I'm not fully ready to cross it off the list yet, but I got a good start on life list item #22 this weekend. Thanks once again to Groupon, Tom and I spent most of Saturday and Sunday out on the bay with Captain Rob who made a good faith effort at teaching us how to sail. I was a little concerned about the direction the weekend was taking when we arrived on Saturday morning and received a stern lecture about our failure to read Sailing Made Easy in its entirety. When Captain Rob informed us that there would be a one hundred question test the following morning, I was sure the weekend was doomed.
Happily, with a little extra studying plus several hours on the water, Tom and I (along with our fellow sailors-in-training, Ben and Karen) passed the test with flying colors and are now officially ASA (American Sailing Association) certified. I think we'll be heading back out to sea the bay in the near future to practice our new skills.
{This was not our boat/}
{Acting as helmsman was not my strong suit, so Captain Rob stayed close by.}
{Tom manning the starboard jib sheet. I totally get nautical terminology now.}
My super fly, ultra-smart, singularly sweet, gorgeous baby sister turned 21 yesterday. Being far more sophisticated and mature than I was at 21, she did not go out and get sloppy drunk at her first legal opportunity. Instead, we celebrated Shack-family style with wine and reflections and stories and laughter all wrapped up in a dining experience.
Peohe's hooked us up with custom, celebratory menus.
{photo credit: MoShack}
And the waiter played along and carded the Midge.
{Photo credit: MoShack}
There was much posing and documenting of the evening.
{Photo credit: waiter man}
{Photo credit: MamaShack}
Dinner ended as dinner at Peohe's must - with lava cake.
Twenty-first birthdays, however, are extra-special and thereby require multiple cakes...
{I just realized that this picture includes: Mom, Dad, birthday cake, funky head scarf, and champagne...what a lucky birthday girl!}
Soooo, Tom and I watched Food, Inc. on Thursday. Thanks to Netflix and the lack of new Thursday night television, I had a life-changing moment (or series of moments) right on my couch.
I don't want to sound dramatic, but watching this movie has revolutionized the way that I think about food. I didn't really expect that anything in the film would be particularly surprising to me. My mom got her master's degree in nutrition while I was still in high school and both of my parents are medical professionals. Healthy eating and exercise were always a way of life in my family and McDonalds has long been an anathema, so I didn't expect to be so totally floored by what goes in the food industry in this country.
I felt after watching this movie much the same way that I felt after watching Bowling for Columbine, incensed by the fact that these obvious and egregious wrongs are not just allowed to continue, but are blatantly supported by our government. Just as I cannot imagine how anyone could oppose a ban on semi-automatic assault weapons, I cannot wrap my mind around how anyone could possibly object to holding those who control 80% of the nation's food supply to a certain standard cleanliness and common decency. One of the things that sticks out most in my mind and that brought me to tears as I watched was the similar disregard with which these giant corporations treat the animals they farm and the workers who raise and process them. It is unconscionable.
A second point has really stayed with me in large part because it applies as well to the education system as it does to the food system. The point was made that the system through which food, meat in particular, is farmed and processed in this country is irreparably broken and yet the food industry's reaction to this systemic problem is not to rethink the system but to come up with high-tech fixes that keep the system intact. Having just endured a 90 minute staff meeting in which the latest, greatest, fancy-pants new lesson plan writing system was rolled out and mandated, that point really hit home.
The difference between Food, Inc. and Bowling for Columbine is that Food, Inc. left me feeling not just angry at the system, but also empowered to change it. The point was made at the end that everybody gets to vote with each meal and each item scanned (or not scanned) at the supermarket. After I watched the movie on Thursday night, I immediately got online and started researching ways that I can implement some of the changes that, after seeing the film, Tom and I agreed are nonnegotiable. My entire prep period at school on Friday was devoted to looking into CSAs or Community Supported Agriculture programs in which individuals purchase a weekly share of a local farm's produce and receive in return a box each week that is full of freshly picked, in season, local fruits and vegetables.
Then, after school on Friday, I settled in to see what I had missed on Oprah this week, and as she so often does, O came through with the perfect topic at the perfect time. On Wednesday, the inimitable Ms. Winfrey had Michael Pollan, author of The Omnivore's Dilemma, In Defense of Food, and now Food Rules, was a contributor to Food, Inc. and has this simple, seven-word healthy eating manifesto: Eat food, not too much, mostly plants.
Pollan's first point is that too much of what Americans eat would not be recognized as food by our grandparents. His suggestion, and one that I am going to attempt to implement, is not to eat anything that includes ingredients that a third grader could not pronounce. Now, this poses a serious threat to my friend Diet Coke, but I am going to start cutting out as much of the fake, processed "food" out of my diet as possible. This leads to another "food rule" that Pollan offered up on Oprah: Eat junk food if you want, but only if you make it yourself.
He doesn't suggest that we deny ourselves anything, just that we limit ourselves to food we can make ourselves. So when the craving for fries or brownies hits, we can have it, but only if we want it bad enough to make it from scratch. Sold. Although, this may mean that I need to get my hands on an ice cream maker as I am not about to give up frozen treats altogether.
I know that it will be an adjustment, but it is one that I am committed to and excited about. In an effort to kick of my own personal food revolution, I hit Whole Foods after work on Friday and the farmer's market this afternoon. Here are the changes that Tom and I making:
No more factory farmed meat. Gross. Oh, and: F you Purdue, Tyson and company.You guys are real douchebags.
No more sneaking high fructose corn syrup and other nonsense into my food. I had already pretty much eliminated high fructose corn syrup from my diet, but Tom has been going through his food staples in horror over the last two days...
Buy in-season local produce as much as possible by shopping farmer's markets and possibly joining a CSA.
The main message that I will walk away with is that we need to be more conscious about what we are putting into our bodies and the bodies of those we love. Sorry for the long-winded, soap-boxy rant, but I am fired up. Go watch Food, Inc.! And just in case you need another reason to watch the movie, this guy is in it:
He is Joel Salatin of Polyface Farms in Virginia's Shenendoah Valley, author, farmer, environmentalist, and voice of reason.
One of the many things I love about vacation is the extra time I have to peruse blogs in search of inspiration, be it culinary, crafty, literary, or otherwise. Yesterday I discovered a blog written by a woman who gave up eating out for two years, choosing instead to eat food prepared almost solely with her own two hands in her New York City kitchen. This idea both fascinates and terrifies me. Eating out is one of my favorite luxuries and takeout sushi is one of my favorite pick-me-ups on days when my precious, darling students have been neither precious, nor darling. In any event, I lost a solid half hour exploring Not Eating Out in New York and reading random entries in Cathy Erway's culinary diary.
One recipe that caught my eye was Karol Lu's award-winning "I Love You, But I've Chosen Chili" chili. Now, I have no idea who Karol Lu is or how she names her dishes, but the recipe called for sweet potatoes, a bottle of beer, and three kinds of chili peppers; so I was sold. The problem, however, was that the mysterious Karol, while willing to divulge the basic ingredients of her magical chili, was apparently hesitant to get too specific about quantities or cooking times...she has a championship to defend after all. In her effort to protect the sanctity of her recipe, Karol even withheld one secret ingredient from the recipe.
I started working on the "I Love You, But I've Chosen Chili" chili around five and presented it for dinner around 7:45. It turns out that I tend to be a little overzealous with the spices when left to my own devices, so there was a good twenty minutes devoted to attempting to find the appropriate balance of seasonings. The recipe called for chili powder, ancho chili powder, and chipotle chili powder. I went with about tablespoon and a half of each. This was way too much, fyi. Since I knew that recipe could benefit from the addition of some nameless mystery ingredient, I felt free to experiment. Some dark brown sugar, pumpkin pie spice, a sprinkling of chocolate chips, and an hour of simmering later, the chili had the perfect balance of spicy and sweet. It was so tasty that I decided to whip up some corn muffins to keep it company. It was a triumph if I do say so myself.
So, today I learned that: 1.) recipes are not gospel, 2.) I can allow myself some freedom to experiment in the kitchen, and 3.) chili is not the most photogenic of foods.
As a teenager, I occasionally resented our family dinners; I would have preferred a pizza in front of the TV or a quick bite at the kitchen counter to the hour-long, six person affair at the kitchen table. As soon as I arrived at college, however, those dinners were what I missed the most. When I moved across the country, I avoided calling at dinner time, not because I was afraid of interrupting, but because hearing the laughter and bustling of dinner preparation made the homesickness almost unbearable.
Since my parents and sisters have moved back to San Diego, family dinners have been joyously reconvened. They are incomplete, of course, since my brother is still in Vermont, but they are expanded as well, a husband and boyfriends added to the rotation. Sometimes, as tonight, it is only a partial group. Regardless of who can make it, there is always laughter and impassioned discussion of matters both serious and silly. Next week we will be six again. Even better, we will be nine, with everyone happily partnered. Nothing could be better.
