Food safety: asleep at the wheel

In a recent article in the New York Times, I read about a woman who was permanently paralyzed as a result of her exposure to E. coli-tainted ground beef. Now, I've written a few times about my ongoing internal debate about eating meat. This piece, along with the cover story from a recent issue of TIME magazine, seem to confirm what Eric Schlosser and others have been warning us about for years: you just can't trust large-scale food processors. With the huge amount of money at stake, public safety is, at best, an afterthought for the food industry.

Part of the problem is the sheer scale of mass food production and processing: it's difficult and sometimes costly to sufficiently test it for contamination. According to the Times piece, "Testing has been a point of contention since the 1994 ban on selling ground beef contaminated with E. coli O157:H7 was imposed. The department moved to require some bacterial testing of ground beef, but the industry argued that the cost would unfairly burden small producers, industry officials said." Oh, please. Like industry officials can even name five small farms that they deal with (unless they're trying to shut them down). How about, oh, I don't know, having the processing plants do the testing before they grind everything together beyond recognition?

Global sourcing of raw materials which are mingled before most tests are run further complicates the ability of inspectors to pinpoint the origins of contamination and subsequently halt its inclusion in the mix. I am not against national and global trade, mind you, but does my beef fat need to come from Uruguay? No. Unless I want a fatty burger and happen to *be* in Uruguay (which I hear is nice this time of year).

"I have to look at the entire industry, not just what is best for public health," claimed an industry rep in response to a call for more robust food safety practices following the E. coli incident. Herein lies the crux of the problem: greed. And there is a fairly simple solution to the problem: relationships. Know your farmer, know where your meat comes from, and stop supporting the food giants (who don't care about your health) with your food dollars. If you want ground beef, it's better to buy directly from smaller local farms and grind it yourself, or at least find a responsible butcher to do it (sans imported South American beef fat).

I don't know that I'll be able to eat a hamburger for awhile. Nevermind that cookout season came to abrupt end with midwestern temperatures in the low 40s for the past week. The burgers pictured here at the UW Slow Food dinner a few weeks ago, with meat direct from nearby Fountain Prairie Farm, were pretty delicious, though....


Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Show me the movement

I have come into contact with a lot of inspirational people so far in my journey to learn about food. Many have been the farmers who have chosen to devote their lives to sustainable agriculture, to growing good food for others in their community because they feel it's the right thing to do. Some are folks I have read about for some time, who have emerged as voices speaking powerfully on behalf of the movement toward better food in our country, those changing the way we interact with food. There's Michael Pollan, whose books and articles continue to examine the bizarre animal that is the American consumer of foodlike substances in an effort to inform and advocate for a food system overhaul. (I really did get kind of giddy listening to him speak, and found myself entirely too shy to introduce myself when I was within 3 feet of him during the book signing at the Food For Thought festival back in Madison.) There's Will Allen who is fostering relationships within his local community and beyond while he produces massive amounts of chemical-free food and teaches folks how to grow their own. (I was also too awestruck to introduce myself to him when he gave a talk at the local community center during my time in Madison.) And there's Dave Murphy, the food activist I finally worked up the nerve to try and contact and subsequently had the pleasure of meeting at the recent conference on food security in Des Moines.

Dave, who founded Food Democracy Now in an effort to promote more sustainability-minded Secretary of Agriculture candidates for appointment under the new White House administration, comes to food from an entirely different angle than many at the conference. Some folks work on community organizing, some on food production, some on establishing connections between farms and buyers, some on nutrition education. Dave works on policy. It's important for folks to know how to produce and consume food responsibly, he conceded, but for real change to happen on a larger scale, what he argues for is a change at the policy level. In short, we need legislation that shifts state and federal funds to encourage more sound agricultural practices, and which ceases funding to programs that are destroying farmers and their livelihoods (not to mention the planet and our national health).

While he casually references the ridiculous number of miles he's put on his car going around to talk with farmers all over the state, it's evident that he really does his homework: talking with people who make the policies and those affected by them to get a real understanding of what's going on. (And talk about smart. I swear he eats those indecipherable proposed House bills and regulation documents for breakfast.) From Dave, I learned about the horrific state of large-scale animal food production in our country, and in Iowa in particular. There are more humane ways to raise animals for food than on confined animal feedlots (or as they are known in the business, CAFOs) -- I have visited farms all around the eastern half of the country, so I know there are alternatives. Dave told me of a pending proposal to give millions of dollars to perpetuate a failing (and, in my opinion, ethically reprehensible in its treatment of animals) factory farm system to stem the farmers' record losses resulting from high feed costs and massive overproduction. Another bailout?? Rather than amending their practices, these farms who are sitting low on the hog (for a change) are asking for more government money to continue (subsidized) business as usual. What will be done with all of the excess pork that can't be sold? Most likely it will end up in some fried pork foodlike substance on your kid's styrofoam school lunch tray.

"Show me the movement": I've heard the now famous instance of President Obama -- well, it's famous in the local food movement world, anyway, since Pollan has bandied it about in a few of his talks by now -- claiming that in order for the White House to get behind the relatively small but growing call for sustainable, regional food systems, people were going to have to get louder about it. There needs to be a public outcry against the current system that is slowly but surely making us poorer and then killing us earlier. Our current food system, like our healthcare system, is broken. (And you thought I could make it a whole post without ranting about healthcare, which, incidentally, was another hot topic at the food security conference. Well, as I've said, they're related.) The fact that Ag Secretary Vilsack gave a talk at breakfast during the final morning of the food security conference means that Washington may be starting to listen. But we're not loud enough yet.

Change. Michael Pollan may write about it, but it's people like Dave who will make it happen. Right now, he is part of a campaign that is gathering signatures to protest the pork bailout package. You can add your voice to the petition here. It is a small but important step toward the long overdue overhaul of our country's food system.

The Great (Food) Reformation

As my friend Martha and I wandered about the World Food Festival and nibbled on cuisine from Ethiopia to Ecuador (not at all local but certainly delicious) yesterday, we invariably began to talk about food policy. I mean, we're both in Des Moines to attend the Community Food Security Conference, so even more than usual we both had food politics on the brain. Something that Martha mentioned that really resonated with me pertained to the idea that we are in the midst of what many -- including me, just ask my parents -- have been calling a Food Revolution. (Yes, with a capital R.) Change is coming, to be sure, but really what *needs* to happen, she suggested, and what is beginning to happen will more closely resemble a Reformation. "Like the Church?" I asked. "And Martin Luther?" Well...yes. (I get Church metaphors. I was raised Catholic, after all, though I don't go to church much these days. Sorry, dad.)

The metaphor is not mine, or Martha's, or even Michael Pollan's (though he is something of a godfather of the increasingly vocal local food movement), but one coined by Joel Salatin, and via Michael and then Martha has trickled down to me. It's a brilliant metaphor, though. The statements nailed to the door of the Church of Conventional Agriculture -- which brandishes most of the money and power and control over the food system -- are documents like Pollan's "Open Letter to the Farmer in Chief" and Dave Murphy's petition for President Obama to appoint a more sustainability-minded Secretary of Agriculture. The Church's splinter groups are programs like Growing Power, farmers' markets, organic farms and CSAs, even home gardens and food co-ops, that offer alternatives.

Joel didn't articulate the hyperbole so specifically, but I think there's something to these parallels. Like it or not, large-scale farming is not going to disappear any time soon. It's too ingrained in our culture, in our economy. I suspect that the face of industrial agriculture will continue to change, perhaps it will evolve into a more resource-conscious and humane system. But even now, instead of one Church of Food, if you seek it out you can choose the version you want to support with your food dollars. Amen to that... now let's eat!


Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows

I can tell you with total certainty: it is coming from whatever direction I am trying to get to.

Since I left Burlington back in late July, it's been all headwind all the time. "Don't you know about the winds from the west?" seasoned cyclists continue to ask me. Yeah. Well, clearly when I planned this trip I thought that was a bunch of hooey. What's a little breeze? "It will help keep me cool," I thought. Ha. Double ha.

It's gotten to the point where I know intuitively (by the lack of wind in my face) when I've made a wrong turn. It's happened a few times, and before I realize my error I foolishly find myself thinking, "Well, at last there's a break in this constant wind. Wait a minute, I'm on 6 *East*?? Doh! Time to make a u-turn...."

"There's no crying in baseball!" I recall Tom Hanks' character insisting in "A League of their Own." But I ask you, is there crying in cycling? 40 mph headwinds would deter many a cyclist -- I'm not giving in, mind you, I just want to know if a little whimpering is okay when I am pedaling downhill and still only going about 5 mph.

This wind had better still be blowing in the same direction -- I mean it hasn't let up in 2 1/2 months, so one would think it would have the decency to continue -- when I get to southern California and start heading east in a few months.

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

The mad farmer's garden

Ollie and I arrived on the doorstep of The Mad Farmer's Garden in Coal Valley, IL in the midst of a torrential rainstorm last Thursday. (Have I mentioned the less-than-perfect weather yet? Oh. Yes. I believe I have. It was like the famous storm in King Lear, but maybe with less people losing their minds. Actually....) From what I know of the Wendell Berry collection of poems from whence the organic farm takes its name -- a sequence of diatribes and manifestos that critique society's destruction of land and community -- the weather was somehow fitting. The farm's very existence rails against modern, conventional practices. The property is owned by Ian's great uncle and run by Ian with the help of a small, tight-knit group of friends, with practices that stubbornly recall a simpler, less industrialized time. The goats are milked by hand twice daily. Seeds are saved. Food is grown without fertilizers or pesticides or hormones. They grow things not only to sell but to support themselves. They compost. This, while being surrounded on all sides by giant, GM operations and manure spreaders.

One of the things I have been doing as I roam about the country learning about food is, in a sense, peeking into different variations on sustainable lifestyles, trying them on, seeing which elements fit. Trying on places and ideas and communities. Kind of like shoes. What feels right? What's missing? Is this uncomfortable? Will I get blisters? (Another metaphor, yes. I'm talking work shoes here, but I suppose some of you are thinking about dancing shoes. Those shouldn't give you blisters, either.)

I had heard about the Coal Valley homestead farm from my friend, Hannah, who had, along with her (and now also my) friend Lindsey, built a raft and traveled down the Mississippi River to learn about sustainable farming in 2008. Talk about spunky: these were my kind of people!

Hannah, Lindsey, Ian, and Andrew welcomed me into their midst from the start. They invited me to join in with the farm chores, the market, the cooking (yes!), and frankly answered whatever questions I ventured -- from how each came to the farm to how to use the indoor composting latrine. The two couples share a vision of self-sufficiency, communal living, and innovation that informs their daily lives. It's not perfect yet, with personalities still at odds sometimes and different ideas on how and when to do things, but they're making it: they produce the majority of food for themselves, generate very little waste, are revitalizing the land, and are developing a loyal customer base through the Davenport farmers' market (less so with shops so far). Each season, there are new projects, experiments, and techniques that the young farmers undertake -- companion planting, seed saving, greenhouse construction, trying out new heirloom varieties -- based on the interests and needs of the group. These are undertaken with a spirit of joy and curiosity and, finally, the desire to make things a little bit better. Who could ask for more? Wendell would be proud.


Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Dry socks

Not to be outdone by the near cataclysmic storms in southwestern Wisconsin, Illinois put in a strong bid for "worst weather of the trip" during Ollie's and my passage to Davenport, IA: cold, rainy, and with a headwind that had me pedaling like mad even on the downhill stretches. (And, yes, there were hills.) I found myself tacking back and forth along the road shoulder, trying to stay off the rumble strips as I simultaneously attempted to counteract the gusts from 18-wheelers flying past like bats out of hell.

About 5 miles into the planned 45 mile trek from Clinton, IA to the next farm in Coal Valley, IL, on Thursday my shoes were soaked and I couldn't feel my toes. (Frostbite, anyone? No? Is hypothermia more your cup of tea, perhaps?) The rain jacket, 2 shirts, and 2 wool sweaters I had piled on to combat the chilly air were all at various degrees of damp disgustingness. And pants? Blech. Spandex and water are not friends. (I believe this was established earlier on in the trip.) Shoes? Socks? Forget about it. If I were a bit further south on the Mississippi, they would call it frog strangling weather. Even the ducks stayed indoors. True story.

As I pedaled, white-knuckled, along the highway, I found myself contemplating something Paige's dad told me at dinner one night when I was visiting Carlisle, PA a few months back. He was regaling me with tales of his time in the service and spoke about how in the midst of the horrible conditions that he and fellow soldiers had to endure -- I think it was in Vietnam, but I'd had a bit of wine by this point in the story, so the details are a little hazy -- he was comforted by the knowledge that at all times he retained a pair of clean, dry socks in his pack. No matter how cold, wet, or miserable things got, there was always that pair of socks to look forward to. ("Clearly this is a metaphor, ladies and gentlemen," I would point out to my students, were I still in the classroom.) It was crucial that they were there at the ready, Don confided, but if he were to wear that last pair, he wouldn't have a backup pair. (Socks as hope. Got it.) I was daydreaming about dry socks and flannel pants -- on both the literal and figurative levels -- for hours on end through the bone-chilling rain last week.

Near the end of the 5-day trek from Madison, WI, after I'd almost been run over approximately 3 times near the Quad Cities airport and had pulled over to call Hannah for alternate directions (VZ Navigator's "bicycle" setting is not to be trusted), a friendly woman with a truck offered to give me a lift the last 5 miles. An angel in a (heated) truck, to be sure. As Ian and Hannah helped me drag my sopping gear into the house, all I could think of was my dry socks. And wouldn't you know it, I found after I'd soaked in a hot bath for a spell, I had two pairs left in my pack: one to wear and one for backup. Nice. (And people think I overpack. Psh.)


Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

13 at dinner

I've thrown a lot of dinner parties in my day. It's true. Soup dinners. Wine dinners. Come-on-over-because-I-got-a-little-overexcited-and-cooked-too-much-curry dinners. Apparently-the-power-is-out-and-it's-Mexico-so-it-might-be-days-before-it's-back-on-so-time-for-a-barbecue dinners. (I mean, I can't let the whole duck or lamb chops in the freezer or the random assorted cheeses or the tequila go bad. Okay, maybe the tequila isn't in danger, but still....)

I was thinking as Ollie and I cycled along yesterday who I would invite if I could pull together a lively group of food-related folks for a dinner at my place. Since I'm on the road these days, having my own place is as much of a fantasy as the impressive guest list, but I can think of a few folks who might be willing to host the crowd I have in mind....

So who would I invite? Firstly, Michael Pollan. He's in the forefront of my thinking these days, as you might have guessed from recent posts. Next, Alice Waters, Wendell Berry, Barbara Kingsolver, Eric Schlosser, and Dave Murphy (founder of Food Democracy Now!). Since there are already heavy hitters at the table, I'd invite the Obamas (the kids can come, too, but they're not in my official count), Ag Secretary Vilsack, and Jon Stewart (because he's awesome, if not specifically food-related, and I know the conversation would be both hilarious and thought provoking). I'll include Bill McKibben (whose "Deep Economy" is rocking my boat these days as well) and maybe George Clooney (an activist in other arenas, and a charmer, and I have to keep up the facade of a mild infatuation with him that I built up with my former high school students... who may still be reading this). Did I miss anyone? Probably. I'll invite them for dessert and espresso. (N'espresso, of course, with George in attendance.)

In the kitchen with me, I'd have an equally impressive line-up. The cooking dream team: Felicity, Alessandra, Julius, my cousin Sonia, Mark and Lee (ohhh, for the apple cider caramel sauce alone!), Nick (flown in from the Philippines -- why not?), my dad (if I promise not to make bouillabaisse -- but wasn't the fish stock from scratch amazing??), and pretty much Jeff's entire Chicago apartment. Kind of like fantasy football, but for cooking, I suppose. Less fouls, more fowls. Har, har.

And I'll bet you're wondering what I'd make. Well, it depends on the season....

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry