family table to my table: redux Growing up in Michigan, my Mom was the primary cook in the household. Her rule was, “Cook what I make or go hungry.” She cooked relatively interesting and exotic meals, which, looking back, I think made me an adventurous eater. She regularly prepared tacos, chicken mole, Chinese-inspired stir-fry, and golumpkis – Polish cabbage rolls. I was used to her experimenting with international dishes, which she would present for dinner just as often as she would pot roast, spaghetti, and hamburgers. As a kid, I never questioned the semi-homemade nature of the Mexican dishes made with Ortega taco seasoning or “glamorized” Doña Maria mole sauce – to which Mom would always add her own twist. Despite these packaged dinner helpers, my Mom served mostly balanced meals with plenty of vegetables. Since my Grandpa was a farmer, we had ample access to tomatoes, zucchini, cucumbers, peppers, and corn. Until reading Melanie Werner’s book, Pandora’s Lunchbox, I wasn’t aware of exactly how dangerous packaged and processed items can be for overall health and wellbeing. Although our diet was balanced, as a young kid I couldn’t get enough of the snacks that 90’s kids such as myself saw on commercials and insisted we must take in our lunchbox to school. I think that at that young age it was a sort of status symbol. These snacks were certainly never on my radar as dangerous or unhealthy. As a kid, I never imagined that food – something meant to sustain life – could be unhealthy. I also don’t think that, as a kid, I would have understood that food could actually taste even more like food. I now relate with Chef Dan Barber’s experience of falling in love with the farm-raised fish. Through travel, working in restaurants, and living in different cities my palate has changed from enjoying chicken nuggets to preferring foie gras. I have continued to be an adventurous eater and have learned a great deal about international cuisine and cooking techniques through sharing meals with friends and roommates. While I was an undergrad at Grand Valley State University, I lived with a friend who taught me that I actually love Jewish cuisine. We ate brisket, lox and bagels, noodle kügel, all types of pickles, and horseradish. My friend was from Farmington Hills and I had no idea that dining preferences could vary so greatly just within the state of Michigan. As Rachel Herz explains in her article, That’s Disgusting: Unraveling the Mysteries of Repulsion, disgust and food preferences are learned behaviors. Luckily for me, my Mom’s inventive cooking taught me to be an open-minded and adventurous eater. Now, I travel purposely to try food from different cultures and regions. Living in Boston had a lasting effect on my diet and food preferences. Before I moved to Boston in 2012, I was bartending at a blue-collar Irish pub in downtown Lansing, Michigan. The restaurant industry attractive for a few reasons. First, it is fun. As my old boss used to say, “We get to play with food and wine all day!” Second, I rarely have to purchase groceries because restaurants offer “family meal” before shift and, as a manager, I was able to eat for free. Working in a restaurant means having access to better tasting food for much cheaper than the common person. Finally, restaurant jobs are readily available in every city and offer an immediate cost of living adjustment. These factors gave me the push I needed to pack up and move to Boston with the intention of immediately jumping into a restaurant gig. It only took me five days to land a serving job at a historic fine-dining establishment in downtown Boston. After that, it only took me eight months to become an assistant manager within the entire company. While working my way up through Boston’s cutthroat dining scene, I had access to high-quality ingredients prepared by award-winning chefs who were not elusive names but friends. After a year and a half of living in Boston, I switched jobs and began managing Harvest restaurant in Cambridge, Massachusetts. When Harvest opened in the 1970’s, it was the east coast’s first farm-to-table restaurant. The restaurant is a Harvard Square institution that has trained many now-famous chefs and it was even one of Julia Child’s favorite Cambridge haunts. I never had to question the quality of the food at Harvest because the chefs only sourced the highest quality ingredients. All of our fish was fresh caught, never frozen, and sustainably sourced. We served Giannone Farms chicken, Painted Hills Natural Beef, Hudson Valley duck, and even Niman Ranch bacon – one of the meat producers Jonathan Safran Foer discusses in his book, Eating Animals. I took my eating habits for granted as I regularly ate fresh lobster, raw oysters, foie gras, and predominantly organic produce. Tomatoes at Harvest actually tasted like tomatoes and not the watery, industrially produced versions that you find in the local grocery store. While they were butchering fish, the sous chefs at Harvest would slice off a fresh piece of halibut or tuna and hand it to me as I walked through the kitchen. I never had to worry that I might contract a foodborne illness because I knew that we only used the best quality fish. Particularly after reading Eating Animals, the thought of eating a raw cut of meat frightens me. Steak tartare, for example, is one of my favorite dishes. I will admit that when I first encountered the dish in Antibes, France, I was less than excited to dig into the lump of chopped, raw beef on my plate. Since that day in the South of France in 2008, however, I cannot get enough of raw items such as steak tartare, sashimi, and carpaccio. These dishes are common in fine-dining establishments in cosmopolitan coastal cities such as Boston. However, I would never dare touch them in a city like Lansing. Her ein Lansing, I am more likely to find the industrially-produced meat that Foer describes in Eating Animals. Also while living in Boston, I had access to cuisines from every country imaginable. My adventurous palate learned to crave items such as kimchi, bahn mí sandwiches, Caribbean mofongo, arepas, and Sichuan chili oil. While we were living together in Boston’s posh South End neighborhood, my friend Diego taught me how to make arepas – a staple in his hometown of Caracas, Venezuela – and also how to make nearly everything from scratch. As was the case with my roommate as an undergrad, living with Diego had a profound effect on my food preferences. Diego had never in his life used items like packaged taco seasoning, canned beans, or Cream of Mushroom Soup. Instead, he insisted on preparing his own spice mixes, using real cream, and dry beans, which are more cost effective and also lower in sodium. We shopped at the Copley Farmer’s Market, Barbara Lynch’s Butcher Shop, Formaggio cheese shop, and the nearby Asian supermarket. However, I maintained my Midwestern preference of dipping pizza in ranch dressing – a habit at which Diego still pokes fun. Preparing meals from scratch makes me feel in control of my own food. Using real, whole ingredients also makes me feel as though I am somehow living more authentically. I have a long history of not trusting industrial food and this class has reinforced this distrust. This brings me to one final, notable change in my life since the beginning of the semester. Last summer, I moved in with my Mom. I never thought that I would move back to Lansing, but, lo and behold, Michigan State University’s History Ph.D. program proved to be a perfect fit for my academic goals. So here I am. I live in Lansing and, for the first time since 2005, I live with my Mom. My Mom cooks me dinner almost every night. Although it is a strange adjustment, it is a kind gesture and welcome change of pace that removes a lot of daily stress from my life. While other grad students seem to mostly eat on the go, I have access to a fully stocked fridge and bring my lunch to campus every day. Between this drastic lifestyle change and participating in the Eating Industrial course, the ways that my eating habits have changed since I was a kid are highlighted for me each and every day. I have been eating less meat this semester, which causes a lot of tension at home. My Mom, who is a Midwestern farm girl at heart, insists that meat is a necessary part of a healthy diet. No matter how strong my case is regarding protein consumption, amino acids, and the horrors of factory farming, she just does not believe me. When I suggest that we eat less meat and, instead of watching for sales at Meijer, save up to purchase higher quality cuts of meat, she scoffs at me. It may be an uphill battle, but at least I’m saving money by living at home.
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perusing the grocery aisles in lansing, michiganLansing, Michigan offers a range of options for procuring groceries, depending on where in the capitol city one shops. Options range from farmers markets to corner stores to supermarket chains. In hopes of examining these dynamic shopping options, I set out to investigate three distinct locations. My first stop was the Grand Ledge Farmers Market (GLFM). The GLFM takes place every Saturday morning in a park along the Grand River in a quiet suburb located just West of the city. Only four booths were present at the market, which seemed like a small amount of vendors. It wasn’t clear to me if this was the norm or a symptom of cold weather and being late in the season. Of the four booths, two were selling a range of produce that was unique from the other, one man was selling farm-raised meat and eggs, and the fourth was selling homemade soft pretzels and dream catchers – a Native American charm that has oftentimes been appropriated and sold by the white community.
During my time at the market I only saw five other customers (all of whom were white). I looked conspicuous taking photos of the tiny market, which luckily led to a conversation with one of the farmers, who was happy to talk to me about his business. He explained to me that gardening is a part-time hobby for him and that he enjoys being able to feed his family and only sometimes makes a little money. “You should go talk to John,”[1] the man told me, “he’s been doing this for years and is a full-time farmer.” John, who appeared to be more reserved, was not as quick to offer information about his farm. I eventually led our conversation toward farming practices and organic certification. Each product had a sign guaranteeing that John’s produce is GMO-free. Although GMO safety is hotly debated (Harmon 2016), many health-conscious consumers prefer GMO-free and organic products. John, like the other farmers market vendors, was appealing to the health conscious who were concerned about eating GMO-, pesticide, antibiotic-, and grain-free products. Each of the vendors cultivated products that they themselves ate and fed to their families. They offered full transparency of the products, which is oftentimes missing within the industrial food system (Warner 2013). My next stop was Sunset Market, which is a nondescript store in downtown Lansing. The store is located in a food desert (McMillan 2012) where neighborhood inhabitants require a vehicle in order to reach fully stocked grocery stores. Sunset Market’s exterior advertises its notable services: “Fresh Meat,” “Check Cashing,” “Boost Mobile,” and “Moneygram.” The store clerk greeted me warmly when I entered the small store that was crowded with rows of items for sale, as well as items still in the boxes they were shipped in. There were no fancy, brand name store displays to be found. The smell of raw meat and pungent spices permeated the space, transporting me to the Brazilian markets I frequented while living in Boston. The deli case featured chorizo, beef liver, sliced deli meat, smoked turkey, and more. Signs behind the deli counter advertised 16-55 pound meat bundles that allow customers to purchase various types and cuts of meat in bulk. They did not include the price, leading me to believe it may change according to market value. Taped to the deli case was a handwritten sign advertising the week’s Mega Millions Lottery payout – perhaps the most noticeable piece of advertising in the store. None of the meat was advertised as “grass-fed” or “hormone-free.” The meat’s origins were hidden, although I did not ask. Of the limited produce that was available – cabbage, iceberg lettuce, sweet potatoes, tomatoes, lemons, limes, carrots, onion – none of it was advertised as “Organic” or “GMO-free,” as were the products I found at the farmer’s market. Sunset Market does carry a lot of bulk spices and grains, however, as well as a number of international brands. Amongst popular US brands like Hormel and Heinz were Middle Eastern brands featuring products described in Arabic on their labels. There were numerous Latin American brands such as: Goya, Jarritos, Topo Chíco, La Preferida, and Café Bustelo. Alongside Michigan-made fried batter mixes were tortillas of all types, cornhusks, and dried chilies. The store’s staff spoke to customers in English and Spanish alike, treating everyone with the same Midwestern courtesy. The store clerks were not rude when two customers, still dressed in pajamas about not being able to cash a check. They said hello to each customer, referring to many by name and asking after their family. When I checked out, they introduced themselves to me and asked if I am new to the neighborhood. Sunset Market is located in an area of Lansing where inhabitants must drive a minimum of four miles to reach a large grocery store chain. By accommodating customers from a variety of backgrounds, Sunset Market is able to answer the needs of the blue-collar neighborhood, as well as providing a social environment for patrons. Wal-Mart Supercenter, on the other hand, offers little to none of these socializing aspects. Customers can’t walk to the store, which is located in a shopping center off the highway on Lansing’s west side. Wal-Mart is housed in a garish warehouse with an open ceiling, cement floor, and fluorescent lights. Employees became invisible amongst the endless rows of home goods, small appliances, electronics, crafts, clothing, automotive supplies, toys, alcohol, groceries, and more. The grocery aisles were stocked with multiple brands of every processed food item imaginable. Cheaply priced pop was prominently displayed in center aisles, alongside bulk boxes of snack foods and paper products. No part of the store appeared natural. Wal-Mart’s produce section larger variety of than Sunset Market and the GLFM combined. Upon closer inspection, I found that much of it had been cut and pre-packaged in a facility in Arkansas. This was a stark contrast from the GLFM where the vendors grew the products they sold and shared an intimate knowledge of their products’ lifecycles. Many customers hurried through the store with their carts stocked full, hardly noticing each other except for the Midwestern, “Sorry,” as they bumped into one another. The employees were silently re-stocking shelves and checking out customers at the cash registers. None of them were as willing to chat as the farmers were. Although visiting three stores does not provide enough information to make generalized claims about the capitol city’s grocery shopping scene, I have made note of some glaring differences. Advertising is one major differentiator between the GLFM, Wal-Mart, and Sunset Market. However, it is clear that each location features a different socializing aspect that answers to the vendor and client all the same. [1] Names have been changed to protect the privacy of my interviewees. chef alice waters' edible schoolyard and |
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