For breakfast, I usually have a cappuccino—espresso made in an Alessi pot and mixed with organic milk,
which has been gently heated and hand-fluffed by my husband. I eat two
slices of imported cheese—Dutch Parrano, the label says, “the hippest
cheese in New York” (no joke)—on homemade bread with butter. I am what
you might call a food snob. My nutritionist neighbor drinks a protein
shake while her 5-year-old son eats quinoa porridge sweetened with
applesauce and laced with kale flakes. She is what you might call a
health nut. On a recent morning, my neighbor’s friend Alexandra
Ferguson sipped politically correct Nicaraguan coffee in her comfy
kitchen while her two young boys chose from among an assortment of
organic cereals. As we sat, the six chickens Ferguson and her husband,
Dave, keep for eggs in a backyard coop peered indoors from the stoop.
The Fergusons are known as locavores.