In the meantime, they're at least eating better than most of us did in our 20s or early 30s. When I talk to Daniel Sklaar, the 30-year-old founder of Fine & Raw Chocolate in Brooklyn (and a former financial analyst), he tells me that dinner parties have gone potluck in his social scene these days. Before each meal there's a flurry of Facebook activity as people compare notes on what they're bringing. That is, what they're making with their own hands and bringing to the table. "People want authentic food," Sklaar says. "Food that connects them to other people. They want a communal experience."
May these artisans thrive; may their numbers grow. We'll all eat better for it. Some foodmakers, of course, will learn that idealism is not the same thing as expertise or business sense. As Dammeier, in the business for seven years, says, a lot of "wash-out" will happen. "It's not good enough just to make something yourself. It has to have the quality and the consistency." And the market, and the business plan. One goat-cheesemaker described to me how many farms fold at the critical moment when the goats multiply to the point that you have a business-sized, not a hobby-sized, herd on your hands. At that point, some dreamers run away, bleating.
And small doesn't always mean tasty, either. Handmade chocolate turned out to be gritty chocolate on several occasions, and one taste left a burn in the back of my throat like I'd just dry-chewed an aspirin. Not all indie pickles are created equal. Some I tried were murky-tasting and over-flavored. I brought home a handmade cookie that my kid wouldn't finish, and ate an artisanal sourdough baguette that could have broken a tooth.
There's also the matter of price. Mast Brothers chocolates, purchased online, including shipping, will cost you $92 for 10 (2.5-ounce) craft bars, which works out to about $60 a pound. Compare that to as little as $8 per pound for Dove chocolate from Amazon.com. Pickled beets can be $2 in a supermarket, $8 or $10 from an artisan. Add a big carbon footprint if you buy artisanal foods by Web and Fedex.
But if this were an investment market, I'd be bullish about continued growth. Artisans, like chefs, drive taste in a nation that simply gets more hungry for fine food and new (read old, authentic) flavors. Expect big brands to explore ways to make themselves seem more artisanal, like the McDonald's ad campaign that stresses that every French fry in fact comes from a potato (grown in the ground!). In 2009, Starbucks opened an unbranded, artisan-ish coffeeshop in Seattle called 15th Avenue Coffee and Tea.
Meanwhile, the successful artisans will continue to push the definition of authenticity. Bob McClure has considered moving some of his booming pickle operations to a 200-acre farm in Latvia, where his wife inherited some land. Going back to the old country: That's keeping it real! The Mast brothers are so keen to reduce their carbon footprint that they plan to take part of their early 20th-century production practices back into the 19th century—and bring in their cacao beans from the Dominican Republic by sailing vessel.
8 A.M., Pike Place Market, Seattle. I watch as Brad Sinko makes cheese, mesmerized as he stirs the milk, checks temperatures and gauges, then trots over to a second vat where he has added jerk spices to small curds (yes, jerk spices, for a tasty cheese cleverly called No Woman), getting ready to pack the curds into the presses. The cheesemaking operation is surrounded on three sides by wide glass windows, and crowds of people look in, some shading their eyes for a better view, a couple of kids with their noses pressed right to the glass. How curious they all look. How engaged. How interested. They remind me of Bob McClure's pickle pilgrims.
"It's a show!" Sinko quips, noticing me noticing the crowds, which of course he hardly does anymore because they are here almost every day.
It's a show about cheesemaking, but also about how curiosity can shape our understanding of real food and the appetite for it.
Later I click around the McClure's pickle Web site, which gives off a fine tang of artisanal character, looking like woodblock on craft paper, containing charming bios of family workers, and holding forth, I notice when I click the "buy" box, a gorgeous bit of slow-food irony in this Web-fast world: You can find McClure's in 0.32 of a second on Google, but if you want to order a mixed-case online (and they only sell by the case), keep in mind that "It will take approximately one business month from order date to get your product."
That's because tiny McClure's is busy shipping to a growing list of retail shops across the country. It's no Heinz, but it's getting a little less local all the time.