'Real Food'

5 second rule is one of those blogs that I heartily enjoy reading. Not only does the author, Cheryl Sternman, include delicious foods, but she also offers explanations of unique foods you might not have had the courage to try, beautiful photography and narrative anecdotes about her experiences. One such post begged to be shared and reposted.
Speaking on food activism that goes beyond the "hippie" or "organic" experience to the everyday (and often ignored) battle to bring fresh fruit and vegetables to kids, the author shares her experience at a "Farm to Cafeteria conference."
She sets the scene beautifully and drives home to readers how dire the situation is with her descriptions of attendees:

"Here's a portrait of the people I met: middle school students from New Orleans who convinced their superintendent to change his foodservice contract so they could have fresh, locally grown produce at least twice a month. (They succeeded.) High school students from Vermont who worked to get root vegetable 'seconds' from local farms onto the lunch menus at their schools. (They succeeded.) And a group of committed college and university students across the country who have formed a vast network to bring 'real' food to their cafeterias. (They are currently succeeding, with much more work ahead of them.)"

It personally blows my mind to think about not having eaten fresh fruit or vegetables. I lived off those things as I grew up. We were lucky enough to have a huge garden in the backyard or (when i was living in the city), to be within walking distance of a farmer's market or even (when i as living in Illinois) to live next to independent farmers who were free with giving their food to local kids willing to help them with the crops.
Sternman ends her post with a provocative question that I felt was worth thinking about:

"What, to you, is real food? Not healthy food, not nutritious food, because the conversation has moved past these terms, but real food? How inclusive is the definition? And what does it leave out? Try, if you can, to think past Michael Pollan's 'food your grandparents ate' and probe a little deeper."

My idea of 'real' food is something with an emotional connection. It was actually a trip to Morocco that taught me this. While you can go out and buy organic or healthy food now, for me, its not real until you have an emotional connection with the person who planted that crop or tended to it or picked it or showed that they took special care to prepare it. Moroccan water has bacteria in it (just like most tap water does) and so when we stayed there, the cooks would clean the fresh fruit and vegetables special for us. They had to boil water to kill the bacteria and then let that cool so they wouldn't accidentally cook the produce. There was such care that even though I buy cherries, for example, back in the states, they just aren't the same. I've lost the emotional connection.
There's almost a spirituality with 'real' food. And when I eat what I think of, I'm reminded of the person that that food connects me too: the farmer, the picker, the cook. It doesn't matter, there's something more real about it when there is that connection, that memory to have.
What's you're answer?

Why we are taking food so seriously

Some may wonder where this blog about food originated. As Janelle wrote in our "About" post, our endeavor is to "explore this crucial field of study." We both rediscovered food in a capstone course for seniors in the English Department at our university. We have that course to thank for the push in this direction, and that course's creator, Dr. Scott Pollard, for bringing out our own passions for food.
But why would Janelle use the term 'crucial'? Why is food such a 'serious' issue? Put simply, food is everywhere and it is everything. Without it, frankly, none of us would be alive. But more than that, its place in our culture is as inextricable from the human condition as our search for meaning. We view most things in our lives through a lens of food. Wasn't it a particular food that will always make you think of your beloved relative? Wasn't it the first time you made your own Thanksgiving dinner that made you realize that you had finally 'grown up'? Isn't making chicken noodle soup when you're sick only a habit because that's the food your mom made for you when you were a sick child?
Unfortunately, people have begun to lose sight of how much more important food is than a "necessary fuel whose only requirement is that it can be obtained and consumed without much difficulty or cost," as Mark Bittman writes in a recent New York Times article entitled "Why Take Food Seriously." When did 'cooking' suddenly become popping a frozen dinner into the microwave? What are we as a culture losing when we've lost our seriousness about food? Will we know how to make a Thanksgiving dinner when we've moved out on our own or what is the best homemade remedy when we have a cold? Will we be able to as easily remember our grandparents, aunts, uncles, etc. when we no longer have a vivid detail like food to jog our memories?
Bittman says he is seeing signs of hope in the conversations people are having on food. And that's what our blog is really intended to do: generate, expand and inform those conversations we as a culture are and should be having about food.
Feel free to join us.

Janelle's Food Autobiography Part 1: Food Talks to Me

Before we delve into my food autobiography, which will be given in segments, just wanted to mention that I am shamelessly using material I had already written in my Food and Literature senior seminar last semester. Nothing wrong with recycled materials.:)


Food was always a big deal to me. As young as three years old, I would hoist myself up on top of the dinner table, with tomato sauce smeared all over my face, and eat the scraps left over on other family members’ dinner plates, because I was not fed to my satisfaction. To this day my brothers still tease me about my food quirks as a child.

I was never a skinny child. From the moment I moved up from baby food, I delighted in the riches the kitchen brought. My dad would frequently bring home fresh loaves of Italian bread from a bakery. The sweet, buttery bread would immediately fall prey into my little hands before dinner was served. I ate lots of bread, lots of pasta, lots of salad and drank Pepsi religiously. That was my normal diet- and it filled me to my hearts content.

Whenever I was denied what I wanted to eat, there was havoc. This most frequently happened when my family would go out to eat or dine at someone else’s house. I quickly outgrew the kids’ menu, scrunching my nose at chicken fingers and grilled cheese sandwiches. I wanted shrimp scampi or linguine Alfredo. When I was made to order off the kids’ menu I would ask if I could order two meals. When my tastes were appeased, a giant crying monster would be released. My brothers would try to subdue my embarrassing behavior with the ‘mute button,’ but this would make these situations all the worse.

I am still frightfully embarrassed when I think about those times I ate at my friends' houses. Poor Mrs.Sturm. Little did she know that the eight year old girl she was serving was a gourmet. One time I was over, she served a very lovely, but different meal complete with angel hair spaghetti. I was quite accustomed to eating normal spaghetti at least three times a week. The angel hair offended me and I did hold back my preference for normal spaghetti. For dessert, she offered apple pie. I never liked apple pie, but took some because I thought I was supposed to, and I felt bad about my angel hair comments. I did not eat much of it. Mrs. Sturm leaned down and asked me “How come you’re not eating your apple pie?” I took a moment to think about what I’d say, and it did not sound as bad in my head- “I’m sorry Mrs. Sturm. I thought your apple pie would be better than the other apple pies I’ve had before.” It took my friend Samantha years to let me live that night down. It wasn’t until I was 12 that I was invited back over for dinner (and I only lived a few houses down). Things were going well, until I choked on a piece of chicken.

Ask my family and they would tell you that I talk to my food. This is not so, but being an expressively metaphorical girl in a very a literal family, they would not have known either way. The infamous event occurred in 1994 on the 4th of July. We were gathered around the typical all-American BBQ feast, all seven people in my family, seated at their usual spots around the table. We always caught Justin checking out his reflection in the sliding glass door he faced. Always needing someone in the family to make fun of at the table, we picked on the vanity of the oldest of my three brothers. We had just about finished the meal, and I was full. Whenever my dad makes corn on the cob, he forgets about it until the end of the meal. He brought it out, and offered some to me, and I declined. Everyone looked at me in surprise. Janelle never declines food she likes. I left the table and everyone continued eating. Part of my fixation of eating as a kid, was not on the food itself, but that it gave me something to do, and it brought my family together despite our disorderliness. So, as soon as I left the table, I found rather bored. I walked around the house in circles, before I finally came back and asked for some corn. When asked why I came back, I replied in my lisp: “The Food! It swas sayin’ ‘Eat me! Eat me!’"