Here on the sunny West Coast, home to trends such as veganism, freeganism, raw foodism, and breathairianism, we are used to being on the cutting edge of socially conscious and holistic food trends. You may have heard of one that is quickly gaining steam - the 100 - mile diet. Or, as it’s known to Brazilian banana growers, the “screw you, dirt farmer, we’re buying local” diet. You see, the rules are simple: eat whatever you want, as long as it’s grown within 100 miles of your home. Despite the many benefits, I can’t help but wonder that in a few short years, we’ve gone from promoting fair trade with farmers in tropical regions to no trade. As many conscious shoppers, including myself, embrace this local-centered lifestyle, are we leaving behind those not privileged to live in our geographical sphere of consumption?

The concept of eating food grown in my hometown has always appealed to me simply for the quality and freshness of the produce. In the post 9/11, socially responsible age we inhabit, buying local has taken on importance far beyond that of the economically driven “Buy American” message of the 80’s: the new trend has the impact of reduced carbon emissions, better conditions for farm workers, less reliance on foreign oil, and a food supply less vulnerable to microbial outbreaks and acts of sabotage. How could anyone not want to buy local? Thinking of all those bottles crossing the wide Atlantic for our drinking pleasure, carried by fuel spilling, carbon-emitting cargo ships, I recently passed up a bottle of Jameson’s Irish whiskey and began cultivating a taste for Wild Turkey. Just don’t tell my Irish friends.

I’d like to think that all the benefits of buying local outweigh any downsides on a global scale. However, not being an economist, I’d be hard pressed to explain to the Brazilian banana farmer how my choices work out best for him. Furthermore, it seems that in the atmosphere of globalization and a “flat” world, the “buy local” message has an outdated feeling of isolationism, and even xenophobia. Try, for example, the Canadian couple who went a year without buying anything from China. While an interesting experiment, it could also be seen as a vigilante-style trade embargo.

Fortunately for our neighbors to the South, their climate offers them a rather safe insurance against zealous locavores in the three C’s: coffee, cocoa, and cocaine. Much as we Americans might want to, we simply can’t grow these in sufficient quantities on our homeland to satisfy our appetite (at least, not given the current rate of climate change). Still, the popularity of the 100 - mile diet continues to grow, especially among those consumers who consider themselves to be socially conscious global citizens. So, until someone smarter than myself can explain how this economic isolationism benefits farmers in developing countries through some trickle-down effect, try these on for size: some variations on the 100 - mile diet that don’t neglect foreign farmers - a compromise, if you will, between fair-trade and no-trade. At the very least, in the spirit of international brotherhood, we could start referring to it as the 160 - kilometer diet.

1. The One - Block Diet. In this variation, the consumer buys geographically unrestricted goods from stores one block away. The environmental benefit is derived from the fuel saved in the trip to the store.
2. The 100 - Mile Carbon Credit Donation Diet. Under this plan, the energy saved in transportation costs by buying locally is collected as “carbon credit,” which can be donated by the consumer to the farmer they have helped to become unemployed.
3. The 100 - Mile Guest Worker Program. The South American farmer, now unemployed due to a lack of demand for imported produce, is given a guest worker visa valid within a 100 mile radius of a socially conscious consumer.

For now, it appears strict locavorianism has only caught on in fertile, affluent parts of the West Coast. Such a diet during the winter in, say, Detroit would resemble the rations in a Siberian prison camp. As for me and my family here on the California Central coast, a quick audit of our kitchen will reveal eggs, cilantro, and carrots from less than an hour’s drive away; and beer, potatoes, milk, and garlic all from the nearby Bay Area. But even here in one of the richest agricultural regions on earth, I’d be hard pressed to live off those alone without my lentils from India, flour from Canada, and tahini from Lebanon. You would also find, in the freezer door, a half-pound of Nicaraguan organic fair-trade coffee that hasn’t been opened in a few months. Please don’t tell the Nicaraguans, but lately I’ve switched to tea.