We are creatures of habit, and those habits develop at a young age. We all know someone who’s a picky eater. Their diets consist of bland carbohydrates, salty and sweet foods, and white bread with the crusts cut off. They eschew vegetables, healthy proteins, and well-rounded dishes. With the cheap and easy availability of these picky-eater unhealthy foods, it’s increasingly easy for kids to become picky eaters and to only eat these low-nutritionally dense foods. I wrote in one of my past posts that what food you like is really dependent on what you’re fed by your parents and their taste in food. It also has to do with what you’re exposed to in school and what your friends are eating.

This is what I liked so much about the Two-Bite Club at Boulder Elementary School. Not only do they introduce the healthier foods in school, but they also make trying new foods and healthier eating “cool.” For kids that’s really important. I also really like that they have the two bite requirement and no negativity rules. Encouraging kids to be open minded about food is important for a diverse diet. If good eating habits start at a young age, it will be increasingly easier for to pursue healthy diets throughout their life, no matter where they end up.

What I most like about this initiative is its creativity. This is what we need. We need passionate individuals who can implement creative solutions. You can’t mandate behavior, you have to influence it. To make the great changes we’d like to make in the American diet or our food systems, we have to come up with creative ways to influence people.

The idea that we’ve outpaced evolution is truly frightening to me. That technology allows forces us to eat foods that our bodies cannot handle, that we can make ourselves sick just by eating what is available, is disturbing. Our bodies are supposed to be smarter than we are. We are supposed to be self—healing. We feel our eyelids getting heavy when our body needs sleep. We feel pain to keep us from harming ourselves in the same way that we’re built to fear heights and fire and darkness. We’re wired to be hungry when we need sustenance, and to crave the foods that will nurture us best. Nabhan describes in “Cultures of Habitat” a group of people whose bodies cannot support them. We’ve outrun nature, our bodies cannot outsmart us, and that honestly scares me.

This story is just one of many that tragically describes the misfortunes that have been forced upon Native Americans in this country. It really does go to show how different ethnicities have different body compositions and different responses to foods. I think this must have been a factor in how cultural foods are so diverse. I recognize that cultural foods were derived from the environment, but I think cravings and tastes must have come into play.

At work, cultural foods have been somewhat of a discussion lately, but in a different way than I expected. For an accounting procedure, we’ve been discussing the definition of “food” and “associated inedible parts.” The question becomes, where do you draw the line for “inedible”? It’s trickier than you would think because technically all organic parts are edible. Even bones are edible, if you grind them up or use them in soups. So then you have to move into intentionality, what is “intended” to be eaten. And therein lies the issue. Chicken feet are edible in China, but not in the UK. Some Americans might be willing to eat carrot tops in a salad, but that would be an absolute no for Europeans. I think it’s totally fascinating that cultures have developed aversions to foods even though biologically there’s absolutely no reason for it.

I stepped into the room with urgency: straining, appraising the scene, letting an electric mixture of panic and adrenaline soak my nerves. Smoke was unfurling around the room in dense, hot, steamy clouds. The white lights set the room in an uncomfortable fluorescent glow, as if a spotlight were trained on us all. There was a constant metallic clanking as tools were used and discarded, alarms shrieked in displeasure, and I spoke in a calm and clear voice above the maelstrom of movement, announcing my arrival with the question, “How can I help?” I was ushered to a small workstation and handed the necessary equipment. My assignment arrived in scalding glass: to tile, in marshmallow, a sweet potato pie.

Thanksgiving

Not all kitchens are war scenes. Some are clean and meticulous, some are haphazard but cheerful, some are casual and vibrant, but on Thanksgiving Day all kitchens become food factories and butcheries. My grandmother’s is no exception. The women in my family are a bastion of strength and feminism, and yet, with the exception of wielding the carving knife, we perform all of the culinary duties. Maybe it’s because on the most ancient of American holidays we conform to heteronormative roles, maybe it’s because we enjoy cooking the most, or maybe it’s because if you want something done well, you do it yourself. Our team consisted of the following: my grandmother, a Wellesley graduate, family commander-in-chief, and chef extraordinaire; my mother, owner of prestigious undergraduate and law degrees, full time parent by choice, and responsible for two[1] Ivy League acceptances; and myself, a liberal, feminist, Brown student, with a labored sense of purpose and language (see use of “maelstrom”). We could not be more qualified to run a kitchen, or the world.

Our kitchen operated in machine-like fashion. We sliced, scraped, and stirred on schedule. No recipe or dietary restriction was too daunting for our fearless trio. We deftly adopted an in-law’s sweet potato pie. We carefully cultivated simple choices for little picky eaters. We created low-sodium options, low-acidic sauces, and lactose-free alternatives. We produced the most glorious Thanksgiving spread that anyone has ever seen. Or at least, that feast will be preserved in my memory that way: a sweet potato pie the color of sunrise with cartoon-like wisps of steam hovering above it. And us three, culinary superheroes, ready to fight one platter at a time.

When I cook for myself in the box-like kitchen of my dorm room, I mimic their motions. I stir pots and toss saucepans using my mother’s hands; I borrow my grandmother’s fingers to hold and chop. I examine chicken with their eyes to see if it’s cooked all the way through. I taste sauces through their lips. When I do something right I feel pride swell inside my chest. Pride and cooking are inextricably linked. There’s a sense of satisfaction in providing your own sustenance. Beyond that I feel pride because I can call my mother and say “You won’t believe what I just made. I wish you were here to see try it.” I may be twenty, but I will never be too old for my pride to balloon with the thought of my mother and grandmother eating something that I’ve made.

My memories may be coated in rose-colored varnish, but I relish in knowing that I have learned from masters, and if I close my eyes I can watch them turning eggs in a pan.

[1] Soon to be three.

It’s likely that I’ll title most of my posts as puns because I enjoy clever phrases.

To me, the phrase “vote with your fork” is powerfully symbolic. It embodies the American ideal and in many ways the American reality. For most consumers in the United States, we are lucky enough to be in the position of being able to choose what we eat. We have access to a plethora of food streams, from grocery stores to farmer’s markets to restaurants to convenience stores to locally owned businesses to vending machines. We live in a world where our food selection is shaped almost exclusively by demand. The majority of Americans are not constrained by access to food in the same way that citizens of developing countries are, though there are food deserts. Americans aren’t limited to the crops that survived; we have access to most varieties of food year-round. We don’t have regular food shortages and most importantly, we don’t lose a large portion of our food due to poor transportation and storage facilities. Capitalism is often criticized for different and valid reasons, but it does work in the sense that we get to vote with our forks and our dollars. For the most part, we do get to vote with our forks, and that’s not something I take lightly.

The problem with all of the choice and freedom is that it masks the underlying issues, one of which we are making many bad food choices. I am just as guilty of this as the next person. I respect the food movement because it aims to reconnect Americans with their food. I’ve said this before on the blog and I’ll say it again. We have become so disconnected with our food that we barely recognize what it actually is or where it comes from. One of the most incredible things to me is that the agricultural sector is still exempt from many labor regulations because most people have an idealistic view of farm-life, and by extension their food sources. If the food movement is able to bridge that gap even a little bit, then I think that it’s a positive change. People need to be willing to pay more for food that is fairly, respectfully, and healthfully produced; other countries may see the movement as elitist or non-essential, and they may be right. However, the core values of the food movement are necessary, and will become increasingly important.

Thomas Foster’s comedic yet exquisitely insightful “How to Read Literature Like a Professor” devotes an entire chapter to the meaning of eating in writing. He points out that meals are acts of communion; the dinner table is a place of sharing and literal nurturing. Meals are symbolic, and can carry both positive and negative connotations. Foster dissects the literary luncheon because in literature, as in life, meals are a place where we are expose ourselves. Meals involve a careful power play between the eater, the host or the chef, and a cast of characters on either side. There are many activities in life that are requisite for survival, yet food is the only daily ritual to which we attach such meaning; this is the origin of food culture.

It’s impossible to talk about food culture without talking about mothers. For most people, mothers are the original source of food. Even beyond the literal, mothers provide the majority of meals from infancy into adolescence. Eating habits are a reflection of a mother’s eating habits. I didn’t know that I liked bananas until I was almost twenty, because I’d never eaten one before. My mother doesn’t like bananas, and I assumed that I was the same. It wasn’t that we never had bananas in the house, my father eats them, but I never even noticed they existed because I mirrored my mother’s eating habits, unconsciously.

Eating meals outside of the house has significantly increased in volume and percentage of total eating. Earlier this year, for the first time in U.S. history, dining out sales were greater than grocery store sales. This shift in spending speaks to modern American culture and values. I think our food culture has shifted because parenting and lifestyles have changed. It’s clear that our society has become more fast-paced. More parents, particularly mothers, are opting to work full-time, fewer couples are getting married and having children young, and increasing amounts of higher education have become a career necessity. All of these habit shifts change the way children are being brought up to eat. The bottom line is that more people are dining out more often and cooking at home less often. Which ultimately means that there is an increasing disconnect between where our food comes from and what we eat. Understanding what we eat has a lot of meanings, ranging from nutrition, to cooking style, to flavors, to cultural tradition, to history.

Food and religion are inextricably linked. As a mode of comparison, Eric Schlosser points to McDonald’s penetration of global culture by noting that its signature golden arches are more widely recognized than the Christian cross. The Last Supper is likely the most famous meal, “breaking bread” is a common expression used to denote connection through eating, Jews and Christians alike share an affinity for sacred wines and breads, Buddhists tout mindful eating, and most religious holidays center around traditional recipes. Is it any surprise that as religions have faded into the background, eating too has secularized?

Fast food itself is not the problem; in fact, fast food is the solution to a problem. It is the result of demand for a product that is efficient in every way. It is cheap, appetizing, and fast. Fast food is the solution to the problem that time, energy, and money are finite resources and many Americans are in short supply of all three. I find it difficult to condemn the fast food nation as Schlosser does, when fast food is so clearly the superior food choice for many people. Schlosser condescendingly chastises fast food consumers as ignorant recipients at the end of a complex industrial process. I doubt that consumers are such passive players with a complete lack of understanding of the fast food system. Many must understand that fast food is devoid of nutritional density and other redeeming qualities but choose fast food because they don’t have other options. Fast food is the solution to a problem for many people, and eliminating fast food doesn’t eliminate the problem. We need to find a better solution.

For the most part, I find Michael Pollan’s “In Defense of Food” to be elitist and assuming. Pollan calls this document “An Eater’s Manifesto” and he immediately establishes that he is writing a set of rules that he believes all eaters should abide by: in other words, everyone should be reading Pollan, and everyone should be following his rules. I disagree with the idea that everyone should be concerned with what they eat. It’s a simple law of economics: opportunity cost. If my time could be better spent elsewhere, I shouldn’t spend it on any of Pollan’s rules. I also disagree with this idea on the principle of personal freedom. We live in this wonderful world where people can make any choice they want in pursuit of happiness. But for some reason, if a man in the Midwest decides that he would rather spend fifty years on this earth, happy, plump, and eating richly marbled steaks than seventy years with a less palatable diet and a thin figure, he is judged. Who is Pollan to decide that seventy mildly content years is superior to fifty gloriously happy years? Not every person wants to spend the amount of concerted time and effort that Pollan prescribes on food. I don’t think that Pollan has the right to judge anyone on the way they eat. Eating is deeply personal, and to make the assumption that everyone would be better off on the Pollan diet is not only presumptuous, it is egoistic and self-indulgent.

That being said, for those who seek to eat healthier, more wholesome diets, I think Pollan presents a very valid set of guidelines. He cuts through the bullshit of labeling, dieting, and nutrition, and presents a straightforward case for eating more consciously. I’m not sure that he presents anything groundbreaking that anyone who cares to read this ‘manifesto’ wouldn’t already know, but he condenses the material into a logical and readable guide. I particularly enjoy when he explains tips and tricks of the grocery store—move about the edges, avoid products with health claims, be wary of foods with an encyclopedia of ingredients—it’s light, it’s clever, and maybe I did learn a thing or two.  This is a manifesto for the health-conscious modern middle-to-upper class foodie locavore yuppie liberal, and for those who are of the breed (likely myself included), I will not deny that it’s a well-written set of eating guidelines.

Pollan’s extension of his manifesto to the entire world of eaters stems from the same logic as fat-shaming, that people’s personal choices directly shape their eating habits and their health, and that those choices are up for scrutiny. I subscribe to a different theory, and it’s not necessarily that our society is responsible for rampant obesity and consumerism. I believe that all people have a different set of values, that those values ultimately shape what they eat, and that no particular set of values is superior to another. Some people will eat at their desks because they value time working more than they value time to eat slowly, and that’s okay. Some people will buy white bread and Go-Gurt because they value their children eating affordable food, and that’s okay too. What’s not okay is for someone to buy a sugary cereal because they believe it is heart healthy. We cannot legislate values, but we can use policy to help ensure that people can accurately make choices that reflect their values. We can try to nudge behavior and make it easier for people make valued decisions that also reflect health and well-being, if that is what we as a society value. Policy can bridge the gap between public and private values, but we cannot expect a universal manifesto to articulate the needs of all eaters. If processed foods are ‘silencing the yams’, it is only because our current system has handed them a microphone. We must only assume that consumers are rational actors within the system, insofar as they will do what they believe is consistent with their own unique set of values. We need to use policy to craft a more consumer-friendly system, not to establish a ubiquitous set of values.