You have been thinking about jelly beans since Easter Sunday. You retrace your childhood steps downstairs to find a chocolate bunny sitting upright in a sea of cellophane grass. You admire the marshmallow peeps, aware that many jelly beans are hiding beneath the glossy, green, waves. It never crosses your mind what those colorful pellets might represent.

Finally, you give in. You pull into the drug store parking lot and score a bag of half-priced jelly beans. And now you are feeling sick on your way to pick up a pizza, a special treat for a difficult week. You try not to heap stress on top of your general unease. You turn on the radio, searching for the perfect song. Stay between the lines. You are probably just thirsty. Sugar does that.

You do not know why you like Longmire so much. Soap operas are not your style. You think of what Bob told you about his grandparents, about how their soap operas took priority over their grandkids, and how you used to think they were using TV to escape reality.

The show is set in a fictional county in Wyoming. Walt Longmire, the local Sherriff, is nothing to write home about. The plot elements are predictable and full of holes. There is always a body, multiple suspects, a splash of sexual tension, a measure of distrust, somebody spends time in the jail cell that sits in the middle of the sheriff’s office, and someone always ends up confessing everything to Walt.

No one warned you that Walt, Vic, Ruby, Ferg, Branch, Cady, Henry Standing Bear, Matthias, Travis, and even Jacob Nighthorse, grow on you. No matter how bad the dialogue, or how deep the plot holes, you want to know what the characters will do next. You had no idea it would be so addictive, as irresistible as the sugar in those jelly beans.

You realize that you are using the show as mental floss. Washing away the cares of the day by immersing yourself in a story that does not even faintly resemble your own reality. It would be counter-productive if you were able to place yourself in their shoes. The more improbable, the better. You are self-medicating with sugar and TV.

Finally, you make it home with the pizza. Bob has pulled down the movie screen and hooked the laptop to the projector. Your heart has calmed down. “What will it be tonight?” Bob asks as you carry your plates to the living room. “Oh, I don’t know. A bear mauling? Maybe a drug overdose? Arrows?” You cannot wait to find out.

I’ve heard Bob say that BLTs are the perfect food so often, that I’ve come to believe it. The health benefits of lettuce and tomatoes are obvious, but news stories about mayonnaise are a pleasant surprise. I remember one about a plane wreck survivor who stayed alive by eating mayonnaise snow cones, and another about Creme Puff, a cat who lived to be 38 on a diet of broccoli, asparagus, bacon, and mayonnaise.

BLTs on sourdough bread bump Bob’s theory into sacred territory. This morning Bob made himself two sandwiches, one on sourdough, and one on the last two slices of ordinary bread. The toasted sourdough made the better sandwich, he said, because it was “more interesting; tangy!”

Bob’s history with the ultimate sandwich goes back to his childhood years in Ghana, when the family cook pampered him with BLTs. We celebrated our first three or four years together with frequent servings of his perfect food. I remember the can of bacon grease beside the stove. I kept it because I’d heard that bacon grease would heal any equine wound, but I don’t recall ever using it on our horses. We’ve since replaced the bacon with tofu, tempeh, and Morningstar Farm bacon strips.

Bread is so fundamental to our diet that we’ve been baking our own since forever. Bob has such a preference for sandwiches, that I’ve nicknamed him “Sandwich Man”. He will find a way to turn nearly any meal into a sandwich. When faced with a bowl of beans and tortillas, he makes burritos. Tofu scramble and toast become “egg” sandwiches. I love the ease of a sandwich, and so we have them for dinner two or three times a week: Cheezsteaks, Sloppy Joes, Grilled Cheez, Cheezburgers, and Rubenz.

We’re especially attracted to sourdough because it tastes so darned good. As an added bonus, its leavening we don’t have to buy. I love the idea that such an essential ingredient makes itself. Sourdough tastes like independence.

More than a flavorful way to rise bread, starters are heirlooms, cherished pets that won’t die until you stop feeding them. Many bakers name their starters. I love that idea, and I’m leaning towards Stinky, or Homer (as in Homer Simpson, “D’oh!”).

It had been at least six years since I baked a loaf of sourdough bread, and I was a little nervous about test driving Linda’s starter. But, with the rich flavor of that BLT lingering in my mouth, I’m happy I plunged in. If we keep eating the perfect food, I may be feeding our new pet for another thirty years. And after that? Well, don’t be surprised if I leave Homer to you in my will!

Here’s my sourdough bread recipe:

Day 1 morning: Feed 50 grams of starter 50 grams each of water and flour.
Day 1 evening: Feed what is now 150 grams of starter with 150 grams each of water and flour. Split off 50 grams and refrigerate until time to feed again in a week. Add 1 tablespoon salt and 1 1/2 cups of water to the remaining starter. Mix well, and add about three cups of flour, enough to make a very wet dough. Let the dough rise in a covered bowl on the counter overnight. Note: you can rise it in the refrigerator for another day or two if you don’t have time to bake the next day, but it will take longer for it to warm up and start rising.

Day 2 morning: Knead another cup or two of flour into the risen dough and let rise until double.
Day 2 afternoon: Knead briefly and put into a proofing bowl until nearly doubled in size
Day 2 evening: Bake at 410 degrees Fahrenheit in a covered Dutch oven for 25 minutes, uncover and bake another 15. Note: make sure the Dutch oven has been heating in the oven since you turned it on. Cool the loaf on a rack. After the bread has cooled, wrap it in plastic to make the crust easier to slice. If you prefer crusty bread, leave it unwrapped.

Day 3 morning: Slice and eat!

We didn’t always have a menu. Like many, Bob and I used to get home hungry after an eight or nine hour day and start thinking about dinner. We’d look in the refrigerator, hoping to come up with something we could make in a hurry without having to run to the store. Or we’d order a pizza. Or open a can of soup and make some sandwiches.

But that was years ago. Now, we always know what we’re having for dinner, sometimes several days in advance, and we can have it ready to eat half an hour after we get home.

It started with a few favorites. We love Italian food so Friday night became Itey Nite, eagerly anticipated vanguard of the weekend. Mexican and Asian soon became standard weekly fare. For as long as I can remember, the Sunday night meal involved potatoes and some chicken-like “meat.” These days we celebrate Sunday night with KFT (Kentucky Fried Tofu).

Bob has always grown food and after all that work it would be a crying shame to waste any of it, so I developed a robust kitchen habit. Nothing makes dinner easier than rinsed lettuce, chopped onions, roasted garlic, pre-cooked beets, and so on. I’d make salads and bake bread, too. After we stopped eating animals, I started making vegan “meat”.

A few years ago I doubled efficiency when I found a magnetic dry erase calendar. I stuck it on the side of the refrigerator next to our prep counter. I plan the menu in black and the prep list in orange. I use an adjacent white board for a shopping list. It is ridiculously easy to stay on track.

Nothing is written in stone. That’s why we use a white board. Whatever comes in the door is what we eat. The menu lets us make the best use of perishable food, helps us meet our goals of eating local, sustainably-grown food, and gives us something to anticipate at the end of the day.

What’s a menu? It’s a guide to delicious, healthy food every night of the week!

As if we needed one more reason to boycott factory-farmed animal products, here comes another horror story. It all started earlier this year when the Department of Agriculture began issuing warnings to the poultry industry. H5N2 was knocking wild birds out of the sky, birds sick with highly pathogenic avian influenza. Within a few months, outbreaks began occurring in domesticated flocks.

In Iowa, avian flu spread wildly through tightly packed egg factories, prompting them to declare a state of emergency. Similar stories soon poured across the Midwest. In April, Minnesota lost 7% of its turkey production. To date close to 50 million birds have died of the flu or were killed to staunch the epidemic.

This is horrible on several levels. Egg consumers, especially bakeries and breakfast cafes are taking a hard hit as the price of eggs doubles. International exporters are losing money due to poultry bans from a dozen countries. U.S. Poultry farmers are starting over after being only partially compensated for the lost and culled birds. USDA officials are scrambling to determine how the disease is spread and there are murmurs of fear should the flu manage to jump species and begin infecting humans.

Not to mention the birds themselves; suffering and being put to death. No wait, that’s nothing new for them. The life of animals in Confined Animal Feeding Operations is so bad, that “premature” death is likely a blessing.

Bottom line, cramming thousands of animals into tight spaces is a recipe for disaster. To survive the stress of their environment, they are fed antibiotics and other unnatural fare. One whiff of virus and their immune systems succumb. This is no way to keep animals and a bad way to feed human beings.

Sources:

Health Impact News
Avian Flu Outbreak Among Chickens—How Long Can we Continue this Failed Food System? – June 25
“These animals are fed a completely unnatural diet of glyphosate-containing genetically engineered (GE) grains mixed with antibiotics—a surefire recipe for drug resistance and out-of-control spread of disease, both among animals and humans.”
“Amy Mayer, an Iowa Public Radio reporter told PBS5 that scientists are still struggling to figure out how the outbreak was able to spread as widely as it has.”

Rochester Home Page
Avian influenza causes egg shortage – June 24
“Nearly 50 million birds have died, mainly in the Midwest”

Times Free Press
Consumers feel the pain as bird flu outbreak causes egg prices to soar – June 22
“It’s normally a $35 to $45 expense — but not this time.
“I paid $80 for the case I bought last week,” she said. “I feel the pain, yes.”

Eco Watch
Avian Flu Epidemic Prompts CDC Warning of ‘Potential for Human Infection’- June 3
The U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) has released an official advisory to warn health workers and clinicians of the potential for human infection of the devastating avian flu currently ravaging the Midwest.

Business insider
Dozens of countries are banning US poultry because of a huge bird flu outbreak – April 30
“Dozens of countries have imposed total or partial bans on U.S. poultry and poultry imports since an outbreak of highly pathogenic avian influenza (HPAI) was discovered in December.

Each of the top 10 importers has introduced restrictions. Total bans have been imposed by China, South Korea and Angola, whose markets were valued at nearly $700 million last year.”

Wall Street Journal
Escalating Bird-Flu Outbreak Takes Toll on U.S. Poultry Farms – April 24
“Researchers think it is spreading through the droppings of wild ducks and geese as they migrate to the upper Midwest to breed during the warmer months of the year. But it’s unclear how the virus enters already tightly managed poultry houses, which typically are enclosed to prevent exposure to pathogens and predators.”
“Farmers whose birds are determined through USDA testing to have a case of the influenza receive compensation from the agency for birds that must be destroyed. But payments don’t cover birds that die from the flu, which can rapidly move through flocks.”

Hawaii Tribune-Herald
Ag department warns of avian flu – April 1, 2015
The state Department of Agriculture warned Hawaii commercial and backyard poultry and bird owners Tuesday to be vigilant because of outbreaks of highly pathogenic avian influenza (HPAI) H5 along the Pacific migratory bird path.

Daily KOS
CAFOs and Avian Flu – February 25, 2007
“Stressed out animals fed an unnatural diet and living in filth on bare earth or concrete, or cramped into tiny cages, get sick very easily. Very easily. Only large and regular doses of powerful antibiotics make the business model viable.”

You wouldn’t know it to look at me, but I struggle with my weight. I’m a compulsive nibbler, a secret snacker; convinced that cold leftovers eaten over the sink have no calories. Like my father, I weigh myself every day, and like him I cut back on calories after slipping into the high zone. Unlike my dad, I graph my weight on an excel spreadsheet.

As a teenager, I morphed from Twiggy-esque 12-year-old to plump 14, but quickly lost 25 pounds after I started dating, placing myself back into the fashionable underweight zone. Since then, my weight has been a yo-yo of highs and lows. I dance on the high side of BMI Normal, seldom resting in the coveted under-21 range. Of late, I’ve been stuck in a five-pound spread.

It irks me that I so frequently sabatoge my desire to eat sensibly. It’s not about the pounds, it’s my chagrin when I realized I just eaten something I wasn’t even hungry for or worse, the queasy bloat of an overloaded stomach. I’m smarter than this, disciplined in every other area of my life,  and yet I continually lose control when it comes to food.

Sure, sure – it’s understandable. Easy calories are everyone’s bugaboo. We’re genetically programmed to eat, and unprepared to deal with an endless buffet of rich food. My culture is lousy with food, it’s all around me and ridiculously affordable. You can’t walk into a room without some free treat staring you in the face. No one goes hungry in a country where the impoverished are obese.

“Better than Before” to the rescue! I just finished reading Gretchen Rubin’s chapter on loopholes and learned that I’m especially adept at “moral licensing” (I earned it), “lack of control” (I can’t help it) and “this doesn’t count” (cold leftovers, chips and dip, food no one saw me eat – you name it.) So much food, so many excuses! “My friend made this for me.” “It’s free.” “We’re celebrating.” “I’m in a restaurant.” “Everyone else is eating it.” “I skipped lunch.” “We’re on vacation.” “I’ve been working SO hard.” “Loosen up.” “I’m starving.”

My challenge is to spackle up those pesky loopholes by making it hard to do the wrong thing (padlock the refrigerator?) and easy to do the right thing (drink more water.) Other strategies include going outside before reaching for a snack, doing yoga before meals, and no desserts in the house, ever.

I raise a glass of water in a toast to my own resolve. Here’s to leaping over the cheap calorie trap. Here’s to mindful eating. Here’s to freedom from temptation, an end to squirrely behavior, and lowering my five-pound spread to the coveted 20 BMI zone.

Up until then, it had been a good day all the way around. Amy and I hired our neighbor Owusu to take us shopping for food and drinking water, getting a good start to the week. We triumphed in our hunt for the bakery my friend Lena told me about, carrying our prized package of freshly baked flat bread reverently back to the cab. We scored a dozen pieces of tofu at the Chinese grocery, fueling promises of KFT (Kentucky friend tofu) and scrambled ‘eggs’. We found perfect avocados, beautiful green peppers and coconut milk for under 3 cedis a can ($1.50.)

At the Chinese store, Amy and I happily greeted our friends with hearty “Ni hao’s!” The older lady’s sister had just arrived from China and effusively pressed a piece of candy into each of our hands and then a bright red package with some kind of confection in it. Swept up in the moment and wanting to show my appreciation, I ate my treat with a big smile while our Ghanaian friends filled our plastic container with tofu.

It was a slightly sweet and fluffy cake the consistency of a Twinkie filled with some kind of stringy/chewy stuff. I suspected I might be eating dried squid but I was a good sport and ate it anyhow. Bob and I ate a lot of dried squid during our time in China fifteen years ago. I remember taking a big package of the white, twisted strands, essentially squid jerky on our long train ride to Mount Tiashan and it proved to be a satisfying salty and chewy protein snack.

Several hours after we returned home, my stomach started hurting. I was embarrassingly gassy and had to go to the pot before dinner. I thought it was the mouthful of week-old black beans I ate for breakfast but then I got to thinking about that Chinese snack. “I wonder what was in that thing I ate?” I mused as I dried dishes. Amy, stirring a pot of lentils asked what did it taste like and I said it tasted like a Squid Twinkie.

At dinner, which we ate by torch light after a big rain storm blew in and the power went out, Amy passed her unopened treat to Justin and asked him if he could read the package. “Definitely meat” he said, pointing to the first character. He opened it and pulled off a small piece, putting it in his mouth. Yup, it was stringy alright. After some more inspection and chewing, he pronounced it to be pork. Now the pain in my stomach made more sense. “It’s all those enzymes waking up,” Amy observed, familiar with the feeling as she suffers from an inability to digest beans.

I didn’t feel like I would throw up and my discomfort did not stop me from dishing up a healthy portion of bulgur and lentils. My intestines seemed to have the situation in order and with another trip to the bathroom, I was able to sleep through the night. My stomach is pretty hardy and I’m nearly back to normal this morning, wishing I’d taken a picture of Justin pulling this thing apart in the light of our flashlights. This is the first time meat has passed my lips since that time Tami brought pea soup to potluck a few years ago. I recognized the chewy texture, followed by the realization that I was eating pork and I remember having a pain in my stomach after dinner that night, too.

The horror of yesterday’s violence lingers as well. After the brutal Newtown school shootings, I asked my cousin Frank in an email if he remembered these kinds of things happening when he was growing up. He answered:

Cookie, no I don’t remember mass killings when we were kids, not exactly sure when it all started. It is a result, I think of who we are and what we have become, too many people on the planet. It appears to be some form of cannibalism I suspect. As a species I know we can be brilliant and civilized but, after all we’re just a bunch of fucking animals. I was told that the same day of the Sandy Hook killings that there was a similar killing in China only there it was done with a knife. I can’t remember a more tragic and sad day.

One minute there is joy and triumph and the next, you are wondering what hit you. Sending my thoughts reeling. Were humans always this way or is this a new thing brought on by over population? Are we inherently violent as a species and if so, why isn’t the massive presence of organized religion having a positive impact? Is this a cultural thing, given the American appetite for war and torture, a terrorist act, or just some whacked-out mental patient seeking their moment of glory? Do the kind of people who hatch these plots even realize the difference between media violence and real blood, real severed limbs, real death? Is it a form of cannibalism?

One minute you think you are eating a sweet treat and the next you realize you’ve just eaten a dead pig. Such is the indigestible nature of life’s ponderables.

On our way to the fantastically cozy (I mean they have thought of everything!) Lovett Inn, we noticed a bumper sticker which read:

SAVE A COW, EAT A VEGETARIAN

With little else to do, we began to ponder this thought. First of all, pound for pound, you would have to eat about five humans to equal the weight of a beef steer. But, hey, let’s not let facts divert us from our desire to save cows.

The fact is, you could save a whole lot more cows by eating meat-etarians. Not only would you be replacing the beef you would have consumed, but you would forever end the consumption of beef by the people you just ate!

This reduction in demand for beef would lead to a reduction in the bovine population, which would reduce methane emissions and toxic runoff. As well as eliminating the environmental impact from the humans you ate. So, what started out as a startling concept on a bumper sticker, turned out to be a pretty good idea all the way around.

Just kidding. Happy Halloween!

And then there are the wing places; Buffalo Wild Wings, Wings ‘n Things, Wings to Go, Kings of Wings, Wing Stop and The Wing Pit. I’ll bet those chickens wish their wings didn’t taste so good.

The myriad of chicken places, pit barbeques and fast food fry pits all look like so much fun, it almost makes me wish I ate meat!

Note that the golden chick’s wings are not shown.

Two months ago, Bob started a container garden at work. We started harvesting basil and cilantro right away. Today we brought home a grocery bag full of chard and arugula. Tuesday, we’re going to fill another bag with lettuce and arugula. Soon, we’ll be eating beets and tomatoes. After that it will be eggplant and cucumbers.

This is not fast food. It takes time to grow, time to harvest and time to wash. I’ll cut up the chard, steam it and dress it with a little soy sauce and toasted sesame oil. The arugula is eaten raw in salads and sandwiches. I spend a couple of hours a day in the kitchen, washing and chopping, baking, steaming and boiling.

Slow Food is the antidote to Fast Food. Fast Food is killing our planet with greed for cheap, salty, sugary calories that coat the consumer’s internal organs with cottage cheese-like fat globules. Fast Food simultaneously provides comfort while feeding egos with the illusion of being too caught up in an important life to take time to nourish their bodies. Fast Food is invariably ordered, paid for, received and eaten in a moving car.

The rainforests are disappearing in order to satiate the Industrialized World’s appetite for 99-cent hamburgers. The real costs are largely ignored. It takes petrochemicals, growth hormones, antibiotics, spoilage retardants, packaging, refrigeration and shipping and to produce a Happy Meal.

All but the people at the top of the Fast Food industry have no clue what they are doing to their world. Everyone in the Slow Food industry knows exactly what he or she is trying to do for the earth.

It’s been hot, so I do my cooking in the morning while it is cool. We eat sandwiches and salads for dinner. When I bake, I make part of the dough into cabbage ‘burgers’ or calzones. When they come out of the oven, I cut some in half and take them over to Bob and Steve at work. They stop working and wash their hands. Bob walks out to the garden where he picks arugula to go with the burgers. Then we sit down and eat the warm buns and talk about whatever comes to mind.