Organic Dairy Farms Feeling the Pinch: A boon for local food, and raw milk

Here is a fascinating article that appeared in the New York Times about a week ago. I meant to blog about it sooner, but it slipped off my radar.

Organic dairy farmers in New England have been hit hard by the recession. No surprise here. When people need to cut back on spending, it seems obvious that an easy sacrifice would be to buy conventional milk instead of organic. Because people are indeed making this sacrifice, the demand for organic milk has plummeted since the recession hit. Large organic milk processors, like Horizon Organic and Organic Valley, are canceling their contracts with organic dairy farms resulting in New England dairy farmers with lots of organic milk and no processor to sell it to.

The article details some ironies in the whole "industrial organic" food system--for example, New England dairy farmers purchase organic feed from the Midwest. The feed is then trucked to New England and fed to the cows whose milk is then trucked back to central processing plants, packaged, and then trucked out again to various stores around the nation. However, I find the most interesting aspect of the article toward the end when it reports that farmers are now looking to sell raw and unpasteurized milk directly to the public. And that the Vermont House of Representatives passed a bill to allow farmers to sell an increased amount of raw milk to the public. Apparently, farmers are now looking at, "Tap[ing] into the the locavore movement, [and] marketing their milk as local food."

Interesting...

Food for thought, anyway...I suggest you check out the article.

Bacon and Cupcakes: Am I missing something?

Certain food trends I just cannot wrap my brain around. I mean, I get it…initially (I am fully guilty of checking out the buzz around popular fads) . But similar to Ugg boots and mini skirts and giant sunglasses, I just wonder why these trends continue to persist. The two of the moment: bacon and cupcakes.

Bacon recipes continue to pop up everywhere. The magazine I was working for published an entire bacon issue. Quotes about bacon litter foodie websites, and it seems that at least once a month I hear about a chef somewhere who gets a tattoo as an ode to bacon. Don’t get me wrong here, I love bacon. The Vosges Haut Chocolate Bacon Bar tickled my fancy the first time that I saw it. “Ohhhh! Bacon in chocolate?!?!” I thought. But yesterday I saw yet another recipe for bacon brownies and I thought, “Ugh, bacon and chocolate…that is so done.” Not to mention, the bacon dental floss I saw a few weeks ago made my stomach churn. I normally floss to get my food out of my teeth.

Similarly, I am over cupcakes. I must admit cupcakes started out with negative points in my book due to my general blasé attitude toward all things Sex and the City. However, the cupcake craze is something that I also just don’t quite understand. The LA Times published an article this week reporting on the undying and unwavering fanfare for the miniature desserts. The article states, “There are obvious reasons for why people love cupcakes. There's sugar and butter. They remind people of childhood bake sales and birthday parties. No forks, no plates, maybe just a napkin. You don't have to share. No leftovers. At a bakery, everyone can pick their own flavor.”

Similar statements are made about bacon. Chefs and foodies waffle on about the perfect combination of fat and salt, crispiness and chewiness. This is all true. I agree. Bacon is good. But the bacon porn has been going on for years now. Even acid wash jeans did not last this long.

So then, what is it behind these foodie trends? When skinny jeans appeared in every shop window you did not hear about their functionality or the way that they accented someone’s perfectly formed calf muscles. No, people wore skinny jeans because everyone else wore them. Movie stars, models, musicians and socialites donned the new fashion trend and everyone followed. To me, it is the same with food. Carrie Bradshaw devoured a cupcake in an episode of Sex and the City and a million adoring fans went gaga for the mini desserts . But now the explanation for their popularity is the nostalgia that they conjure up as you lick the frosting off your fingers.

And a few years ago some Food Network Stars showed off their bacon tattoos and talked about how they love bacon more than life itself, and all of a sudden we have bacon jellybeans, bacon band-aids, bacon martinis, and bacon brownies. But we continue to hear that the reason why bacon is in everything is due to the fat-to-meat ratio???

So, I ask: why are food trends analyzed and explained while fashion trends are taken for what they are…trends?? I want a slice from a whole cake please, and I want my bacon with my eggs…no chocolate involved.

Food Trend Question: What is the deal with "Gluten free"?

I love grains, all grains—wheat, oats, barley, quinoa, millet, buckwheat, the list goes on. I cook all of them on a regular basis. So as I was stocking up on my supply of barley at the new Lincoln Park Whole Foods a few days ago, a fellow shopper reminded me of my bafflement around this new “gluten free” trend.

“Oh! Barley!” she said. “Are you going gluten free too?”

“Um, no.” I replied. “I just really like barley.”

“Interesting. I have not tried barley yet. Have you tried millet? It is this ancient grain that is so delicious! I am trying to cut all the gluten out of my diet so I have been experimenting with alternative grains. I will have to check my book to see if barley has gluten in it.”

I was not surprised at all to hear about her new aversion to gluten. I asked her if she had an allergy, and she told me that she did not, but just read that wheat is, “not that good for you.” Once again, I was not surprised that she heard this. Nutritional information in this country is so damn confusing. What do you expect people to think when there are now entire “gluten free” sections springing up in grocery stores.

This past Sunday, the San Francisco Chronicle published some interesting insight to the gluten free trend in their weekly column written by Marion Nestle, professor in the department of Nutrition, Food Studies, and Public Health at New York University (and possibly the most well known food policy and nutrition expert at the moment). Nestle responded to a reader’s question about the seeming rise of gluten intolerance in high school students. Her response is illuminating to say the least.

The bottom line is that celiac disease, (the inability for the body to digest gluten) is serious. It is not a disease or an allergy, but rather an autoimmune disorder. The disorder is very real, but also quite rare. Nestle explains that at the moment, surveys suggest that 1 out of every 133 people in the general population is “gluten intolerant”. However, diagnosis of actual celiac disease is difficult and a lengthy process. Someone who is truly gluten intolerant will experience averse reactions to even the slightest trace of gluten—something as small as a dash of soy sauce, or even the random gluten based thickeners present in so much processed food (such as hydrolyzed proteins, seitan, natural flavorings, and beta-glucan).

So, the hyperawareness Americans have come to posses over gluten definitely benefits those who truly have celiac disease. Different natural foods companies, like Bob’s Redmill, now have “gluten free” brownie and cake mixes made with chickpea, rice, or tapioca flour. This is fantastic because even if someone with celiac disease tried to purchase these flours before and make their own brownie mix, there was no guarantee that the alternative flours were not processed on machines that also processed wheat, which would contaminate the flours with traces of gluten. The rise of consumer concern over gluten has forced food manufactures to come up with products that are certified “gluten free”. Life is far easier now than ever before for those who have a gluten autoimmune deficiency.

I must admit that another plus in this whole gluten-free mania is that people are experimenting with other grains. Until a few years ago, it was quite difficult to find buckwheat, millet, or quinoa in stores. Now they are all commonplace, even in places like Target or Safeway. These grains not only are tasty and healthy, but they also require people to learn how to cook them properly. And I am all for people educating themselves on how to cook different things. I sat and chatted to my fellow Whole Foods shopper for ten minutes while we exchanged different recipe ideas for whole grain salads.

However, with this hyperawareness of gluten intolerance, the attitude that “wheat is not that good for you,” scares me…simply because it is not true. It seems that thousands of people, like my fellow Whole Foods shopper, have misconstrued the information and awareness of celiac disease to the point that they think that wheat is bad for you. Wheat, in a minimally processed form, is extremely nutritious. Wheat formed the basis of the civilized human diet for hundreds of years. Where wheat becomes, “bad” or rather, not very nutritious, is when it is utlra-processed—like in Twinkie form, or Waffle Crunch cereal form.

So my question: why the trend of “avoiding gluten”? I wonder the reasons why people who are perfectly healthy and have perfect capability to digest gluten decided to, “go gluten free.” Is it because they do truly believe that wheat or gluten is “bad” for you? Do people believe that they will loose weight this way? Like I said, I am all for different grains, but to choose a life without fresh baked bread…no thank you.

Strawberry Fields Forever

To me, strawberries smell of freedom.

I am sure you know that olfactory response, when a certain smell instantly brings you back to a specific moment in your life. Bath and Body Works’ Cucumber-Melon lotion will always remind me of seventh grade basketball trips. The smell of strawberries will always remind me of my sixteenth birthday.

On April 18th 1999, I turned sixteen. I drove alone for the first time—my brand new temporary paper drivers’ license tucked safely in my wallet. I drove and drove, in my parents’ white GMC Yukon, with all the windows down. I drove past fields and fields of strawberries, ripe and ready to be picked—their scent wafted into the car with the warmth of the spring air. I was sixteen and I could drive. I was free.

While the thrill of driving has worn off, the thrill of strawberry season has not.

Growing up on California’s central coast, strawberries always officially marked spring for me. We never bought strawberries from the grocery store—only ever straight from the fields on the side of the road. I remember riding in the front seat next to my mom with a huge flat of strawberries on my lap. The little Japanese ladies who ran the stand would tape a sheet of newspaper over the top of the box, and I would sit pulling out the berries that peeked out the side. I popped the whole things in my mouth, biting off their green tops, and then tossing them out the window. We would get home and for lunch I would just have a plate of strawberries. I think that for the entire month of April, I had a red tinge all around my mouth.

Strawberries are the fruit from the plants of the genus Fragaria. The Latin name ‘fraga’ refers to the fruits’ fragrance, and the English name ‘strawberry’ refers to the plants’ straying branches and leaves—a characteristic that it shares with many other members of the rose family.

Wild strawberries are indigenous to both the old and the new world. The small, wild variety that is native to Europe and Asia is known as an Alpine variety (Fragaria vesca), while the Virginia strawberry (Fragaria virginiana) is native to North America. The Pine or Beach strawberry (Fragaria chiloenis) is native to South America.

Almost all modern commercial strawberry varieties today are hybrids of the Virginia strawberry and the Pine (or Beach) strawberry. Both varieties were imported to France in the 1600’s where they cross-pollinated in Charles V’s gardens at the Louvre (he supposedly had over 5,000 strawberry plants in his gardens). This crossbreeding resulted in plants with larger, juicer, and more flavorful berries. Ever since this natural “accident,” cultivators derive most all strawberry varieties from these two species.

Farmers generally do not cultivate wild strawberry varieties for commercial purposes because these plants produce small fruits and low yields. However, if you have ever had the fortune of tasting a wild strawberry, you know that such an experience is like tasting a piece of heaven—an intense explosion of sweet, pure strawberry flavor on your tongue, absolutely nothing like the watery, spongy, pathetic excuses for strawberries that you find in your supermarket.

Strawberries can grow anywhere in the United States, and do indeed grow in all fifty states. However, eighty percent of commercial strawberries grow in California. Florida is the second largest producer, and Oregon follows as a distant third. Due to the modern marvels and advancements in plant breeding, transportation, and refrigeration, you can find strawberries from one of these commercial growing regions year round.



I remember the first time I saw strawberries in that clear plastic box, sitting in a supermarket refrigerator in the middle of February. What struck me first was that I could not smell them. No, not even if I picked up the box and shoved my nose into the little plastic vent slots. Nothing. They had no smell. I didn’t understand—strawberries are supposed to let off a fragrance that reminds you of the days getting longer and the sun shining brighter. Strawberries are supposed to ooze with sweet red juice that dribbles down your chin as you bite into their plump bodies. These impostors were red alright, but they were dry and scentless. These strawberries had no soul.

You see, as long-distance transport and refrigeration became more common, and as people began to buy their food from supermarkets as opposed to farmers or green-grocers, we began to loose touch with the seasons. Customers wanted those juicy passionate berries to go with their champagne on Valentines Day. And horticultural researchers saw dollar signs in the prospect.

Berry breeders at California’s universities worked for years, trying to figure out how to make these marvelous spring and summer gems available all year long. They soon found a way. They found many ways. Researchers developed varieties of strawberries that ship well and yield high quantities of fruit—essentially these researchers figured out how to grow money…on strawberry plants. But what we gain in year round access, we loose in flavor.

All strawberries are fragile and extremely perishable when perfectly ripe. This means that strawberry cultivators pick the berries before they reach full maturity, pack them, ship them, and then spray them with gas to further the ripening process once they have reached their destination. Not to mention, most industrial farms spray non-organic strawberries with extremely noxious agricultural chemicals—more than any other commercial crop, mainly due to their extremely fragile nature. And because of the backbreaking labor required to harvest the berries, California agricultural workers call strawberries, la fruta del diablo, “the fruit of the devil.”

Today strawberries seem to have lost their magic. Because you can now find them in any place, at any point of they year, most people take them for granted. They are just another fruit. The marvel of such a wonderful food resides not only in its taste or juiciness, but in the mere fact that they only naturally occur once a year—when the sun shines brighter and longer and the ground thaws. Going from a diet of preserved food, root vegetables, and bitter greens to taking a bite of your first spring strawberry is magical. I can’t help but sit in awe of nature as the red juice dribbles down my chin.

But more than anything, it’s the smell. Whenever I am lucky enough to get home and visit my family in the springtime, I take a drive. I drive past the strawberry fields, roll my windows down, and let the sweet scent fill my nostrils. I am sixteen again…and I am free.

Good to eat? Bad to eat? How do we tell?

As omnivores, humans eat anything from rancid mammary gland excretions, to fungi, to rocks (cheese, mushroom, and salt, if you prefer). Yes, we are like cockroaches, rats, and pigs—we eat both plant and animal; we eat rotten food and fresh food; we eat cooked food and raw food. This works out to be rather advantageous as we can draw nutrition from a vast array of sources.

However, we don’t just eat anything. We lack the digestive ability to eat blades of grass, tree leaves, and wood. And we know that it is not a safe bet to eat our own excrement (hence the gag reflex). Yes, we deem certain things as “inedible” for biological reasons. And I state the obvious when I say that we deem certain foods inedible for cultural reasons. What some cultures see as perfectly good to eat, other cultures find disgusting. Humans are quite a diverse crowd.

The fact that different cultures eat different foods is interesting, but like I said, this fact is obvious. Rather, what’s intriguing is how people’s perceptions of food change. How do we go from thinking that something is gross to thinking that it is delicious?

This scenario has likely happened to all of us. For example, when I was a child, the thought of eating anything that previously lived in water absolutely repulsed me. Sure, I remember not liking the taste of fish. But more vividly, I remember being disgusted at the thought of eating something wriggly and slimy. Just the smell of fish made me gag. But at some point this changed. I remember eating and enjoying halibut for the first time when I was eighteen. I remember that I was out to dinner at a seafood restaurant, and I consciously decided that I needed to like fish—fish was a perfectly fine food. I took a bite, and I enjoyed it. Next I ventured onto mahi mahi, then lobster, then swordfish, then tuna. Next thing I knew, I was eating and enjoying sushi.



What changed? Did I, “develop my palate”? I don’t think so. My disgust of seafood was never just about taste. Like I said, the thought of eating something wet and slimy repulsed me. In my head, fish was not good to eat. But something fundamentally changed in my head. I decided that fish was perfectly fine food. When I decided this, I ate it, and I enjoyed it.

Certainly, where you are born and raised determines many of your food habits and preferences. But what determined the dominant food ways of your society in the first place? Is there a practical reason as to why America is a meat (chicken, cow, or pig) and potatoes based society, where as Mexico is a beans and rice based society? These are obviously massive generalizations, but they are based on some semblance of truth. Why do people in China eat dog with no problem while Americans find dog meat abominable? Are these societal dietary preferences arbitrary?

There are certainly environmental factors at play. Japan’s staple grain is rice because rice grows in Japan. Mexico’s staple grain is corn because corn is native to North America. And clearly we understand why the Mediterranean diet relies on fish and olive oil, where as the Northern European diet consists of mainstays like cured meat and butter. Yes, environmental factors play a major role in determining our food ways, but can they still explain our diets in this day and age?

While environmental reasons perfectly explain the diet of our ancestors, what can we say about our changing dietary preferences today? We can no longer say that Americans don’t drink coffee or eat bananas because they don’t grow here. Nope. That reason does not work anymore. Yes, we eat foods that we never used to before thanks to the modern marvels of transportation and refrigeration. However, I want to dig deeper. How do we go from thinking that a food was disgusting, to thinking that it is delicious? For example, why has eating raw fish (sushi) caught on and spread like wildfire in the United States, while eating dog stew is still completely taboo? At what point does a dish like sushi move from the category of “extreme” food to every-day food? I am sure that the American citizens of the 19th century would have looked people eating sushi the same way that we look at Anthony Bourdain eating raw seal flesh.

As I mentioned earlier, at some point in our lives, most of us make a conscious decision that food we previously thought was bad to eat, is indeed good to eat. And I find it fascinating that this happens at a societal level as well. Just last week, the New York Times ran an article entitled, “How I learned to love goat meat.” Goat meat is appearing on menus around the nation, and not just in the hole-in-the-wall ethnic restaurants. No, the last time we ate at Fronterra Grill in Chicago, Ben ordered the goat enchiladas. And Bill Niman, the California ranching pioneer, left behind his namesake cattle ranching cooperative due to corporate disagreements, and is now forging a new career in raising goats for their meat.



Just two years ago, goat meat was considered exotic and extreme. Today, it is slowly becoming mainstream. First we see "exotic" foods in the random ethnic restaurants. Then they move to the mainstream restaurants, and are touted by big name chefs as the “next hot ingredient.” Next we begin to see them in the specialty food shop, and finally these previously exotic foods are in the average American grocery store. Just wait, in two years time, you will see goat meat at your grocery story meat counter. The same trickle effect happened to balsamic vinegar, blue cheese, and sushi—and of course many many other types of food. What was once exotic and seemingly inedible, is now common food—good to eat.

So what happens? We cannot rely on environmental reasons to explain our diet anymore. And with information at our fingertips, knowledge of the foods of other cultures is simply old news. Clearly, there is some sort of psychological shift that occurs when we decided to eat and enjoy a new food, so how does this happen for a whole society? Does media sway this decision? Why sushi and goat, but not dog? I am still working on answering these question myself…any thoughts??

Hooray! A White House Vegetable Garden!

Today the digging starts. The Obamas are putting in a White House Vegetable garden.

About a month ago I wrote a couple of posts (which you can read here and here) arguing for the merits of a first veggie garden, modeled after Eleanor Roosevelt's victory garden. Today the New York Times reported that indeed it is going to happen. A 1,110 square food plot of the White House lawn will be turned into a garden, visible to the public passing by on E Street. My hat goes off to Michelle Obama, and to all those involved in planning and implementing the garden. I look forward to seeing the fruits (and vegetables) of all the labor.

A "fresh" new post: What if our produce could talk...

If the fruit and vegetables at your average American grocery store could talk, what would they say?

This “fresh” food could surely tell you a few travel stories because it has probably traveled more than the average American citizen. In fact, because you can purchase almost every type of fruit or vegetable at any time of the year, I would wager that most people do not know seasonal produce cycles, nor do they know where in the world their mid-winter grapes come from.

As Americans die of “lifestyle” diseases rather than viruses or bacterial infections, more and more studies focus on how to make our lifestyle “healthier”. Newspapers and TV programs now beat us over the head, telling us that in order to be healthy, we need to consume “fresh” fruit and vegetables. In 1988 fresh vegetable consumption finally equaled processed vegetable consumption, and while in 1975 the average American supermarket produce department sold 65 items, in 1988 the same produce department sold 210 items. Clearly, we all know that we should be eating more fruits and veggies, and we have come to learn that the little pieces of carrot in canned chicken noodle soup do not count toward our daily requirement of “fresh” vegetables.

So what do we mean by “fresh” fruit and vegetables. How do you define the term, “fresh.” In my mind, fresh should indicate both time and place—so if we say that our shirt is “fresh out of the laundry,” we mean that it was recently washed. Or a batch of, “freshly baked cookies,” means that they just came out of the oven. Even the term, “freshman,” indicates a student in their first year of high school. “Fresh” indicates that something comes from a time not too long ago, and a place not too far away.

However, over the past twenty years, not only has our consumption of “fresh” fruits and vegetables shifted, but so has the social usage of the word, “fresh”.

Something to ponder: Walter Goldfrank, a professor of sociology and Latin American Studies at UC Santa Cruz, observed that rather than an indication of time and place, “fresh,” has come to mean, “not ostensibly processed,” or made into something different. The fact that produce is picked weeks, or even months, in advance, then cooled, stored, and shipped with the aid of spoilage-retardant chemicals, and then handled by multiple human hands at multiple job sites in several different countries does not deter us from using the term, “fresh.” Freshness than, indicates inherent pristine appearance, rather than signifying the space/time proximity to the consumer.

So how “fresh” is our produce? How many countries has it been to? How many people has it met?—all before it goes into our salad. Like I said, if our “fresh” produce could talk, I bet it could tell some really interesting travel stories.

The Joy of Baking

Baking makes me feel productive.

On a rainy Saturday afternoon, after far too many hours flitted away on the internet, I wander into my kitchen and pull two sticks of butter and a few eggs out of the fridge. I walk over to the stereo, thumb through the records, and settle on a Van Morrison LP (I have been on a big-time Van Morrison kick lately). While the butter and eggs come to room temperature, I meander about the kitchen, grooving to the music while pulling out the flour, the sugar, and the vanilla extract, and then zesting a couple of lemons. There is nothing in the world like baking while rocking out to good music.

I pull the cake pan out of the cupboard, pat a slice of butter onto some wax paper and rub down the pan. Next the oven goes on to pre-heat. And then I start to sing along to the music.

One by one, the ingredients go into the bowl—butter beaten with the sugar; eggs cracked in one-by-one; drops of vanilla added; a squirt of lemon juice; a sprinkle of lemon zest; and slowly, slowly, the flour sifted in. I stir, and I stick my finger in the batter to taste. Mmmmm. I think that I need to taste it again. Yep. One more taste is needed. Sweet. I pour the batter into the pan, and slide it into the oven. The timer goes on. “Into the Mystic,” comes on, and I start to clean up the mixing bowls and spoons—enjoying every minute of it.

Three quarters of an hour later, my house smells like sweet lemons with a hint of vanilla. I pull the cake out of the oven, and let it cool.

I made something.

I started with flour, butter, sugar, and eggs. Now it is a sweet indulgence to have with a cup of tea. My Saturday feels a little more productive, and a little more decadent. My friend coming over to visit will now feel a little more special, because I baked a cake for her. I made it. And we all know that the best gifts are homemade.

Baking a cake for the people I love is the best way that I can say ‘thank you’—thank you for love, support, and friendship—please have a sweet piece of indulgence that I made for you. And that is just what I am going to do in September at our wedding. There is no better way for Ben and I to thank the people who have loved and supported us, separately and as a couple, than to serve them a piece of cake, that I made with my own two hands—starting with just butter, eggs, flour, and sugar, and crafting it into a delicious work of art.

So yes, sorry for my abrupt (and unannounced) departure from my posts, but I was caught in a whirlwind of wedding planning, because (just in case it was not obvious already) Ben and I decided to get married. We are quite thrilled, and while deciding upon a place, a date, a photographer, and all that jazz is quite hectic, there has been one given from the start—I am baking the cake.

Are you a Lover or a Hater?

Too tired to put up much of a cerebral post tonight.

However, I've been pondering breakfast over the past few days. Why do some people prefer sweet and others savory?

Mark Bittman's piece in the NY Times last week gave some unusual breakfast ideas and challenged Americans to try eating a savory breakfast for a change. Why do most Americans think of breakfast as a sweet meal? We eat danishes, donuts, cinnamon rolls, sugar cereal, pancakes, and waffles. Even peanut butter is sweet tasting.

If I stray from oatmeal for my morning meal, I go for toast and Marmite--you don't get much more savory than that. In the words of Nigel Slater, Marmite is, "Savoury tar for your toast. As shiny as a lovingly polished army boot, saltier than a mouthful of sea water, stickier than treacle, and somehow the work of the devil."

You either love it or hate it. I love it. Most likely, if you did not grow up on it as a child, you will hate it.

How does the taste for savory or sweet breakfast develop? Why so much sweetness in the American morning meal? And what about you? Marmite: are you a lover or a hater?

The Economy Sucks, So We Dine

I no longer dare to open the newspaper in the morning.

I put on the teakettle, fire up the stove, and let my oatmeal bubble away happily while I peel and eat an orange. Five to seven minutes later I give the oats a stir, pour the steamy goodness into my bowl, and sit down at the kitchen table with my tea and porridge, ready to open the paper.

But, for the past week I just can’t do it. I can’t open the paper. I don’t want to read bad news. I don’t want to know about more people who don’t have jobs. I care. I really do. My heart bleeds for them. But it gets me down. I know the economy is bad, and I have hope that it will get better, soon enough.

No, I push the Chicago Tribune to the side, and I reach for Bon Appetite, or Gourmet, or Gastronimica, or even go and pull one of my cookbooks off the shelf—one that I have not looked at in a long time. I knew there was a recipe in there that I have been meaning to try.

Restaurants are shutting down left and right. When a recession hits, the first place that people start pinching pennies is in their dining-out-budget. That makes sense. Yes, people cut back on restaurants, they cut back on movies, they cut back on clothing, on cars, on TV’s, and on, and on. People give up small luxuries. But people still have to eat.

All of a sudden, people lug out their slow cookers, dust off their old recipe books, and discover (or re-discover) the wonders of slow cooked rump steak. We begin to roast the whole chicken, instead of buying boneless-skinless breasts, and we remember how wondrous root vegetables can taste—all for so cheap! Yes, Americans are learning to cook again, because although money may be tight, food is still essential.



But being human and all, eating is more than just cooking your own food. Eating is more than ingesting calories for calories sake. We eat for so many other reasons besides nutrition—for flavor, for the experience of new place and culture, for comfort, or for celebration. But most of all, we eat to be social. Isn’t that what going out to a restaurant is all about? We go with friends, with family, with lovers, with wives, with husbands, with business associates, with prospective PhD students. Yes, some people dine out alone, but nine times out of ten, you dine out with someone else.

Even in these economic times, people cannot stop being the social animals we are. Forgive my corniness, but our social ties are priceless. And eating together is an intimate act. It builds and maintains relationships, and that is something that we cannot and will not stop. The economy will not put us in holes, shoveling re-fried beans into our mouths merely to survive. No, even in the meekest of times, people eat together, and that is one of the facts of life that makes us human.

So I rather than looking at the paper, I planned a dinner party. Hummus, olives, and nuts to start. Pot roast, mashed celery root, and braised leeks to feature. Chocolate and frozen grapes for the finale. It was wonderful. We ate, we drank, we pulled out instruments, and we played and we sang. We clutched our bellies feeling like we feasted as kings. But more than than, we feasted together. And we toasted,

“The economy sucks! So we dine…”







**All these photos (except the last one taken by yours truly) were taken by my friend Charlie at our dinner party--that is him playing the guitar.