The other day I was having a conversation with a friend. We've been trying to determine the cause of my son's frequent migraines, and my friend was curious about his diet. "We try to avoid processed foods. No hormones or antibiotics in his meat or dairy. Limited nitrates. No high-fructose corn syrup," I said, feeling somewhat virtuous. "It's hard to get him to eat vegetables, but he eats tons of fruit, especially raspberries!"

"Oh? Raspberries? Where do you get raspberries this time of year?" my friend asked.

I could feel myself flush. "Um. Organic raspberries? From, uh, the store?" I knew I had just lost points. This is someone who grinds her own flour. She's the healthiest eater I know. She has personal relationships with the farmers who provide her dairy and produce. She wasn't trying to make me feel bad, but I knew that I had just revealed myself to be a locavore pretender.

I have a confession to make. I used to be a real jerk about food. Ten years ago, when my brother-in-law Jeff first got married, he and his wife became (what I then considered to be) insufferably picky eaters. We would often go to my parents-in-law's house and cook meals together. But suddenly there were rules about where we could shop, and about how the food was labeled. I couldn't just go to Kroger. It had to be organic produce and free-range meats. I would complain bitterly about being forced to spend more money on food just because my (expletive) sister-in-law was following some extreme fad diet. My parents-in-law got tired of the discord and decided it was probably just easier to order pizza. Of course it had to be organic pizza, which set me off on yet another tirade that my poor husband had to endure on the ride home.

But then I went to Italy. Food tasted so different there. It wasn't just that it was an entire country full of better cooks. I soon realized that much of the difference came from Italy being a country that is focused on local foods. While American regional specialties are often based around the immigrant population represented in the region, Italian regional cuisine is all about what's fresh and local. 

After my trip to Italy, I was suddenly aware of how much better a tomato can taste when it hasn't been artificially ripened and reddened with ethylene gas and shipped across the country. I started to read Michael Pollan and Barbara Kingsolver. I frequented the Ann Arbor Farmers Market. I planted my own garden.

I'm still what many would consider to be an irresponsible food consumer. I eat meat, for one thing. I'm careful to choose meat that has been ethically raised, but I know what my vegan friends have to say about that. And despite my dedication to buying from local stores and local farmers, I still eat produce shipped here from California and Mexico because, among other things, I can't give up my beloved avocados.

But here's the thing. It's all about baby steps. I've come a long way from the days when I used to roll my eyes at my sister-in-law. And each step that we take as individuals brings us that much closer to health - health for us as individuals, as a community, and as a planet.

Oh, and I'm sorry, Jeff and Jenna. You were right, and I was a jerk.

Jessica Webster oversees Food & Drink coverage for the Community Team at AnnArbor.com. You can reach her at JessicaWebster@AnnArbor.com.