A Dash of History... from Genevieve Randall

Recently, as many of you know, Open Harvest celebrated its 25th anniversary. This prompted me to think about the history of the co-op and my connection with it.

People often ask me questions about tempeh. Maybe that's because my dad was one of the first people to market tempeh commercially in the United States. He made, packaged, and delivered his tempeh himself. At an early age I could pronounce the name of the fungus used to make it. [According to Merriam Webster, tempeh is "an Asian food prepared by fermenting soybeans with a rhizopus. A rhizopus is "any of a genus of mold fungi including some economically valuable forms and some plant or animal pathogens (as a bread mold.) Now you know.]

One of the places my dad delivered tempeh to was Open Harvest. This was when the store was at 27th and Randolph. I remember that the old store had wood floors and smelled good--earthy and herbal. I was about four years old, and I remember being fascinated by the colors of the glycerin soaps and their ability to catch light. There were smiles, friends, and conversation. People talked with both my parents about the state of things environmentally and socially and what a person could do to attempt to be a part of something good at Open Harvest.

One time in high school I came into the store at its new location. When I handed the cashier my check, he exclaimed, "Randall? Do you know Gale Randall?" "Yeah, that's my dad." The cashier had liked the taste of dad's tempeh, and remembered it even though it had been years since he'd made it.

Some of my co-workers at Open Harvest have noticed that I have an extremely sensitive sniffer. But while some people may stop to smell roses, I stop in the deli and breathe in deeply when soybeans are boiling. It reminds me of standing over a large metal pot, with the assistance of a chair, steam rising up in my face, skimming the foam off the top of the water in which soybeans were cooking. Dad had an empty pot to put the foam in and would give me a silvery, metal, fan-shaped spatula to skim with. I had to wear something to protect my feet, just in case, and remember to "not touch the pot, just the skim." Dad would be busy with other things: reading recipes and new information about tempeh, readying trays for the incubator, finding packages, bowls, and spoons. I would keep him entertained with constant questions: "Is this right, Dad? Did you see all the foam I got? How come the beans make that foam? Are you gonna make tempeh chips, Dad?"

It was good tempeh. And being part of Dad's tempeh business was fun, an education and an influence on my future. I have been curious to recover more information about the business that my dad owned and his contribution to natural foods. It's a part of my history, and Open Harvest's history as well.