Tag Archives: Food

DO NO HARM – Part 1

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“I submit to you that if a man hasn’t discovered something that he will die for, he isn’t fit to live” – Martin Luther King Jr.

I have been hunting for some time, hoping to fell an answer to the question “How do I live an authentic and good life?”

Many who sit fat on riches and titles claim to know this answer, and I can thus dismiss them, for where-ever the proud or pious make stone golems to endure their legacy, a pigeon will always be there to shit on its head.

I once took for granted that my neighbor held the same standards and values as I.  Walking through my environment, I felt confident and assured that the house I lived in, the food I ate, the tools I used, the clothing I wore, could not and would not have come at the disadvantage of other people, animals or environments. I would never have designed a system that allowed for it, and so I felt sure that my fellow humans would have been similarly disinclined.

Still today, I cannot imagine a series of events that would have brought me to design a system such as a factory farm, a sweatshop, a coal mine, or a war machine. Surely Bill and Donna next door wouldn’t either?

Yet of course, we have. In all likelihood, the laptop which I use to type this essay came to my door at the cost of the health of miners and their families who brought the natural resources up from the Earth at locations who-knows-where. It came at the disadvantage of the chinese workers who built the machine in a factory, performing tedious duties for a rate of hours and wage that I would personally never tolerate. Then the privileged Americans in California were able to sit on the foundations of this exploitation and express their creativity and exercise their brains in plush campuses, designing the software and aesthetics of the device.

I never asked for any of this to be done on my behalf – except of course by purchasing the computer, I did. I had assumed, much like the ending of a film, no animals (human or otherwise) were harmed in the making of this product.

It seems we’d prefer to believe that the timber in our houses did not come from a forest felled, but from a stork. That the food on our plates simply came from (where else?) the supermarket! The clothing on our body comes from the Gap or Macy’s, not from a factory in Indonesia or Sri Lanka, which if we were to visit, we would surely feel shamed by our complicity in their toil.

Lately I’ve shuffled through life feeling rather like my feet were encased in cement, weighed heavy with guilt from my inability to wake up in the morning and not have caused someone, somewhere, some harm, by simply being alive. I have sought a worldview that allows me to justify my existence, but have thus far come up short.

It seems that I have three choices:

  1. Live for myself without concern for the wellbeing of out-group humanity.
  2. Discover a way of living that causes minimal harm or disadvantage to others, where I can truly feel like I’m pulling my own weight in this world.
  3. Remove myself from the system.

If a better Earth would be one with more biodiversity, less pollutants causing disease, and less interference with the natural climate and weather cycles, it’s difficult to come to any other conclusion then that the earth would be better off without us on it. Still, I hope to give choice number 2 a chance.

It is for this reason that a small number of us have sought to escape from the grid. To claim a large piece of land and attempt to become directly connected and responsible for our own actions.

In the absence of regular employment, I’ve been doing a lot of reading, churning through what for me is an impressive 1.2+ books a week.

Despite my prior steamings on the issues of our food supply and vegetarianism, I had not yet read Fast Food Nation or The Omnivore’s Dilemma, and for the layperson, you can’t really claim to understand or be a part of the recent trend towards sensible eating unless you’ve read these books. Forget your preconceptions and dig in.

You wonder “Who are the people running corporations like Cargill, ADM, Monsanto, Tyson, Purdue, National Beef, McDonalds, Coke, Pepsi, etc., and what are they motivated by?” The answer seems to be profit, and then you return to the assumption that you or your neighbor would never allow these systems to exist knowing the consequences, and ask “How can they possibly exist?”

Subsequently I re-watched the documentary film Food Inc. to put a fresh face on some of the characters I was introduced to in both of the aforementioned books. I was shocked by the statements of one, Tony Airoso, who was credited in the film as WalMart’s chief dairy purchaser.

On purchasing StonyField Farm’s Organic dairy products:

“Actually it’s a pretty easy decision to try to support things like ‘organic’ or whatever it might be, based on what the customer wants. We see that and we react to it, so if it’s clear the customer wants it, it’s really easy to get behind it and to push forward and try to make that happen.”

Then later, on moving away from the artificial growth hormone rBST in milk:

“At WalMart, we made a decision about a year ago to go through a process of becoming rBST free in our milk supply. We made that decision based on customer preference.”

Now excusez mon français, but what the fuck did you just say sir? Based on customer preference?

So you reached the decision not through an exploration of what was better for the customer, not through your own scientific trials and testing, and not to do what was right, but to make more money? Eventually through the efforts of others with a conscience, consumers were scared out of purchasing rBST milk and were choosing more of the non-treated product, so you decided to stock more of what sold better?

Is this how the business world works? If a majority of your customers decided they only wanted to buy cheap shoes produced with slave labor, would you provide it for them “based on what the customer wants?”

Oh – wait, we’ve done that already.

Have a look at this classic clip of Michael Moore confronting Nike Chairman Phil Knight:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cOI0V4kRCIQ

I am somewhat sympathetic to Knight’s suggestion (cut short) that economic pressure can be more potent than political pressure in opening a nation to democratic ideals. But is our current model of capitalism one we should be exporting?

Say what you will of Michael Moore as filmmaker/propagandist (come on, he’s funny!), but since the 80‘s it’s been hard to deny that the actions of most major corporate leaders have been anything but self-serving and incompatible with a well functioning democracy. No – you don’t get to have a golden parachute and lay off thousands of employees. You don’t get to plunge cities into poverty by moving your business overseas and then buy that third home you’ve always wanted.

The Australian philosopher Peter Singer (best known for his book Animal Liberation) describes, in his 1993 book How Are We To Live? , the unique Japanese model of corporate structure, and cites that the shared commitment to the company by both manager and common worker as a kind of extended family makes it difficult to see employees as disposable. Can you imagine if Toyota one day announced that it would be moving its business out of Toyota City and instead setting up shop in China as a cost saving measure?

I suppose some Professor of Economics would call me an idiotic naïve fool for suggesting that profit isn’t everything. That success should be measured in quality of life.

to be continued…

PRACTICALLY VEGETARIAN – Ruminations on Eating and Ethics

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I’ve been sitting on this for weeks, and I’m still not sure it’s ready for primetime, but up it goes!

All Skeptics Should be Practically Vegetarian:

by D.C. Hubbard

Skeptics are critical to the health of society. We are not pessimists or cynics, we are the necessary advocatus diaboli who take the microscope to difficult or confusing subjects and wag the finger of caution, stepping behind the curtain to see who controls the wizard. Yet, as few in the skeptic community would claim to be perfect, surely there are inconsistencies in our behavior which require attention? Today we address the question:

Why aren’t more all skeptics vegetarians? I hope to demonstrate that this question drives a monster truck through the fields of our well-reasoned movement.

It is fortunate that the past decade has witnessed a sowing of consciousness, grown from the grassroots to repel the actions of fast food corporations and meat factories. The “slow food” movement is moving, albeit at the pace of its spiral shelled mascot, toward the mainstream, cheered on by works such as The Omnivore’s Dilemma, Eating Animals, and Fast Food Nation, the latter along with its counterpart film and others such as Food Inc. and Super Size Me. Michelle Obama has announced initiatives by the White House to improve the nations diet,  and celebrity chefs have thrown their own voices into the stew – and it tastes good!

Long a skeptical favorite, the yearly TED Conference in Monterey, California has featured a number of speakers under their theme Food Matters. Chefs and foodies such as Ann Cooper, Mark Bittman, and Dan Barber have laid out the case for ending factory farming, finding holistic ways of raising animals for food, and combatting diet related illness. The conference showed its commitment to the issue in 2009 by awarding Jamie Oliver its TED Prize for efforts to reform school lunch programs. His related TV program, though uneven and filled with synthetic drama, at least had its heart in the right place. We are paying closer attention to where our food comes from, how much and what kind we are eating, and how our lives are made richer by breaking bread together.

So that’s all well and good. People should be thinking more about food, and as skeptics and champions of the enlightenment, we know (or should know) the facts. We know the conditions that factory grown animals are raised in. We know that they are occasionally tortured, bred into monstrous proportions which make them prone to disease resulting in the use of antibiotics which enter the food supply and promote drug resistance, and are generally treated in ways that we wouldn’t wish upon our worst enemies dog. We know the deplorable environmental impact that these operations have on climate change, and even locally on the health of adjacent neighborhoods. We know that fish populations are collapsing past the point of no-return, that coral reefs are being destroyed, and that fish farms are often horrid polluters of ecosystems. We know that supermarket labels such as “free-range” “natural” and “farm fresh” can be next to meaningless, that agribusiness is creating monocultures which are reducing the biodiversity of the planet and wiping out important variations in our diets, that plants can be patented. A living thing can be patented. You knew that right? No? Come on! You folks eat this stuff up! You love to attack philosophical or factual inconsistency, bad science, medical malpractice, so where is your outrage here? It should be a focal point of Skeptic publications to look into GMO’s and determine whether the research performed by big agribusiness to back up their actions holds water, or whether we are being harmed by these profit-king short-view business models.

There are many in our movement who are aware of these issues and act on this information, but it often seems to take a back seat to poking fun at people who believe in Aliens or Atlantis, or railing against the easy marks such as Homeopathy. I would hold that the inevitable result of accepting the truth about the state of our food supply is to become practically vegetarian or actually, vegan. I’ll explain the “practical” part in a bit.

Is it safe to assume that many of you are pro-animal rights? You wouldn’t stand by to see a dog bludgeoned with a pipe would you? Yet we know, through scientific research, that pigs are at least as intelligent as dogs, so why do we continue to render bacon from them?

In his 2007 work I Am A Strange Loop, Douglas Hofstaeder (a vegetarian) posits that all living things can have a degree of “souledness” which ranges from a completely non-selfaware creature such as a mosquito, which is basically a flying biological program meant to suck blood (thus worthy of destruction!), to a pig or border collie, dolphin or chimpanzee, or human being, the cruel destruction of which we would (should?) find abhorrent.

The issue of vegetarianism should send waves through multiple disciplines. If we now know that genetically we have so much more in common with animals than differences, is it even reasonable to distinguish between eating animal flesh and human flesh? Here’s a thought – if you ate a pig heart that had been transplanted into a human being, aside from being a murderer, would you be a cannibal?

I read a captivating argument for vegetarianism recently in examining the debate surrounding Sam Harris’ book The Moral Landscape.

The reviewer, Massimo Pigliucci, in order to highlight by analogy some fault of logic, gave the following situation:

“A friend of mine — who incidentally is usually very skeptical of philosophical arguments — has recently told me of a conversation she often has about vegetarianism, a conversation that is both a perfect example of applied ethical philosophy and a good illustration of why Harris is off the mark with his project. When one of her acquaintances questions the moral grounds of her vegetarian commitment, she replies by asking whether that person endorses bestiality. Taken aback, the interlocutor’s first reaction often invokes some sort of “yuck factor,” only to realize that this would be emotivism (one of the words that Harris thinks is incredibly boring), i.e., it doesn’t amount to a rational reason. The second line of defense, typically, is something like “bestiality forces the animal to comply with an action it has not given consent to.” My friend then smiles, smelling the philosophical kill now at hand. “But surely you will agree that eating an animal is also an action that we are forcing upon it without consent!” QED, the opponent has been forced — by the strength of the logical argument — to admit to a serious inconsistency in his thinking. Now he has a limited number of options available: become a vegetarian, grudgingly agree that bestiality is morally defensible, or look for another argument that distinguishes bestiality from meat eating.”

Well shucks! Look like I have to become vegetarian or even vegan now – or do I? Is there a way for me to keep down the pork-shoulder sandwich I had for lunch yesterday? Like Harris, who’s book offers human flourishing and wellbeing as a cornerstone for judging morality, we must address the issue at the end of our forks, animal wellbeing and long term environmental flourishing.

It would seem the simple matter at hand is that if we wish to continue eating the flesh of animals that can be called “thinking creatures”, we need to, yes, accept that there is nothing inherently immoral about bestiality, but also that if one day some intergalactic species descended upon Earth and wished to use us for food or fuel or fun, we would have no right to exclaim “But we’re thinking creatures! We don’t wish you to do this!” for their response would be “We are to you as you are to pigs…” and (if I may quote the great Bill Watterson) “…although you may find this slightly macabre, we prefer your extinction to the loss of our job.”

There are in fact other arguments to the above challenge. One is the simple fact that human beings claim the right to inconsistency every day! For better or worse, there is no forcefield which will magically spring up and surround us if we trespass a logical argument, restricting our movement until we comply. But let us examine the anti-Harris argument more closely, and see if we can’t come up with something that is a bit less of a cop-out.

Is it really the impressing of our will upon another conscious creature that we find objectionable in these circumstances? Is the distasteful thing about eating animals the killing stroke, or everything leading up to that? Is it naive to live in a world where we think there is no  food chain? If we Skeptics are so proud of exclaiming the truth of Evolution, and we truly believe that we are nothing but a naked ape, then on what grounds do we hold ourselves apart from the system within which all other organisms operate? What we do wish to avoid is suffering, but dying is not suffering – everything leading up to death can be. The only people who suffer beyond death is those who suffer the death not of themselves, but of a loved one. Thus, equally important, we must evaluate the potential for the friends/relatives/beloved/fellow souls of the deceased to suffer the loss after they’re gone, and if we can establish significant grief or mourning in animals, then perhaps that is the answer to what constitutes a food animal or not.

THE ABATTOIR IS IN THE BACKYARD. THE ABATTOIR IS A KIDDIE POOL.

Jumping back to Herr Oliver and his technicolor TED Prize for a moment, his recipe book “Jamie’s Italy” includes a rather atypical preface to the section on meats, where he explains his stance on eating animals. A photograph is presented of an Italian shepherd standing next to a limp lamb, its neck hanging over the edge of a table, bleeding out into a bucket. Turn a few pages and you’ll see a darling girl sucking on a pacifier as a flayed boar hangs over a kiddie pool in her families yard, catching the entrails as it’s butchered. Jamie writes:

“I felt strongly about using [the photographs] because I found that when I spoke to Italians about their meat, most of the time they would tell me about the natural surroundings in which the animal had lived and what it had eaten throughout its life, foraging for lovely herbs and chestnuts and fruits, and about how it was treated. All this before they’d even slaughtered it or thought about cooking it for themselves. There seems to be a real understanding, even from kids, that some animals are for food and are certainly not kept as pets.”

As a small aside, I’d like it noted that a loathing eye-roll is often made towards hunters by some on the left, who like to lump them into the conservative gun-crazy camp. We should be worshipping these folks! Provided that they’re not hunting endangered species and are following common sense rules about safety, animal population size and maturity, these are people who have the guts to kill and prepare an animal themselves. They do not push off the job to someone else to turn a living animal into a plastic wrapped commodity, but hold a real and tangible connection to what it only seems appropriate to call the circle of life. This is often another question asked of meat-eaters by vegetarians. Would you have the guts to slaughter your own food if you had do.

For all the fussing that many of us do over supermarket labeling, hunters are eating the freest ranging animals you could hope to find! Game birds, deer and rabbit, are all excellent lean meats which have benefitted from a totally natural, pesticide and antibiotic free diet (so long as we’re not dumping synthetic crap into their ecosystems). They are facing no greater pain or suffering than they might were a draught to come through and destroy their food and water supply, or if one of their usual predators were to catch them. Again, provided the animals we hunt are part of a controlled and well understood population, if you’re going to eat meat, this is one of the ideal ways to obtain it.

But there is a part of me that wants to call Jamie a dear romantic fool. They have McDonalds in Italy too you know, and its introduction there is what catalyzed the slow food movement to begin with. The person flipping the burgers isn’t going to chat with you about your BigMac’s lovely foraging habits.

Indeed the greatest problem with the slow food movement is the issue of feeding seven to nine billion human beings on carefully produced, small batch heritage ingredients. Never-mind that a large percentage of these people demand meat at each and every meal and expect to find the same two dozen vegetables in the market each day with perfect shape and color (but curiously not flavor) and won’t take no for an answer. I believe that solutions can be found, but we must as a species become less greedy, reduce global population growth, understand seasonal availability, and frankly, more of us have to become farmers – and that’s a tall order. We need to decentralize the farming process once again, as it was before the industrial revolution, and become more locally self sufficient. Want to create jobs? Let’s have the government sponsor 100,000 new small farmers.

A French or Greek or American grandmother living with her two or three cows, who provide her milk in exchange for their care, who have plenty of space and are able to express all their desires and instincts, causes no issue, and if this were still the way of things, I suspect we wouldn’t be fretting much over the ethics of meat eating. Cows that are bred to have oversized udders so large that it interferes with their ability to live normal lives and causes them pain, who are stacked shoulder to shoulder next to milking machines, well, we should have a problem with that. Similarly, Chickens that have been bred so that they can hardly walk, and mill about in dense warehouses wading through each-others shit – that is not a free range chicken, despite it not being in a cage.

When I said ‘practically vegetarian’ before, it was because if you can guarantee the holistic source of your food, then eating meat becomes a rather personal decision. I also hesitate to jump to veganism, because again, in small circumstances with a very small number of producers, the animals are being well looked after, so much so that providing their milk could be seen as a fair payment for protecting them from the elements, from starvation, and from predators. This allows the Italian family to keep its dozen cows, with which they’ve made a rare and delicious Roquefort for over a century. But I’m sorry, there aren’t enough wheels of it to share amongst a population of nine billion.

Damn it, being vegetarian is hard! Given the lack of infrastructure for it, finding a satisfying meal which lacks meat or evil dairy is just too damn hard! We love the savory, filling quality of meat. There are plenty of ways to satisfy that desire with vegetarian cuisine, but there is such an absurdly small percentage of eateries that are competent enough to do it. I’ve had wonderful meatless chili’s and burritos, soups, stews, and sandwiches, but all too often if a menu has a special vegetarian section, you can just about write off that anything on there will be satisfying. I was shocked to visit PETA’s website in search of lunchbox friendly vegetarian meals, and saw almost exclusively “faux-meat” options. I’m sorry, but unless they’re a vehicle for some truly remarkable condiments, tofu-dogs SUCK, and I’m not even convinced that such a processed creation is healthy.

What’s almost hysterical to me, what really almost makes me laugh out loud at human folly, is that we are so addicted, so very in love with eating animals, and it is such a part of our nature, that we’d engage in such a roller-coaster of philosophical labors to rationalize it, when the whole issue could simply be dropped by becoming vegetarian.

THE DISCIPLINE – Morning Three (with Coffee)

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I managed to get to bed early last night with some seriously hurting abs. Fortunately, today was Shoulders & Arms in the P90X routine, so I was able to give my lower half extra rest. I’ve acquired some resistance bands to use throughout the series instead of dumbells, which means that if I move to a new place without the gym facilities, I can still perform all the exercises with minor modifications.

Spent the morning outlining an upcoming art project that I hope to get funding for. I will reveal details in time.

I got the glimmer of a new direction for employment down here. As my body gets used to waking up at such an hour, I’ve found that around 2 in the afternoon my energy starts to crash. The solution? Well a cup of coffee, naturally.

A few sips into my Macchiato yesterday, and I felt positively giddy and light. I used to pride myself as not being “one of those people” who couldn’t live without two or three cups in the morning. As it is I still would rather not drink the tremendous volume of mediocre coffee that Americans seem to consume.

But Melbourne takes its coffee very seriously. Very, very seriously. All of the coffee drinks are based around espresso pulls. You rarely find the 20 oz mugs of drip that you do in the states. As it’s been described to me, people seem to be positively dogmatic in their search for the right bean, roast, pour, etc. Cafés are numerous, and Baristas in high demand. I’m thinking about taking a comprehensive course in coffee making, so as to get work in such a café.

It’s something I feel I could take pride in. I love fine food and drink, and am happy to develop a level of connoisseurship in this area. If I found the right Café, the atmosphere could make the job downright pleasant most of the time.

So that’s where I’m at. I expect a decision on the matter in the next two to three days.

THE TRAVEL DIARY – Three Weeks in Melbourne (with one at Audi Victoria Week)

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The sun has warmed Melbourne to 40C/104F for most of the week, and as such I take refuge in the library once more.

While I was eager to describe the atmosphere and environments of Asia to you, I have been reluctant to provide a more fundamental description of Melbourne and my first three weeks in Australia. Perhaps because, superficially, it would be like describing any medium to large American city. But it’s not quite that simple, so this is that post.

I’ve noted how Australian culture has snapped at my ease in unexpected ways. Just the other evening I discovered that it is a faux pas to wear thongs in bar/nightclubs – “thongs” being flip-flops, sandals, etc. Stunned looks abound when a gaze drops to the floor to reveal 10 toes. In Brooklyn I’ve seen girls dance barefoot (at their own peril to be sure).

Ketchup is “sauce”, fries are “chips”, sausages can be “snags”, and none say “How’s it going?” but rather “How you going?”.  “Good on ya mate” and “No worries…” are more common to hear than “G’day”, perhaps shying from the public square out of shame over the stereotype. A reminder, this is solely Melbourne we’re talking about. I’m told that to get the full Paul Hogan you have to go to Queensland.

Melbourne is connected by a rather complete system of Trains, Trams and Buses. Tickets come in the form of paper cards with a magnetic strip, which can be purchased in 2-hour, daily, weekly, or monthly increments. Also available is the Myki system. A green plastic card which is topped up with value, and which you touch to a reader upon entering and exiting the vehicle. There is no traffic in Melbourne. Locals might disagree, but most of them haven’t lived in NYC.

Crosswalks feature little pushy-button things to signal your intent, and when the red standing man turns into a green walking man, it sounds quite a lot like this:

I know next to nothing about architecture, but Federation Square looks like it was designed by a sunglass maker with only a straight-edge at their disposal. A few notable cathedrals dot the city, named after all the familiar Saints and Apostles, and their lovely grounds do provide rest for the weary.

My new favorite spot is The Abbotsford Convent. Formerly The Convent of the Good Shepherd, the facilities have been converted into studios for artists, and the grounds are home to one of the three Lentil As Anything restaurants. These not-for-profit eateries provide full breakfast, lunch and dinner menus (including coffee and desserts) in buffet style, with a “pay what you want” philosophy. Top that Brooklyn.

The plates are all vegetarian, and can range from the very basic to the surprising. As my  budget runs gossamer thin, it’s nice to know there are places where I can get a proper meal for next-to-nothing if need be.

But don’t worry, I’m not homeless yet.

There are many other wonderful restaurants littering the place, all out of my current price range. I’ve found some nice bakeries, and because I know it matters to some of you, there are at least many different places to get a good jam doughnut [sic].

Smith and Brunswick Streets in the Fitzroy district, Northcote further…north, and Richmond east of the CBD have that hipper/hipster, Brooklyney feeling.

The Roundup

Half the trouble of breaking into any niche industry or sport is learning the lingo. Film sets have more than their share of slang, from c-stands to snoots. Sailing is no different. In Australia, what I know as a Spinnaker is more often called a Kite. The Jib or Genoa is almost always the “Head” or “Heady” or “Headsail” or the Number 1, 2, 3 or 4.

A round-up is the result of a feature designed into many yachts to prevent a complete knockdown from an unexpected gust of wind. When the boat heels over such that the rudder is barely in the water and the helmsman no longer has control of the boat, its weight will cause it to swirl rapidly into the wind, causing a sudden thrashing of sail and sheet. So that’s reassuring – that without exceptional circumstances the boat will not simply capsize into the sea. I just wish I had known of this startling safety maneuver before we were thrown into it.

We were on a beam reach in a steady 25 knots of wind when the pressure came down and gusted to 30 plus. The main was eased as far as it would go in an attempt to de-power the boat, we hadn’t had a spare moment to put a reef in, and we were having trouble taking down the kite after coming around a mark. Suddenly the boom was digging into the water and someone screamed “Blow the kite!” and someone else may have shouted to hold on but I was already gripping the lifelines, white knuckled next to the running back-stay winches as the windward side of the boat heeled seventy degrees into the air. Lines were loosed from their blocks as I pressed myself into the stanchions and like those tea-cup rides at Disneyland, we whirled around amid an unholy clatter of sails, halyards, sheets and braces.

Still, no harm done, save one cap lost over the side. We took a breath, roped everything back in, put in that damn reef, and off we went to finish eleventh out of twenty-three in our division.

Other races that week saw lighter airs, but presented unique challenges such as playing the “How do we get over a hundred thirty-plus foot boats up a 100 meter-wide channel at the same time?” game. It was almost comical as boats right and left hedged their bets and strayed too far off only to come to grinding halts along the sandy bottom. Everyone was inventing their own versions of the rules of racing, calling for room, calling “Starboard!” and “Water!”

Back on land, I stayed with the wonderful and generous friends and crew of the Bushido. This able vessel came 2nd overall in their division, with a win for the final race. If you scan to the 45 second mark in this video you can see a few shots of the boat:

This lot really knew how to do things “up”. One crew member had a background as a chef and currently works as a gourmet cheese importer. Each evening, we would hike up the hill from the Marina and sit down to a spread of Triple Cremes and Blues that twice brought me to toothsome tears. I had endured nearly three months of cravings for proper curd and grape whilst backpacking Asia, and here my wants were finally satisfied to the nines.

BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE!

February 6th marks the one year anniversary of this blog! Expect usage statistics, and maybe a new logo if I’m feeling creative!

THE TRAVEL DIARY – Balut & Sparrow

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Leaving Saigon, I joyfully slipped under my duvet on the SE4 night train to Danang. A seventy-degree decline is not, for me, a natural sleeping position, and so I was truly merry to leave behind bus travel and find myself prone on a perfectly comfortable berth.

I thought Danang a useful half-way point in my surge northwards. From Danang, it is an easy day trip to Hoi An, and I could skip up to the old capital of Hue without much effort. Weather had other plans for my stay, but no matter, I’ll relay to you here the events of my first evening in Danang.

During my first afternoon in the city, I went wandering and walked past a school that was just releasing its students for the day. Moms & Dads were pulling up in scooters, snatching up their waiting children. As I threaded through them, some shouted and waved “Hello!” to me, some, after turning to see my western face, stood back in shock.

Just past the school, I walked into a small café and sat down. As the host was unable to speak English (or rather, I was unable to speak Vietnamese), I pointed at another guest’s iced coffee, we exchanged a nod, and off she went. A few minutes later, that same guest walked over, paid for his drink (and I was to later learn mine), and took a seat next to me. He introduced himself, he said that he and his wife were waiting to pick up their son at school. His English wasn’t very good, but better than my Vietnamese, and in this way he expressed that he’d like to take me to dinner. He wrote down the address of a restaurant in my notebook, along with his phone number, and we agreed on 6:30.

From my experience in Saigon, I was immediately on high-alert. I desperately wanted to believe that not every local who approached a foreigner was a con-artist, and there were a few cues that offered this case some hope. One, he had paid for my iced coffee. I find it hard to believe that even the most clever sham in these parts would spend money on a mark with no guarantee of a return on investment. Two, he mentioned that he had friends in California, even before I had mentioned that I was from New York. Three, I could clearly see that he was indeed with his wife, whom I briefly met, next to a school as it was letting out, simply having coffee.

None-the-less, I returned to my hotel, sorted through my pockets and chose to only bring the essentials. I left the bulk of my wallet at home, left my iPod, camera, and walked out with just enough cash to cover an expensive meal by Vietnam standards, and a taxi home. I figured, if he did try to fleece me, all he’d be able to get would be about $25.

My Google map led me a bit astray, but I finally walked up to Lê Gia Viên at quarter to seven, happy to notice large families sitting at long tables, having happy dinners. A hostess approached and asked if I was here to see Mr. Quang, which I was, and so was shown to a seat with a view of the football game (Vietnam v. Malaysia) which was about to begin. Everyone else seemed to be drinking Heineken, and so, when in Vietnam…

He came from upstairs and happily shook my hand as I apologized for my tardiness (I am normally quite punctual). He sat next to me and called over a waitress and ordered a beer of his own. It seemed he lived above the restaurant, and perhaps even owned it, though the thought was muddled up a bit in translation. Taking very small and shallow sips from my beer, still a bit on edge, I asked some basic “getting to know you” questions, and he did the same, best as his vocabulary could manage. I hid my stunning ignorance of football with over-reactions to apparently exciting moments in the game (though honestly, more and more I’m finding it a sport I can get in to. I’ve got my right eye on the game here in Terminal 6 at Danang Airport).

A plate of sweet potato fries arrived, and then just before halftime, his son joined us. Initially shy, the 12-ish year old eventually recited some of his English lessons with me, and I did the best I could to learn about what primary school in Vietnam was like. I was beginning to relax.

Then they arrived, 4 whole sparrows, plucked, stuffed with a kind of spicy garlic relish, and perhaps baked or broiled. I had heard of a similar French dish, a local delicacy that would have you throw up a net, take the trapped birds and toss them into a dark box filled with millet, where they’d gorge themselves in the darkness. You would then drown them in Armangac, pluck, and bake whole, whereafter tradition would have you eat them equally whole, hunched over the table with your head covered by a large dinner napkin to hide any juicy barbarism.

We eschewed the tenting, and chewed openly instead on the birds for what seemed like minutes, masticating their tougher-than-expected frames, skull, wing and all.

Disgusting? Not really. The texture was difficult, the flavor surprisingly bland, the heat of the relish intense. Questions between Quang and I dwindled. The Heineken flowed. Inevitably, the topic turned to women.

“You have girlfriend?”

“No!” I laugh. “No I don’t.”

An honest answer.

“Ahh, you like Vietnam girls? Very beautiful!”

“Yes!” I guess.

“You come back Danang, I have friends, my wife, you meet. Very beautiful!”

“Ha-ha!” I laugh knowingly.

(Coming soon, a short essay on heterosexism.)

Then she appears from the street. The elder with the basket. Large, woven, filled with something. Something kept warm in the center.

“Mmm! You try this. Very good! Make you strong!” Quang puffs his chest.

What’s in the basket? Something to eat? Is it food? What is… oh… oh dear. It is.

Duck eggs. Boiled, fertilized, duck eggs. This is Balut, or the Vietnamese equivalent.

Balut is very popular in the Philippines and to my knowledge, areas of South America. Take a fertilized duck or chicken egg, allow the embryo to partially develop, then hard boil it.

Here’s how to eat it, now speaking from personal experience. You tap the fat end of the egg against a solid to break a small hole, from which you should suck out the surrounding juices. Then, peel, salt & pepper as desired, and eat.

Balut can be cooked at a number of stages in the developmental process. Fortunately, mine was perhaps first trimester, aborted early, as the experience was something like eating a hard boiled egg that was all yolk, but with veins running through it. Some people seem to discover quite a bit more structure upon the cracking.

Was my egg disgusting? Not particularly. Do I feel a compelling urge to try it again? NO. Do I feel mystically stronger? Well now that you mention it… NO.

It was in this way that I finally had an honest experience with a local. At the end of the game (Malaysia won), Quang refused to accept payment for dinner, and offered to drive me home in his Ford, an offer which I felt comfortable accepting. The following morning brought rain, rain and more rain, canceling my plans for Hoi An. The weather report was bleak, and so I booked a ticket for Hanoi, and spent the afternoon watching Harry Potter 7 (Part 1).

THE TRAVEL DIARY – A Quick Note on Cooking (Updated!)

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I may have previously mentioned that while in Siem Reap, Cambodia, I took part in a cooking class at Le Tigre de Papier, a French owned restaurant recommended by Lonely Planet. Here’s a recap!

It began with a brief walk through the local market, where I witnessed a baby being bathed in a bucket on the floor, next to some writhing black fish and chicken parts. We surveyed the fascinating and delicious fruit and vegetable selections, dried spice mixes, and the like. No purchases were made, it was just to get a sense of the ingredients while our prep-cooks were working away upstairs.

Next it was up to the test kitchen to select and prepare our dishes. We could each choose a starter and entree, and as a group select a dessert. I chose Banana Flower Salad for the starter, and the Cambodian classic Seafood Amok for the main course. Together we decided upon Mango with Sticky Rice for dessert.

The banana flower is a wonderful creature. Harvested before bloom, if you bisect it and peer closely, you can see the mini-banana’s beginning to form in layers between the petals. The insides are diced for the salad, and the outer leaves reserved for presentation and plating.

Amok is something like a stew with a coconut base. The amok paste itself is made up of a mixture of lemongrass, turmeric (the yellow color), finger root (a relative of ginger), and a few other things. Throw in some squid, fish & prawns, some stock, and you’re on your way. I cannot wait to make this back home, I just hope I can find all the ingredients (chinatown ho!).

Along the way we made garnishes, including carrot wedges and a tomato flower, which is far simpler than it might seem. We also made small bowls from banana leaves, with the decidedly non-traditional aid of a stapler.

The results were delicious. Have a look!

I also threw in some of the photos from my night out. My country my beer!

UPDATE – Food lovers watch this!

I was just browsing through Reddit and came upon this fascinating video. If you ever wonder why the food in this part of the world is so flavorful, it might have something to do with this. I can guarantee that the chicken I’m eating on the street (that doesn’t come from KFC) is of the fit and able variety.

BROWNSTONER REFERENCES MY PHOTO

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Hey all, just thought I’d share a happy curiosity. I’m currently in Saigon, digesting a huge bowl of Pho, and discovered an unusually high view count for my Flickr feed. Turns out, two days ago Brownstoner referenced a photo of mine in relation to a story about Staubitz Butcher Shop in Brooklyn changing its front sign. I guess a Flickr search revealed my pic to them and it was the best on offer? If you are in the market for some top-quality meat, I do recommend them, along with Marlowe & Daughters.

Staubitz Market

Have a look:

http://www.brownstoner.com/brownstoner/archives/2010/12/changing_of_the_4.php