Discover the True Essence of Local Food at 7,000 Feet: A Culinary Journey in the Rockies – High Country News

I still remember the first time I saw an artichoke. It was on a soap opera during lazy afternoons with my mom, watching glamorous characters sip champagne and eat elegant lunches. They made it look so sophisticated, and I longed to try it myself.

In Wyoming, my family enjoyed what many would call exotic foods—like curry and rice, even though there were no Indian restaurants nearby. One day at the store, I discovered artichokes among the sad vegetables and felt a thrill.

With my mom’s old copy of *The Joy of Cooking*, I followed a recipe to steam the artichoke perfectly. I made a butter and lemon dip, ready for my big taste. I bravely ripped off a leaf, dipped it in the sauce, and took a bite. To my shock, it tasted bland, like a mushy disappointment. I slurped the butter off instead, sharing the experience with mom.

“So, not what you thought?” she asked.

“Yeah, I think I like food from here,” I admitted.

What did “food from here” really mean? For many, it might bring to mind classic Wyoming staples: beef, lamb, corn, or even Rocky Mountain oysters. It connects to local traditions and unique flavors that define Western cuisine.

As I grew up, I found other local delights. My dad helped a neighbor move cows every year in exchange for grass-fed beef. Our freezer was always stocked. Mom made fish curry from the trout my dad caught. Even our small garden yielded fresh tomatoes and chili peppers, all part of the tapestry of local food.

Living in a place known for its harsh winters makes summer feel magical. In those warm months, I started gardening, testing my luck with tricky plants at a high altitude. I’d anxiously watch my tomato plants, hoping for a good harvest despite uncertain weather. I even made green tomato pie when storms threatened my yield.

County fairs were another highlight, filled with culinary excitement. I entered contests with my 4-H projects, but the real draw was the fair food: frybread, corn dogs, and elephant ears. That food felt exotic and special, a treat that made my heart race.

At 16, I landed a job at a Chinese restaurant. The owner treated me well, sharing recipes and stories. Customers often asked about dishes beyond the usual sweet and sour chicken. It showed me that people crave new experiences, just like I did with my flawed artichoke.

Growing up in a small town can feel limiting, but I found that it made me more adventurous. People who thought they only liked steak and potatoes often discovered new tastes through my mom’s cooking. As the food scene evolved, restaurants offering Indian, Thai, and even sushi popped up in my hometown.

Despite these culinary changes, hope remains constant in our lives. This summer, my daughters planted their own vegetables, eagerly anticipating their growth. “Will they grow, Mama?” they asked, reflecting that same wish I had when I tried that artichoke years ago.

I learned that the journey matters more than the outcome. While I may not have loved the artichoke, it was about being open to new experiences. In the West, adapting is part of life, and what feels strange to some can be familiar to others. To Juniper and Marigold, our garden harvest is just as exciting as that artichoke was for me. They cheerfully exclaim, “It’s from here!” as they bite into juicy tomatoes, the flavor bursting with the essence of home.

For more insights on local and seasonal foods, you might find the USDA’s [Agricultural Marketing Service](https://www.ams.usda.gov/) interesting.

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Essays,Food,Mountain West,Township and Range