A Letter from a Reader: Why We Do What We Do

From the beginning, our readers have always been our compass—providing inspiration and direction.

Occasionally stories of how our books have made a difference in the lives of our readers make it back to us—be it through customer service phone calls, social media, email—and we’re always thrilled to hear them. We recently received such a letter from a reader. Stories like this serve as a reminder that our mission has never been to just publish books– we have always striven to sustainably publish useful, practical, and inspirational books that effect change in the world.

Thank you for being part of the Chelsea Green Community!

I have never written a letter like this. I have never written to an unknown person or entity; star of stage or screen; musician; dignitary; painter; celebrity chef or mime. I have never written a letter of praise to anyone ever, but that is what I’m about to do in the lines to follow. I’m about to write you a fan letter. 

I was given a copy of Sandor Katz’s The Art Of Fermentation as a gift. Like so many other people discovering the joys of fermenting cabbage, I followed nuggets of recipes like breadcrumbs right to the edge, until a dangerously staged selfie of me and my new clay crock caused me to fall down the rabbit hole of slow food. More so than fermentation specifically, however, I found an absolute love of reading about food as a topic. Agriculture, permaculture, history and social impact, and this love started with books from your publishing company.

I first read Gods, Wasps and Stranglers by Mike Shanahan. I had absolutely no interest in figs, let alone fig trees, but I liked the cover. Now I have botanical garden memberships so I can walk the grounds and identify – and speak at great length of – all of the fig trees about which I have leaned. From the religious history to the environmental impact they can have, I’ll share my newly acquired ficus knowledge with anyone who will listen, bursting with the same unbridled vigor as a nine-year-old learning a foreign language eager to discuss the random importance of a red pencil outside the toilet of a library. That was followed by Gumpert’s Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Food Rights, which has inspired me to carry around a soapbox with his book tucked under my arm. I have fantasies about standing on street corners next to farmers’ markets preaching to passersby in an effort to save the souls of those who tell us it’s illegal to raise and eat sole of our own.

I have to admit that, as unfortunately embarrassing as it is, prior to discovering your publishing house, when I thought of food writing my association automatically went exclusively to restaurant reviews, cookbooks, and top ten lists featuring the latest conundrum plaguing the orthorexic. It honestly never occurred that so many of my own interests could be encompassed under the umbrella of “food writing.” From Pascal Baudar’s hikes through the jungles of LA, to the cacao jungles of Madagascar, to the chocolate mint growing on the patio of my small apartment.

The work you do, bringing so much information to the world is, for me, the equivalent to the first rain after you’ve replaced your windshield wipers – that wondrous moment when you ask yourself how you ever saw where you were going without them.

As a former restauranteur turned wine specialist, turned coffee roaster, turned chocolate maker who is an active outdoors person and passionate about the environment, it’s clear that I have never quite found fulfillment. Now, thanks to your work, I have consulted Mr. Baudar regarding edible invasive plants to add to my chocolate, as well as snorkeled into the ocean to gather water for the making of salt to sprinkle onto my bars for a pop of flavor. My work is now more fulfilling, and my excitement for education about all things food, nature and culinary facts has turned me into what can only be described as a sort of Julia manChild. A virtual Cliff Clavin with a rolling pin. I now have the confidence to hold court in my kitchen, my mattarello in hand invoking the power of a talking stick, as I roll out pasta and attempt to justify to my partner why an aquaponic system in the living room of our 600sf apartment will enable me to grow enough kale to last a lifetime. As the adage goes: Buy a man a fish and he eats for a day, allow a man to put a kiddie pool filled with carp on the living room floor and he’ll become an urban farmer.

Thank you for the wonderful books you’ve brought into this world, and for the seemingly endless supply of pandemic education, you offer in a time of such great need.

Sincerely,

Matt
Coffee Roaster
Chocolate Maker
Aspiring Sourdough Baker
Pungent Fermenter
Reader