So, I've known a lot of fish in my life. I've loved only two. That first one, it was more like a passionate affair. It was a beautiful fish: flavorful, textured, meaty, a bestseller on the menu. What a fish. (Laughter) Even better, it was farm-raised to the supposed highest standards of sustainability. So you could feel good about selling it.
Ma olen elus tundnud palju kalu. Armastanud olen vaid kaht. Esimene oli rohkem nagu kirglik afäär. See oli ilus kala, maitsev, hea tekstuuriga, rohke lihaga, menüüde menuk. Milline kala. (Naer) Veelgi parem: see oli pärit kasvandusest, kus väidetavalt järgiti keskkonnasäästlikkuse kõrgeimaid standardeid. Et oleks hea tunne seda müüa.
I was in a relationship with this beauty for several months. One day, the head of the company called and asked if I'd speak at an event about the farm's sustainability. "Absolutely," I said. Here was a company trying to solve what's become this unimaginable problem for us chefs: How do we keep fish on our menus?
Ma olin selle iludusega suhtes mitu kuud. Ühel päeval helistas firmajuht ja küsis, kas ma räägiksin ühel üritusel selle kasvanduse loodussäästlikkusest. "Muidugi räägin," vastasin. See oli firma, mis püüdis lahendada kokkade jaoks kujuteldamatult keerulist probleemi. Kuidas pidada kala oma menüüs?
For the past 50 years, we've been fishing the seas like we clear-cut forests. It's hard to overstate the destruction. Ninety percent of large fish, the ones we love -- the tunas, the halibuts, the salmons, swordfish -- they've collapsed. There's almost nothing left. So, for better or for worse, aquaculture, fish farming, is going to be a part of our future. A lot of arguments against it: Fish farms pollute -- most of them do anyway -- and they're inefficient. Take tuna, a major drawback. It's got a feed conversion ratio of 15 to one. That means it takes fifteen pounds of wild fish to get you one pound of farm tuna. Not very sustainable. It doesn't taste very good either.
Viimase 50 aasta jooksul oleme merest kala püüdnud nagu metsades lageraiet tehes. Raske oleks hävingut üle hinnata. 90% suurtest kaladest, keda me armastame - tuunikala, hiidlest, lõhe, mõõkkala - on hävinud. Peaaegu mitte midagi ei ole alles. Nii et paratamatult on akvakultuur, kala tootmine kasvandustes, osa meie tulevikust. On palju vastuargumente. Kalakasvandused saastavad keskkonda ja nad on ebaefektiivsed. Näiteks tuunikala. Tohutu tagasilöök. Söödakulu suhtarv on viisteist ühele. Kulub viisteist kilo loodusest püütud kala, selleks, et saada kasvandusest üks kilo tuunikala. Mitte väga jätkusuutlik. Ei maitse ka kuigi hästi.
So here, finally, was a company trying to do it right. I wanted to support them. The day before the event, I called the head of P.R. for the company. Let's call him Don.
Aga lõpuks olin leidnud ettevõtte, mis püüdis kõike õigesti teha. Ma tahtsin neid toetada. Päev enne üritust helistasin firma suhetekorraldajale. Nimetagem teda Doniks.
"Don," I said, "just to get the facts straight, you guys are famous for farming so far out to sea, you don't pollute."
Ma ütlesin: "Don, te olete kuulsad selle poolest, et te kasvatate kalu nii kaugel meres, et see ei saasta keskkonda."
"That's right," he said. "We're so far out, the waste from our fish gets distributed, not concentrated." And then he added, "We're basically a world unto ourselves. That feed conversion ratio? 2.5 to one," he said. "Best in the business."
"Õige," ütles ta. "Meie kasvandus on nii kaugel merel, et meie kalade saaste jaotub laiali, mitte ei koondu kokku." Siis ta lisas: "Me oleme praktiliselt omaette maailm. Söödakulu on 2,5 ühele. Parim näitaja terves äris."
2.5 to one, great. "2.5 what? What are you feeding?"
2,5 ühele - suurepärane. "2,5 ühele mida? Mis sööta te kasutate?"
"Sustainable proteins," he said.
"Jätkusuutlikke valke," vastas ta.
"Great," I said. Got off the phone. And that night, I was lying in bed, and I thought: What the hell is a sustainable protein? (Laughter)
"Tore," vastasin. Lõpetasin kõne. Ja sel ööl voodis lamades mõtlesin ma: "Mis kuradi asi on jätkusuutlik valk?" (Naer)
So the next day, just before the event, I called Don. I said, "Don, what are some examples of sustainable proteins?"
Järgmisel päeval, just enne üritust, helistasin ma Donile. Küsisin: "Don, tooge mõni näide, mis on jätkusuutlik valk?"
He said he didn't know. He would ask around. Well, I got on the phone with a few people in the company; no one could give me a straight answer until finally, I got on the phone with the head biologist. Let's call him Don too. (Laughter)
Ta ei teadnud ja lubas küsida. Helistasin mõnele teisele inimesele samast firmast. Mitte keegi ei osanud mulle konkreetselt vastata. Kuni ma lõpuks sain ühendust firma juhtiva bioloogiga. Nimetagem ka teda Doniks. (Naer)
"Don," I said, "what are some examples of sustainable proteins?"
"Don," ütlesin ma, "tooge mulle mõni näide jätkusuutlikust valgust."
Well, he mentioned some algaes and some fish meals, and then he said chicken pellets. I said, "Chicken pellets?"
Ta nimetas mõningaid vetikaid ja kalajahu ja siis ütles: kanagraanulid. Ma küsisin üle: "Kanagraanulid?"
He said, "Yeah, feathers, skin, bone meal, scraps, dried and processed into feed."
Ta ütles: "Jah, suled, nahk, kondijahu, jäätmed, mis kuivatatakse ja töödeldakse söödaks."
I said, "What percentage of your feed is chicken?" Thinking, you know, two percent.
Ma küsisin: "Kui suur protsent söödast koosneb kanast?" Kujutasin ette, et see võiks olla näiteks 2%.
"Well, it's about 30 percent," he said.
"Umbes 30%," ütles Don.
I said, "Don, what's sustainable about feeding chicken to fish?" (Laughter)
Ma küsisin: "Don, kuidas on jätkusuutlik kanade söötmine kaladele?" (Naer)
There was a long pause on the line, and he said, "There's just too much chicken in the world." (Laughter)
Telefonis oli pikk paus ja ta ütles: "Maailmas on lihtsalt liiga palju kanu." (Naer)
I fell out of love with this fish. (Laughter) No, not because I'm some self-righteous, goody-two shoes foodie. I actually am. (Laughter) No, I actually fell out of love with this fish because, I swear to God, after that conversation, the fish tasted like chicken. (Laughter)
Ma lakkasin seda kala armastamast. (Naer) Ei, mitte sellepärast, et ma oleksin mõni vagatsev enesega rahulolev toidufanaatik. Tegelikult olen küll. (Naer) Ei, tegelikult ma lakkasin seda kala armastamast, sest ausõna, pärast seda vestlust maitses kala nagu kana. (Naer)
This second fish, it's a different kind of love story. It's the romantic kind, the kind where the more you get to know your fish, you love the fish. I first ate it at a restaurant in southern Spain. A journalist friend had been talking about this fish for a long time. She kind of set us up. (Laughter) It came to the table a bright, almost shimmering, white color. The chef had overcooked it. Like twice over. Amazingly, it was still delicious.
Teise kalaga oli hoopis teistsugune armastuslugu. Selline romantiline, kus on nii, et mida rohkem sa oma kalast teada saad, seda rohkem sa teda armastad. Esmakordselt sõin seda restoranis Lõuna-Hispaanias. Üks ajakirjanikust sõber oli mulle sellest kalast ammu rääkinud. Ta oli meie kosjasobitajaks. (Naer) See kala toodi lauale - erksavärviline, peaaegu läiklev, valget värvi. Kokk oli selle üle küpsetanud. Vähemalt kaks korda üle. Hämmastaval kombel oli see ikkagi hõrk.
Who can make a fish taste good after it's been overcooked? I can't, but this guy can. Let's call him Miguel -- actually his name is Miguel. (Laughter) And no, he didn't cook the fish, and he's not a chef, at least in the way that you and I understand it. He's a biologist at Veta La Palma. It's a fish farm in the southwestern corner of Spain. It's at the tip of the Guadalquivir river.
Kes suudaks panna kala hästi maitsema pärast seda, kui see on üle küpsetatud? Mina ei suuda, aga see tüüp suudab. Nimetagem teda Migueliks. Õieti ta nimi ongi Miguel. (Naer) Ei, tema ei küpsetanud kala, ta pole kokk, vähemalt mitte selles tähenduses nagu meie mõtleme. Ta on bioloog Veta La Palmas. See on kalakasvandus Edela-Hispaanias. Guadalquiviri jõe ülemjooksul.
Until the 1980s, the farm was in the hands of the Argentinians. They raised beef cattle on what was essentially wetlands. They did it by draining the land. They built this intricate series of canals, and they pushed water off the land and out into the river. Well, they couldn't make it work, not economically. And ecologically, it was a disaster. It killed like 90 percent of the birds, which, for this place, is a lot of birds. And so in 1982, a Spanish company with an environmental conscience purchased the land.
1980ndateni oli see kasvandus argentiinlaste kätes. Nad kasvatasid seal veiseid ning see territoorium oli algselt märgala. Nad kuivendasid maa ja ehitasid keerulise kanalite süsteemi, mis tõmbas maa kuivaks ja juhtis vee jõkke. Aga nad ei saanud seda süsteemi tööle majanduslikus mõttes. Ja ökoloogiliselt oli see katastroof. See tappis umbes 90% lindudest, mis selle paiga kohta tähendab väga palju linde. 1982. aastal ostis selle maa üks Hispaania firma, kellel oli keskkondlik südametunnistus.
What did they do? They reversed the flow of water. They literally flipped the switch. Instead of pushing water out, they used the channels to pull water back in. They flooded the canals. They created a 27,000-acre fish farm -- bass, mullet, shrimp, eel -- and in the process, Miguel and this company completely reversed the ecological destruction. The farm's incredible. I mean, you've never seen anything like this. You stare out at a horizon that is a million miles away, and all you see are flooded canals and this thick, rich marshland.
Ja mida tegid nemad? Nad panid vee teistpidi voolama. Nad sõna otseses mõttes keerasid lülitit. Selle asemel, et lükata vett välja, kasutasid nad kanaleid, et tõmmata vesi tagasi sisse. Nad ujutasid kanalid üle ja lõid 27 000 aakrit kalakasvandust - ahven, kefaal, krevett, angerjas - ja protsessi käigus suutsid Miguel ja see firma anda ökoloogilisele hävitustööle tagasikäigu. See kasvandus on uskumatu. Te pole kunagi midagi sellist näinud. Te vaatate silmapiiri poole, mis on miljoni miili kaugusel, ja näete ainult üleujutatud kanaleid ja tihedat, rikkalikku soomaad.
I was there not long ago with Miguel. He's an amazing guy, like three parts Charles Darwin and one part Crocodile Dundee. (Laughter) Okay? There we are slogging through the wetlands, and I'm panting and sweating, got mud up to my knees, and Miguel's calmly conducting a biology lecture. Here, he's pointing out a rare Black-shouldered Kite. Now, he's mentioning the mineral needs of phytoplankton. And here, here he sees a grouping pattern that reminds him of the Tanzanian Giraffe.
Ma käisin seal hiljuti koos Migueliga. Ta on hämmastav tüüp, kolm osa Charles Darwinit ja üks osa Krokodill Dundee'd. (Naer) Seal me vantsime läbi märgalade, ma hingeldan ja higistan, muda põlvini, ning Miguel peab rahulikult bioloogialoengut. Kord näitab a mulle haruldast hõbehaugast. Siis mainib ta fütoplanktonite mineraalseid vajadusi. Seejärel märkab ta mustrit, mis meenutab talle tansaania kaelkirjakut.
It turns out, Miguel spent the better part of his career in the Mikumi National Park in Africa. I asked him how he became such an expert on fish.
Selgub, et Miguel veetis parima osa oma karjäärist Mikumi rahvuspargis Aafrikas. Ma küsisin, kuidas temast sai säherdune asjatundja kalade alal.
He said, "Fish? I didn't know anything about fish. I'm an expert in relationships." And then he's off, launching into more talk about rare birds and algaes and strange aquatic plants.
Ta vastas: "Kalad? Ma ei tea kaladest midagi. Ma olen asjatundja suhete alal." Ja ta räägib edasi haruldastest lindudest, vetikatest ja kummalistest veetaimedest.
And don't get me wrong, that was really fascinating, you know, the biotic community unplugged, kind of thing. It's great, but I was in love. And my head was swooning over that overcooked piece of delicious fish I had the night before. So I interrupted him. I said, "Miguel, what makes your fish taste so good?"
Ärge mõistke mind valesti, see kõik oli väga huvitav, nagu biootiline kogukond unplugged või nii. Tore. Aga ma olin armunud ega suutnud mõelda muust, kui sellest üleküpsetatud maitsvast kalast, mida ma olin eelmisel õhtul söönud. Nii et ma katkestasin teda. Küsisin: "Miguel, miks su kala nii hästi maitseb?"
He pointed at the algae.
Ta näitas vetikatele.
"I know, dude, the algae, the phytoplankton, the relationships: It's amazing. But what are your fish eating? What's the feed conversion ratio?"
"Jah, ma saan aru, vetikad, fütoplaktonid, suhted, see kõik on hämmastav. Aga mida su kalad söövad? Mis on sööda kulu vahekord?"
Well, he goes on to tell me it's such a rich system that the fish are eating what they'd be eating in the wild. The plant biomass, the phytoplankton, the zooplankton, it's what feeds the fish. The system is so healthy, it's totally self-renewing. There is no feed. Ever heard of a farm that doesn't feed its animals?
Ta räägib mulle, et see on säherdune rikkalik süsteem, et kalad söövad seda, mida nad looduslikult sööksid. Taimede biomass, fütoplankton, zooplankton, see kõik on kalade söödaks. Süsteem on nii terve, et taastab end täiel määral ise. Sööta ei ole. Olete kuulnud kasvandusest, mis oma loomi ei sööda?
Later that day, I was driving around this property with Miguel, and I asked him, I said, "For a place that seems so natural, unlike like any farm I'd ever been at, how do you measure success?"
Samal päeval, kui ma Migueliga mööda seda ala ringi sõitsin, küsisin temalt: "Kohas, mis nii loomulik tundub, (erinevalt kõigist teistest kasvandustest, kus ma viibinud olin) mille järgi sa edu hindad?"
At that moment, it was as if a film director called for a set change. And we rounded the corner and saw the most amazing sight: thousands and thousands of pink flamingos, a literal pink carpet for as far as you could see.
Sel momendil oleks justkui mõni filmirežissöör nõudnud võtteplatsi vahetust. Me jõudsime ümber nurga ja nägime kõige imelisemat vaatepilti - tuhanded ja tuhanded roosad flamingod, roosa vaip nii kaugele, kui pilk ulatub.
"That's success," he said. "Look at their bellies, pink. They're feasting." Feasting? I was totally confused.
"See ongi edu," ütles ta. "Vaata nende roosasid kõhtusid. Neil on pidusööming." Sööming? Ma olin täiesti segaduses.
I said, "Miguel, aren't they feasting on your fish?" (Laughter)
Ma küsisin: "Miguel, kas nad mitte ei söö sinu kalu?" (Naer)
"Yes," he said. (Laughter) "We lose 20 percent of our fish and fish eggs to birds. Well, last year, this property had 600,000 birds on it, more than 250 different species. It's become, today, the largest and one of the most important private bird sanctuaries in all of Europe."
"Jah," vastas ta. (Naer) "Me kaotame 20% oma kaladest ja kalamarjast lindudele. Eelmisel aastal oli sel kinnistul 600 000 lindu rohkem kui 250 erinevast liigist. Tänaseks on sellest saanud suurim ja olulisem lindude eravarjupaik kogu Euroopas."
I said, "Miguel, isn't a thriving bird population like the last thing you want on a fish farm?" (Laughter) He shook his head, no.
Ma küsisin: "Miguel, kas jõudsalt kasvav lindude populatsioon pole mitte viimane asi, mida sa kalakasvandusse tahaksid?" (Naer) Ta raputas pead: "Ei.
He said, "We farm extensively, not intensively. This is an ecological network. The flamingos eat the shrimp. The shrimp eat the phytoplankton. So the pinker the belly, the better the system."
Me kasvandame ekstensiivselt, mitte intensiivselt. See on ökoloogiline võrgustik. Flamingod söövad krevette. Krevetid söövad fütoplanktonit. Nii et mida roosam on kõhuke, seda parem on süsteem."
Okay, so let's review: a farm that doesn't feed its animals, and a farm that measures its success on the health of its predators. A fish farm, but also a bird sanctuary. Oh, and by the way, those flamingos, they shouldn't even be there in the first place. They brood in a town 150 miles away, where the soil conditions are better for building nests. Every morning, they fly 150 miles into the farm. And every evening, they fly 150 miles back. (Laughter) They do that because they're able to follow the broken white line of highway A92. (Laughter) No kidding.
Nii. Vaatame üle. Kasvandus, mis ei sööda oma loomi, kasvandus, mis määratleb oma edu röövloomade tervise järgi. Kalakasvandus, mis on samas lindude varjupaik. Muuseas, need flamingod ei tohiks seal üldse olla. Nad pesitsevad linnas, mis asub 150 miili eemal, kus pinnas on sobilikum pesade ehitamiseks. Igal hommikul lendavad nad 150 miili kasvandusse ja igal õhtul 150 miili tagasi. (Naer) Nad teevad seda sellepärast, et nad suudavad järgida valget punktiirjoont A92 kiirteel. (Naer) Tõsijutt.
I was imagining a "March of the Penguins" thing, so I looked at Miguel. I said, "Miguel, do they fly 150 miles to the farm, and then do they fly 150 miles back at night? Do they do that for the children?"
Ma kujutlesin pingviinide marsi taolist asja, nii et ma vaatasin Miguelile otsa ja küsisin: "Kuule, kas nad tõesti lendavad 150 miili kasvandusse ja seejärel, kas nad lendavad õhtul 150 miili tagasi? Kas nad teevad seda laste pärast?"
He looked at me like I had just quoted a Whitney Houston song. (Laughter) He said, "No; they do it because the food's better." (Laughter)
Ta vaatas mind nii, nagu ma oleksin just tsiteerinud mõnd Whitney Houstoni laulu. (Naer) Ta ütles: "Ei. Nad teevad seda sellepärast, et siin on parem toit." (Naer)
I didn't mention the skin of my beloved fish, which was delicious -- and I don't like fish skin; I don't like it seared, I don't like it crispy. It's that acrid, tar-like flavor. I almost never cook with it. Yet, when I tasted it at that restaurant in southern Spain, it tasted not at all like fish skin. It tasted sweet and clean, like you were taking a bite of the ocean. I mentioned that to Miguel, and he nodded. He said, "The skin acts like a sponge. It's the last defense before anything enters the body. It evolved to soak up impurities." And then he added, "But our water has no impurities."
Ma ei maininud oma armastatud kala nahka, mis oli imemaitsev, ja mulle ei meeldi kalanahk. Mulle ei meeldi see küpsetatult ega praetult. Tal on selline kirbe tõrva maitse. Ma ei küpseta kala peaaegu kunagi koos nahaga. Ent selles Lõuna-Hispaania restoranis ei maitsenud see sugugi nagu kalanahk. Sel oli õrn ja puhas maitse, nagu oleksin hammustanud ookeani. Ma mainisin seda Miguelile ja ta noogutas. Ta ütles: "Nahk toimib nagu käsn. See on viimane kaitsekiht, enne kui miski kehasse jõuab. See on arenenud mustust imama." Ja siis ta lisas: "Aga meie vetes ei ole mingit mustust."
OK. A farm that doesn't feed its fish, a farm that measures its success by the success of its predators. And then I realized when he says, "A farm that has no impurities," he made a big understatement, because the water that flows through that farm comes in from the Guadalquivir River. It's a river that carries with it all the things that rivers tend to carry these days: chemical contaminants, pesticide runoff. And when it works its way through the system and leaves, the water is cleaner than when it entered. The system is so healthy, it purifies the water. So, not just a farm that doesn't feed its animals, not just a farm that measures its success by the health of its predators, but a farm that's literally a water purification plant -- and not just for those fish, but for you and me as well. Because when that water leaves, it dumps out into the Atlantic. A drop in the ocean, I know, but I'll take it, and so should you, because this love story, however romantic, is also instructive. You might say it's a recipe for the future of good food, whether we're talking about bass or beef cattle.
Hüva. Kasvandus, mis ei sööda oma kalu. Kasvandus, mis hindab oma edu röövloomade edu järgi. Ja ma mõistsin, et kui ta ütles "kasvandus, milles pole mustust", oli see väga pehmelt öeldud, sest vesi, mis läbi selle kasvanduse voolab, tuleb Guadalquiviri jõest. See on jõgi, mis kannab endas kõike, mida jõed tänavapäeval kipuvad kandma, keemilist reostust, pestitsiidide jääke. Ja läbi kasvanduse voolates, sellest välja voolates, on vesi puhtam kui sisenedes. Süsteem on nii terve, et see puhastab vee ära. Nii et mitte üksnes kasvandus, msi ei sööda oma loomi, mitte üksnes kasvandus, mis hindab oma edu röövloomade tervise järgi, vaid kasvandus, mis on sõna tõsises mõttes veepuhastusjaam, ja mitte üksnes kalade jaoks, vaid teie ja minu jaoks samuti. Sest sealt lahkudes voolab vesi Atlandi ookeani. See on tilgake ookeanis, ma tean, aga mulle see sobib, ja teile peaks ka sobima, sest see armastuslugu, kuitahes romantiline see ka ei oleks, on ühtlasi ka õpetlik. Võiks öelda, et see on tuleviku hea toidu retsept, ükskõik kas rääkida ahvenast või veistest.
What we need now is a radically new conception of agriculture, one in which the food actually tastes good. (Laughter) (Applause) But for a lot people, that's a bit too radical. We're not realists, us foodies; we're lovers. We love farmers' markets, we love small family farms, we talk about local food, we eat organic. And when you suggest these are the things that will ensure the future of good food, someone, somewhere stands up and says, "Hey guy, I love pink flamingos, but how are you going to feed the world?" How are you going to feed the world?
Nüüd vajame me radikaalselt uut põllumajanduskontseptsiooni - sellist, milles toit maitseks tõesti ka hästi. (Naer) (Aplaus) Aga paljude inimeste jaoks on see pisut liiga radikaalne. Meie - toidufanaatikud - ei ole realistid. Me oleme armastajad. Me armastame talutoodete turge, armastame väikeseid peretalusid. Me räägime kohalikust toidust. Me sööme orgaanilist toitu. Ja kui väita, et need on asjad, mis kindlustavad hea toidu tuleviku, tõuseb keegi kusagil püsti ja ütleb: "Hei, sina, ma armastan roosasid flamingosid, aga kuidas sa kavatsed maailma ära toita?" Kuidas maailm ära toita?
Can I be honest? I don't love that question. No, not because we already produce enough calories to more than feed the world. One billion people will go hungry today. One billion -- that's more than ever before -- because of gross inequalities in distribution, not tonnage. Now, I don't love this question because it's determined the logic of our food system for the last 50 years.
Kas tohib, ma olen aus? Mulle ei meeldi see küsimus. Mitte sellepärast, et me toodame juba niigi rohkem kaloreid, kui läheks vaja, et maailm ära toita. Täna jääb nälga miljard inimest. Miljard - see on rohkem kui kunagi varem - ja seda toidu jaotumise ebavõrdsuse, mitte tonnaaži pärast. Ma ei armasta seda küsimust, sest see on määratlenud meie toidusüsteemi loogika viimase viiekümne aasta jooksul.
Feed grain to herbivores, pesticides to monocultures, chemicals to soil, chicken to fish, and all along agribusiness has simply asked, "If we're feeding more people more cheaply, how terrible could that be?" That's been the motivation, it's been the justification: it's been the business plan of American agriculture. We should call it what it is: a business in liquidation, a business that's quickly eroding ecological capital that makes that very production possible. That's not a business, and it isn't agriculture.
Söödame vilja taimetoidulistele loomadele, pestitsiide monokultuuridele, kemikaale pinnasele, kanu kaladele, ja põllumajandusäri on kogu aeg üksnes küsinud: "Kui me toidame rohkem inimesi odavamalt, kui halb see ikka on?" See on olnud ameerika põllumajanduse motivatsioon, õigustus ja äriplaan. Me peaksime seda nimetama õige nimega: äri, mis likvideerub, äri, mis kulutab kiiresti ökoloogilist kapitali, mis tootmise üldse võimalikuks teeb. See pole äri ja see ei ole põllumajandus.
Our breadbasket is threatened today, not because of diminishing supply, but because of diminishing resources. Not by the latest combine and tractor invention, but by fertile land; not by pumps, but by fresh water; not by chainsaws, but by forests; and not by fishing boats and nets, but by fish in the sea.
Meie leivakorv on praegu ohus ja seda mitte järjest väheneva varustuse pärast, vaid järjest vähenevate ressursside pärast. Asi pole mitte viimastes leiutistes seoses kombainide ja traktoritega, vaid viljakas maas. Mitte pumpades, vaid värske vee varudes. Mitte mootorsaagides, vaid metsades. Mitte kaluripaatides ja võrkudes, vaid meres leiduvas kalas.
Want to feed the world? Let's start by asking: How are we going to feed ourselves? Or better: How can we create conditions that enable every community to feed itself? (Applause) To do that, don't look at the agribusiness model for the future. It's really old, and it's tired. It's high on capital, chemistry and machines, and it's never produced anything really good to eat. Instead, let's look to the ecological model. That's the one that relies on two billion years of on-the-job experience.
Tahate maailma ära toita? Küsigem alustuseks: kuidas me iseend ära toidame? Või veel parem: kuidas me saame luua tingimused, mis võimaldaksid igal kogukonnal iseend ära toita? (Aplaus) Selleks ei ole mõtet vaadata põllumajanduse ärimudeli poole tuleviku perspektiivis. See on väga vana ja väsinud. Sel on palju kapitali, keemiat ja masinaid ja see pole kunagi tootnud midagi head söömiseks. Selle asemel vaadakem ökoloogilise mudeli poole. See toetub kahe miljardi aasta pikkusele töökogemusele.
Look to Miguel, farmers like Miguel. Farms that aren't worlds unto themselves; farms that restore instead of deplete; farms that farm extensively instead of just intensively; farmers that are not just producers, but experts in relationships. Because they're the ones that are experts in flavor, too. And if I'm going to be really honest, they're a better chef than I'll ever be. You know, I'm okay with that, because if that's the future of good food, it's going to be delicious.
Vaadake Migueli poole ja teiste temasarnaste farmerite poole. Kasvanduste poole, mis pole omaette maailmad, mis taastavad, selmet ammendada, mis tegutsevad ekstensiivselt, selmet piirduda intensiivsega. Farmerid, kes pole üksnes tootjad, vaid asjatundjad suhete alal. Sest nemad on need, kes on asjatundjad ka maitsete alal. Ja kui päris aus olla, on nemad paremad kokad, kui mina üldse kunagi võiksin olla. Aga see ei häiri mind, sest kui see on hea toidu tulevik, siis on see hirmus maitsev.
Thank you. (Applause)
Aitäh. (aplaus)