the log crosswise into coins 3/8" thick and place them on the lined baking sheet, pressing them back into shape if they break. Bake 20 minutes until barely browned on the top. Dorie notes "the bottoms of the crackers will be a deeper reddish-brown from the gochujang as well as the direct contact with the heat of the sheet—this is as it should be."

Soft when warm, they'll crisp up as they cool. It's difficult not to eat them right then and there, but Dorie says they are at their best a day of two later, "when they’ve dried out a little and the flavors have had time to meld together. They will keep, loosely wrapped in foil, for up to 5 days."