Author: Jeanne Penn

one final request

by Jeanne Penn

WhyHunger’s collection of “Community Voices” is a beautiful representation of a wide range of members working to preserve and promote our country’s foodways. I was particularly drawn to Dena Hoff’s story, a farmer from Glendive, Montana. Dena questioned the changing food system; having grown up eating the food from her grandma’s garden and being taught how to be self-sufficient, she did not take lightly the switch her community was making from growing their food to shopping at the grocery store. Dena teaches others how to grow food on her farm; growing food serves as a platform to learn about food quality, food safety, and what it means to have an economically and environmentally sustainable community. She emphasizes the interconnectedness of the local and the global, and how economic and political forces shape our food system.

What stuck out to me was that Dena’s grandma, like mine, taught her how to can. Given the emphasis on local food system in this course, I think it is appropriate to end the summer with a note on the importance of keeping our own foodways alive lest we fail to recognize the rich history that they have held within all of us. With convenience foods dominating our culture, it can be easy to lose hold of what our parents, grandparents, and generations of family grew up eating.

This brings me to my own family foodways. In a class last semester I was tasked with giving a presentation on a family recipe. As a product of modern day America, a melting pot of ethnicities, cultures, and stories, there was not a wide, straight path to follow to find a family recipe that has been passed down through generations. I became frustrated by all the dead ends I was hitting. I was annoyed with my parents for not keeping their food traditions alive; I was bored after various relatives took this opportunity to give me a detailed version of our family history.

The fact of the matter is that, much like most of ours, my culture and the food pathways that come with it are not as transparent as I would have hoped. Despite the inconsistency and frustration of what seemed should be a simple task, I learned more about my family than I had envisioned. This opportunity not only forced me to be patient when conversation diverged, but it also forced my family to answer longstanding questions about my cultural, racial, and ethnic history.

I learned that oftentimes, our foodways are so embedded into us—our lifestyle, upbringing and routinized patterns; we do not see them as anything significant, especially since these traditions often came into this world before we did. Thus, foodways, to me, offer a structure to learn about history, share memories, and pass on traditions that can remind us of the ones we love and the ones we’ve lost.

Canning is the ability to hold on to, not just the seasons, but also a tradition and a memory of the things we love and do not want to lose, in a sealed jar. The preservation of the strawberry jam recipe represents the untouched, incorruptibility of the sweet, tangy memories I have making this jam with Mama, my grandmother and my namesake, Gene-Ann. The slowness—and especially the inability to cut corners or rush time—is significant to canning. This environment allowed us time to laugh, share, and use the kitchen as a space of leisure and the creation of memories. I felt honored to become part of a story—as this gift of knowledge that Mama’s mother passed on to her is now being shared with me—I long for and anticipate the day that I can share the seasons with my sister and my kids.

Lately though, I’ve been thinking about my grandfather, Poppi, mostly because I worry about him not having Mama by his side, especially as his health begins to deteriorate. I’ve been asking him to teach me for months now, how to make his famous rolls and seafood soup, but understandably, mourning the loss of his wife and taking care of his health have made writing down and teaching me these recipes far from a priority. I stress to Poppi how important this is to me because only after Mama passed away, did I realize how lucky I was to celebrate the traditions that she was known and loved for. In preparation for the day when this is no longer possible, a simple recipe can hold onto more than just a culinary tradition. It encapsulates the time shared writing the recipe down, going through the specific and precise motions of preparing the recipe, and the cultural traditions and history from which the recipe derives.

While I know it is difficult for Poppi to see how biscuits and soup are platforms to hold onto our family history, I hope he reads this post, and recognizes it as one last plea to help preserve and share with me this family tradition that he has so lovingly prepared all of these years.

And lastly, I hope this serves as a plea to everyone; I encourage you to make an urgent effort to preserve recipes. Like seeds, like stories, like any monumental moment in history, recipes, and the legacy that precedes them, are celebrated and passed on when people make the concerted, loving effort to share them.

Closing the link

by Jeanne Penn

The separations that have been made between those who grow the food and those who eat the food, if only that link could be closed…miracles would start to happen” – Vandana Shiva

Relationships with food must include a relationship with the environment; the environment is inclusive of the cultural, physical, and political aspects that comprise every item we see in the grocery store.

A few weekends ago I joined two other FoodWork’s fellows, Grace and Sarah, for a day at Common Good City Farm. This urban farm is truly a unique part of DC. On the farm, it felt like I was so far removed from the city; the wooden gate and sprouting vegetables prevented me from thinking about the world I was not currently and physically interacting in and communicating with.

I was excited to spend the day weeding and eager to tackle the tasks in the garden that lay before me. I crouch down, balancing in a squat position, with my back slightly arched, and my hands completely entrenched in the dirt as it squeezes its way beneath my fingernails.

Unfortunately, most of the world’s food supply does not come from carefully tended organic farms like this one. For the most part, the focus is on the quantity, rather than the quality of yields. This approach does not promote biodiversity and fails to recognize that we do not have an endless supply of resources.The economic and ecological sustainability of our agricultural system is thus severely threatened.

Environmental issues (i.e. global warming) can feel so far removed and not substantial enough to make individual changes to our daily routines. Some underestimate the impact small changes can collectively have on a farmer and the impact on the environment. Farming, however, can help one appreciate what it takes to achieve what is sometimes taken for granted. The labor that is put into food is not truly acknowledged until one has to do it themselves. In order to be conscious of the thankless work farmers and environmentalists do to preserve culture and ecological diversity one must experience it for oneself.

Can “Food Ed” be the new Phys Ed?

by Jeanne Penn

An excerpt from Agyeman and McEntee in “Moving the Field of Food Justice Forward Through the Lens of Urban Political Ecology” compliments the story Melissa shared at Common Good City Farm: “The state now defines what is or is not an area of inadequate food access, thereby legitimizing the claims of some and discounting others who do not meet the state’s criteria.” (Agyeman, McEntee, 2014). Melissa spoke about how Shaw, the neighborhood where Common Good City Farm is located, is no longer considered a food desert because a Whole Foods was recently built. However, simply building a grocery store does not guarantee food access or food justice. Some basic solutions to end food injustice are often left out of the equation. This includes nutrition education–providing access to healthy food and produce does not guarantee that people will shift their diets.

So what do I see as part of the solution? One way I envision change is through school food education, with a curriculum that’d include farming, cooking, and tasting. Just as Phys Ed is not a class confined to a lecture-style classroom, “Food Ed” should not be either.

Malnutrition spans across socioeconomic class and race/ethnicity; undernutrition and overnutrition fall under this umbrella and adverse health problems can accompany both. Thus, food education needs to be implemented into the school curriculum, and should not be limited to low-income communities or communities designated as food deserts. Making it a mandatory component to education, similar to how Phys Ed is integrated in the school day, would provide children with the training and skills to eat and grow healthy food.

So what is the potential and feasibility for something like this to happen, in D.C. perhaps? Over the past few weeks we have learned that there is enormous opportunity for rooftop farming in D.C. because buildings have a 12-story height limit and most of the city’s rooftops are flat. Of course there are larger factors that would greatly influence such a monumental change in the curriculum and city landscape to occur, but certainly, D.C. would be an excellent starting point before scaling up.

While farming is largely associated with acres of crops in rural America, it is clear that farming is being redefined to encompass a broader breadth of landscapes. Urban farming offers a unique opportunity to make food education feasible for most schools–whether it be rural, suburban, or urban. Schools especially can help change this perception by exposing kids to the joy of farming, the skillset required to produce their own food, and the resources to develop a healthful palate.

A Different Type of Dilemma

by Jeanne Penn

I was the least popular kid during lunchtime in elementary school; no one ever wanted to trade a Fruit-by-the-Foot for my celery and grapes. When I asked my mom to pack “good” lunches like the other moms, she refused. I continued to make it clear and very well heard that I did not want everything in my lunch box to either be a vegetable, fruit, or strut the label “organic.”

My sister, Jessica, and I found the opportunity to get what we wanted during the monthly trip to Acme (the conventional grocery store in our neighborhood). There was a stark contrast between Acme and the cooperative market we visited daily, Weaver’s Way. The Acme clearly depicted Pollan’s description of American grocery stores: a place where the abundance of choice makes it nearly impossible to make good food decisions. As a kid, this dilemma was by no means related to making a good food decision. What it came down to was, did we want Frosted Flakes (with a toy included) or Cinderella themed Lucky Charms? Ultimately, this was determined by which marketer was best able to capture our interest while in the grocery store.

After much practice, Jessica and I had manufactured a strategic plan to distract our mom from the packaged, sugar-dense item we snuck on the belt, without her or the cashier becoming suspicious. Once we got home, one of us would rummage through the bag (with urgency) to find the contraband, and hide it in one of our rooms.

Schlosser, in Fast Food Nation, highlighted the influence marketing has on children. The direct and intentional effort marketers make to engage and entice kids, is the basis for the development of bad eating and nutrition in children. I am grateful for my parents conscious and persistent effort to resist the pull from me and food corporations, however the regular diet of many people reflects the strong influence of the food industry to influence the choices in the American shopping cart.

I am very impressed by the commitment of my roommate, Karen, and her internship site, CentroNía to combat this force. The school is unique in that they promote healthy eating at a young age, by providing healthy, free lunches for young children, not allowing any fast-food to enter the school, and hosting community cooking workshops. Their efforts are paying off.

It is encouraging to see the growth and efforts that schools, among other organizations, are making to ensure kids eat healthy. Food’s role as a determinant of school performance, behavior, and long-term health (to name a few) is being consistently brought to light, in a concerted effort to counteract a fast, packaged, and passive food culture.

whole food vs. its component parts

by Jeanne Penn

Michael Pollan’s emphasis on whole food stuck out to me. Particularly important though was his analysis of nutritional advice in the promotion of foods, which break down the whole food and focus on its component parts.

The growing gluten-free fad has increased availability and knowledge around celiac and enabled those with this untreatable autoimmune deficiency to lead a more normal and stress-free lifestyle. The gluten-free label serves as an allergy warning for myself and others with celiac disease, but for the large majority of gluten-free consumers, it is interpreted as nutritional advice.

Not until now have I considered the similarities between claims for products that are “gluten-free” and “low-fat” (for example), but I think the connection is relevant and should be explored. Just as people choose “low-fat” items because of the perceived health benefits, gluten-free often leads people to believe that they are eating healthy too; however, gluten-free is by no means synonymous with nutrition or good health. If anything, foods labeled as gluten-free are likely the exact opposite. Foods that make this health claim are almost always higher in sugar, contain additional (often unknown and unpronounceable) ingredients, and cost more. By removing the gluten, these items are added to compensate–similar to most packaged food and especially those that make nutritional claims.

By claiming items are “gluten-free” most people neglect to consider what is in the food as an alternative to gluten. By focusing on the individual ingredients and nutritional components in the food, and not the food as one whole entity, we neglect to consider what else is in our food. This is a product of fragmented nutritional advice/thinking and the inability to recognize that “the whole of a dietary pattern is evidently greater than the sum of its parts” (Pollan, 178).