Central Station

The classic image of a GMO food is that of the tomato with fish genes, which is assumed create a nice firm more tomato like texture. In my experience it is difficult to find a person who is not somewhat horrified by this thought. GMO is the Frankenstein of food, which begs the question, if we can should we? Yet, GMO foods are found in every grocery store, unlabeled, and unquestioned by most Americans. So, the question I find myself asking is, if the idea of GMO foods horrifies most people, why do we look the other way and consume?

Frankly, I see GMO foods as a test of what Americans blindly value more. We may say we want healthy and natural food. We may say we don't want to be lab rats of corporations like Monsanto, but the truth lies in our primary value - money.

GMO is a capitalistic prize. It allows technology and human genius to master food for maximum profit. GMO is ment to not feed humans but instead feeds the system we are all indoctrinated within. For those who feel that they are not participants, I ask do you have a 401 (k) invested in the market, do you know where your money is going? Do you go shopping? Buy gas? Watch advertisements? Really, it is a system that is inescapable unless you radically step-off the grid (which I am not sure is possible anymore). Frankly, GMO is nothing but a tangible reflection of a value system of which we all have participated.

Like all value systems, ours too can be changed. But, change is slow and hard. Our values of consumption, maximized profit, continuous growth, material abundance will change - if not by our own admission then by that of a depleted earth. It is true that small choices like purchasing local organic food do matter, but I believe that real ethical change starts from a much more central place --internal value.

Roasted

Square, squishy, and strange the marshmallow has become a mysterious and iconic component of the American diet. The story of the marshmallow is a dual story of evolution and class. It has remained a favorite through-out most of human history, gracing the plates of barbarians, royalty, and to its current incarnation as a middle class candy and casserole staple. It's a little spongy square--with a story.

According to foodtimeline.org, the marshmallow actually started as a herb "Althaea officinalis" which, during ancient times, grew throughout Europe and Asia. Known as one of the earliest confections in human history, ancient Greeks and Romans viewed the plant as a source of health. According to foodtimeline.org, "The first marshmallows were made by boiling pieces of the marsh mallow root pulp with sugar until it thickened. After is had thickened, the mixture was strained and cooled. As far back as 2000BC, Egyptians combined the marsh mallow root with honey. The candy was reserved for gods and royalty."

Today's marshmallow did not take form until 1850. It was at that time that French confectioners began producing the customary white square marshmallow. The process was "slow and expensive" because each marshmallow had to be molded and cast. French confectioners used minimal ingredients including mallow root extract, egg white, corn syrup, and water. Being that marshmallow production was a tedious process, they were only made in speciality shops, and thus remained a luxury sweet for the wealthy.

It was not until 1900 that the marshmallow became a mass produced item available as "penny candy" for children. The mass-produced marshmallow flourished and by 1955 there were over 30 marshmallow producers in the United States alone. Today, there are only three remaining marshmallow producers in the United States. Production time including mixing, cooking, cooling, and bagging is 60 minutes.

Overtime, the use of the marsh root was replaced by gelatin. This transition, from marsh root to gelatin, has made the marshmallow a non-vegan option. Marshmallows are now animal based products and have nothing to do with the marsh root of which they originated. A sign of the times, today's marshmallow exchanges the natural spongy consistency of the marsh root with gelatin, and the sweetness of sugar has been replaced by corn syrup.

Marshmallows have become a staple in candy, campfires, fruit salads, and sweet potato casseroles that are found on most U.S. Thanksgiving tables. According the foodtimeline.org, the advancement of marshmallow in the American diet occurred simultaneously as jello during the 1920's - 1930's. This phenomenon was due in part to the production of recipes that favored the combination of jello and marshmallow-like the infamous jello mold.

One of the most iconic marshmallow based food items is the S'more. According to Wikipedia, the invention of the S'more is unclear, but the earliest recorded recipe can be found in a 1927 Girlscouts' cookbook. The title of S'more is thought to be from the the phrase "some more" but has been condensed to S'more. The S'more has become a cultural campfire staple in the U.S., Canada, the U.K., Australia, and New Zealand. It is a simple recipe of two graham cracker halves, a couple pieces of chocolate, and a freshly roasted marshmallow. According to Wikipedia, the S'more is currently evolving to include Belgian S'more which incorporates licorice and the Pop Tart S'more that replaces the graham cracker with Pop Tart pastry snacks.

The marshmallow, like most of today's highly processed foods, which only holds the name of which it began. The marsh root is non-existent, sugar is now corn, specialty confection has become mass commodity ready to ship in 60 minutes. From royalty, to speciality for the wealthy, to its place to the middle-class campfire, this small spongy square is a reflection of technology and changing lifestyles. It has moved from slow food to fast food. From speciality to commodity.

Homemade Marshmallows*
by Alton Brown courtesy of the food network

(*there is NO marsh root - it just wouldn't be American without gelatin)

Prep Time: 35 minutes

Inactive Prep Time: 4 hours

Cook Time: 10 minutes

Yield: approximately 9 dozen marshmallows or 1 1/2 pounds miniature

3 packages unflavored gelatin

1 cup ice cold water, divided

12 ounces granulated sugar, approximately

1 1/2 cups 1 cup light corn syrup

1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/4 cup confectioners' sugar

1/4 cup cornstarch Nonstick spray

Place the gelatin into the bowl of a stand mixer along with 1/2 cup of the water. Have the whisk attachment standing by.

In a small saucepan combine the remaining 1/2 cup water, granulated sugar, corn syrup and salt. Place over medium high heat, cover and allow to cook for 3 to 4 minutes. Uncover, clip a candy thermometer onto the side of the pan and continue to cook until the mixture reaches 240 degrees F, approximately 7 to 8 minutes. Once the mixture reaches this temperature, immediately remove from the heat.

Turn the mixer on low speed and, while running, slowly pour the sugar syrup down the side of the bowl into the gelatin mixture. Once you have added all of the syrup, increase the speed to high. Continue to whip until the mixture becomes very thick and is lukewarm, approximately 12 to 15 minutes. Add the vanilla during the last minute of whipping. While the mixture is whipping prepare the pans as follows.

For regular marshmallows:
Combine the confectioners' sugar and cornstarch in a small bowl. Lightly spray a 13 by 9-inch metal baking pan with nonstick cooking spray. Add the sugar and cornstarch mixture and move around to completely coat the bottom and sides of the pan. Return the remaining mixture to the bowl for later use.

When ready, pour the mixture into the prepared pan, using a lightly oiled spatula for spreading evenly into the pan. Dust the top with enough of the remaining sugar and cornstarch mixture to lightly cover. Reserve the rest for later. Allow the marshmallows to sit uncovered for at least 4 hours and up to overnight.

Turn the marshmallows out onto a cutting board and cut into 1-inch squares using a pizza wheel dusted with the confectioners' sugar mixture. Once cut, lightly dust all sides of each marshmallow with the remaining mixture, using additional if necessary. Store in an airtight container for up to 3 weeks.

For miniature marshmallows:
Combine the confectioners' sugar and cornstarch in a small bowl. Line 4 half sheet pans with parchment paper, spray the paper with nonstick cooking spray and dust with the confectioners' sugar mixture.

Scoop the mixture into a piping bag fitted with a 1/2-inch round piping tip. Pipe the mixture onto the prepared sheet pans lengthwise, leaving about 1-inch between each strip. Sprinkle the tops with enough of the remaining cornstarch and sugar mixture to lightly cover. Let the strips set for 4 hours or up to overnight.

Cut into 1/2 inch pieces using a pizza wheel or scissors dusted with the confectioners' sugar mixture. Once cut, lightly dust all sides of each marshmallow with the remaining sugar mixture and store in an airtight container for up to a week.

Take Me Out

In Allison Leithch's article "Slow Food and the Politics of Pork Fat: Italian Food and European Identity", she describes 'symbolically defined action spaces' as spaces existing within "authentic life-form where people interact". For example, cultural and sporting events, holidays, celebrations, etc. Within these "action spaces" we find a likeness among ourselves and thus manifest a collective identity. Often, these spaces include food.

For Americans, the food found in such "action spaces" is commodified, manufactured, simply put fake. One example of such an action space would be our national past time - the baseball game.

Nothing evokes the image of America like a day at a baseball game. The immense crowds, sunny warm weather, free bobble heads, and a chance to gorge: peanuts, hot dogs, funnel cakes, nachos, hamburgers, garlic fries, beer, soda, candy; the list goes on and on. Now I have went to games with quinoa loving, tofu eating friends who seem to loose all rational and find themselves stuffing down a super dog, traced by Coors Light, and finished off with Twizlers. Excuses abound: "hey it's American", "I only go once a year", "What else do you do at a game?"

Gorging on food during celebratory or sporting events is certainty not exclusively American. What is American is the fact that our events are punctuated by fake food. High in calories, low in nutrition, and manufactured in taste, America almost prides itself on getting away with "junk".

I recently had a conversation with a friend about such "junk food binges", the pursuit and the preceding guilt. Both of us agreed that to have a junk food binge emotes the feeling of food rebellion – you know its bad but you enjoy it anyway. And nowhere is “getting away with it” so profound that the collective spaces we share as a nation. Can we really picture a baseball game with a serving of lean grilled chicken, brown rice, and veggie medley? Probably not.

Mirepoix found

There are theories that state that there is no true self. The idea of self, the notion of individuality, is nothing but social and cultural constructs that are mirrored in a person. These constructs include literal and material objects like clothing, cars, real estate, etc. Other constructs are more abstract, like gender specific behavior, the brave boy and sweet girl. Regardless, it can be said, that none of it really represents the self - just an idea about the self.

In Carolyn Rouse and Janet Hoskins, "Purity, Soul Food, and Sunni Islam: Explorations at the Intersection of Consumption and Resistance", food is a vessel to communicate social taboo, symbolism, history, gender, etc. In the article, it describes how food reinforces and possibly changes gender roles, separating and negotiating power between men and women. Also, food can become a method of discipline and self-discovery including moving away from food that represents impurity (pork) and cleansing ones body with pure foods (brown rice, milk, butter, fresh vegetables, etc.). Food then becomes a controllable piece of the idea of identity. It is a daily mirror of the self.

This week, my blog challenge is to write about a food that I have an affiliation with in terms of identity. This has not been easy. Most people think of food in terms of national identity, the Italian ziti Nona used to make or the Mexican tamales served at Christmas. For me, I do not have such an identity. I am a mix of European descendents that occurred so many generations ago, there are only rumors of my roots - a little German, Irish, and so on. I would hardly identify myself with American food - I just do not think a burger and fries cuts it. Frankly, it has been an awkward request-and then I though of it.

My mirror is soup. I have joked with friends that soup is my fifth food group. Year round, I find myself in front of a bowl at least once per week. From creamy clam chowder to lobster bisque, Vietnamese pho to my own homemade earthy soups of chunky tomato, chicken, veggie, and potato, I cannot get enough. One of the best meals I ever had was in the south of Ireland alone in a pub, its gift was brown bread dredged in cream of veggie soup with stout. Soup is unpretentious, real, earthy, and kind. It feels out of place in fine dining instead longing for good conversation with authentic people. It is a food that linked a girl born into sunshine with the girl who would grow-up and move to the rain. Eating soup with its slow demeanor gives me the space to think. Soup, its nook and crannie nature, its friend-next-door attitude, its lazy Sunday supper placement, reminds me of the idea of myself. A person that wishes to step outside a world that feels like a never ending dinner party of small talk into a place of authenticity and connection. It beckons me home.

The Immediate Concern

In class this week, we watched a documentary titled The Future of Food that explores the corporate take-over of farming and food production and specifically the increasing utilization of genetically modified foods. We also read Ruth Ozeki's novel All Over Creation, which explores the human relationships between corporations, farmers, and activists. Both The Future of Food and All Over Creation draw attention to a food system that dictates for corporate vs. farmer control, profit vs. nutritional sustainability. Both the documentary and novel serve as red flags highlighting a failing food system that lies under the radar of most Americans.


After learning about such issues, I found myself asking why something as pervasive and shared as GMO food production is not a cause for concern for most Americans. One answer I found is that most people are bogged down with distraction which has allowed ourselves to miss the "musts". I call it the immediate concern syndrome.

The immediate concern syndrome afflicts young and old. Its symptoms include the inability to focus on anything that includes the phrase "long term" and instead focus on forefront issues of great immediacy. For example, the current, an apparently national crisis, of Ms. Britney Spears.

Yes, we find ourselves in a time expansive national discourse. What will she do next? Did you see her shave her head? Last night, Dateline NBC devoted an entire hour to celebrity meltdowns. An entire hour. What are we going to do about the current celebrity meltdown crisis?

What we are going to do? Well, what we do successfully of course, ignore the real crisis. A crisis where a nation that is decaying from the inside out. A nation that utilizes its children as GMO science guinea pigs. A nation with no long-term energy plan. A nation who slips lower and lower among the ranks of education, healthcare, and poverty.

Perhaps it is our attempt to stay sane in an over stimulated, information bogged, choice laden world we have lost our true focus. Our dramas, real, imagined, or that we find on TV have created a crisis of distraction. All the while, we have signed the check over to big corporations to dictate our future. It is not just the food we eat, it is our choices that are simply erasing, our critical voices silenced, our future which is...did you hear Scarlett Johansson got engaged today?

Nevermind.

Blue Light

In the blue light I remember feeling joy. I couldn't have been older than nine. Some time earlier my mother had taken my little brother and I to a Chicken Pox party in the hopes little red bumps would arrive before Christmas break. Not knowing that Chicken Pox involved misery, but instead involved missing school, I anxiously awaited my first red bump.

The evening the first small bump raised on my forearm I scurried down the hallway to announce the accomplishment of my set task - I had contracted a childhood right of passage. I was in the club. My mother carefully and dutifully inspected the announced area and confirmed I had in fact accomplished the mission and I would not be attending school anytime soon.

She also announced that I, unlike my little brother who was still awaiting his first bump, could stay-up as late as I liked. After the dishes were washed, my brother and father off to bed, my mother and I sat in the living room together under the blue light of the TV. I don't remember watching a particular show, I just remembered feeling grown-up, the two of us hanging-out, giggling, girlfriends. At some point my mother announced it was past eleven and offered me a late night bowl of ice cream, a decadence I had never experienced. It was under that blue light, laughing, big cold bowls of cream and sugar, that time seemed to stop and life was lived. Simple. Sticky. Sweet. True.

In Marcel Proust's The Madeleine, Proust recalls such a moment in his childhood when he dipped the lemon hinted Madeleine cookie into warm tea, the feeling of familial inclusion, a step into adulthood. Proust recollection, like my own of ice cream at midnight, is perhaps based less in fact and more based on sensory emotions, "...after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, still, alone, more fragile, but with more vitality, more unsubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, like souls, ready to remind us, waiting and hoping for their moment, amid the ruins of all the rest...".

In writing this blog I thought of consulting my mother to fact check my memory and I realized that is really not the point. Perhaps I have exchanged one memory for another, perhaps this memory was not tied to Chicken Pox, perhaps we did not stay-up as late as I remember, but the feeling of joy, the feeling of respect, the feeling of specialness is real.

The recollection of that night with my mother made me realize my affinity and good luck for capturing late night snack moments. There is something special about the night, it spells occasion, leisure, and play. From 2 am diner breakfasts with rowdy friends after a night of drinking, to sharing M&M's at midnight with the first person I loved, to the recent 3 am pizza night with friends I have known for almost 15 years, each of those memories is filled with uncontrollable laughter and pureness.

Somewhere in the blue light my next memory awaits.

The Squeeze-it Effect

It is of no shock, to any American third grader, that love is transmitted via plastic lunch pail. I remember such a plastic lunch box, light blue with white handle, a graphic of the Care Bears splashed on front. Full with pride, I would happily carry it to school. Sitting at a bench table within the noisy lunch hall, I would open my prized box and inside find matching thermos and a meal spread between numerous baggies.

Earlier in the week while at the grocery with my Mother, I had begged for cheese powdered chips, white soft bread, frosted cookies, and a certain fruit punch called Squeeze-it. Of course, my mother said no to all requests. I learned that fruit was better than chips, wheat better than white, frosted cookies are to expensive, and Squeeze-it was "nothing but sugar".

Back in the crowded and noisy lunch hall, I would sit confronted by a lunch box that reflected my mother decisions. It was at this moment I heard the squeezing and accompanying slurping of Melanie. Melanie was the post popular girl of the third grade, and subsequently the queen of lunch boxes. She would not only be sucking-down on a Squeeze-it, but in-between squeezes and slurps would boastfully brag about her customized napkin that had beautifully drawn picture of hot air balloons signed "love mom and dad". It was the Squeeze-it effect: unbridled envy of a third grader who first felt the pinch of status via stuff.

This week in my Anthropology of Food course we learned about another lunch box tradition found in Japan. Mothers traditionally introduce bento boxes to young preschool children. In the bento box, a mother carefully makes creative lunch usually filled with rice ball, pickled veggies, meat, etc. This bento box is then consumed by the child at school, which translates into a source of love, support, and structure. It is in effect bento introduces the child to their role as pupil and likewise mother as pupil supporter. Depending on factors such as class a bento box can become more elaborate both thematically and aesthetically.

In my American childhood, the lunch box became a conduit to introduce me to American consumerism and accompanying envy. I wanted to be like Melanie. Her family would/could buy Squeeze-its. I wanted a Squeeze-it. In addition to consumables, like the Squeeze-it, Melanie had parents who had the time to draw her elaborate pictures and write special notes, my parents both worked. The lunch box became a story of economics and class. In my eyes, Melanie was rich and life (of course) was perfect.

Up until this topic was discussed in class, the importance of the bento, I have not thought of Melanie and her perfect Squeeze-it filled lunch box. What I have realized is that fruit is better than chips, wheat is better than white, frosted cookies are to expensive, and Squeeze-its are gross. Mother was right.