I
I get a little shiver rounding the bend toward The Vegetable Shop at Chino Farm in Rancho Santa Fe. From the street, the farmstand looks like a weather-beaten shack. But stepping inside reveals a kaleidoscopic array of just- picked heirloom produce where everything tastes like the heightened, ultimate version of itself. Alice Waters—the Bay Area doyenne of cooking with local, seasonal, and organic produce—has called Chino “the most important farm in the country.” Whenever I visit, the stand feels like one of the culinary wonders of the world. Arriving at sunrise, I am greeted by Tom Chino, the soft- spoken manager and the youngest of nine siblings born and raised on this family farm. As we shake hands, I feel all 70 years of fieldwork etched into his palms. “Not much going on today,” he tells me. “You’ll probably get bored.” Tom leads me behind the farmstand to the family compound. Shoes come off at the door to the kitchen, where he brews a pot of coffee for his crew. On the wall above the kettle, I glimpse a pantheon of my culinary heroes: Jacques Pépin, Julia Child, Alice Waters, and Yotam Ottolenghi (among others) have scribbled their homages to the Chino family in permanent marker. This will be the only outward sign I see of the rockstar status the farm has earned in the food world, and of the impact they have had on inspiring and modeling small-scale specialty farming in America. Tom only hints at this legacy when I ask what produce Alice Waters still buys for her restaurant in Berkeley. “She’s a great friend,” he says, “but now she can get everything she needs from farms in the Bay Area.” Tom motions me to follow him to a Shinto shrine in the far corner of the room. It’s decorated with photos of his parents, who immigrated from Japan in 1920 and founded the farm in Rancho Santa Fe after first losing everything when they were forcibly relocated to a Japanese internment camp during World War II. Grit and self-reliance are written into the family DNA. Tom lights incense, rings a singing bowl, and bows in prayer. He gestures for me to do the same. We put our shoes back on, and the day’s work begins. Tom brings coffee to his field hands and delivers a summary of the day’s harvest and planting goals. The team disperses in beat-up pickups with their assignments. When I remark that it’s incredible that all 45 acres of crops are tended by Tom and six other men mostly in their 60s, Tom reminisces. “We used to have 10 to 15 full-time workers, and then another 10 apprentices from Japan at any given time,” he says. “Covid killed the internship program, and no field hand can make rent within an hour of this farm.” As a result, he continues, “We’re not producing the variety that we used to. This year we’re only growing 80 varieties of tomato, down from 120.” Tom’s pained expression reveals his disappointment. Perhaps he worries he is somehow letting his parents down.
Lessons from the most important farm in America
Story and Photography by Eric Wolfinger
69 SAN DIEGO MAGAZINE
Made with FlippingBook - Online Brochure Maker