waltondammerung

Another good quote

"Jesus Christ has not tenderness whatever toward anything that is ultimately to ruin a man in the service of God. Our Lord's answers are based not on caprice, but on a knowledge of what is in man. If the Spirit of God brings to your mind a word of the Lord that hurts you, you may be sure that there is something that he wants to hurt to death." Oswald Chambers

Ouch. So much for ignoring twinges of conscience over "small" things.

"Money dignifies...

...what is frivolous if unpaid for." Virginia Woolf

Today I was flipping through a book of quotes I keep, and I renewed my acquaintance with that one. It's very true, although I'm sure my economist husband would argue that it's not necessarily a bad thing. :)

Ouch

Since I've given up on the triathlon, maybe I should participate in one of these.

Tired of being tired.

So, for anyone interested in my drowsiness problems, I've had an overnight sleep test that confirmed that I have moderate sleep apnea, which means I stop breathing about 18 times an hour. For obvious reasons, that leads to me not feeling rested when I get up in the morning. Last night I went in for another overnight observation where they hooked me up to this machine that pushes air into my nose that's supposed to help me breathe (and therefore, to help me sleep). I felt like I was drowning with the thing on, even after all kinds of adjustments and after the tech replaced the nose attachment with one that covered my nose and mouth. I couldn't sleep most of the night. And this is the thing that's supposed to help me feel better if I wear it every night. Thanks, but no thanks. Unfortunately, there aren't many alternatives. I could wear a dental device that pulls my lower jaw forward, which I guess would open up the air passages in my throat. Unfortunately, I'm already getting orthodontic treatment (coincidentally, to pull my lower jaw forward), so that option is out. That leaves me with... continuing to deal with it the same way I have for the last 20-some-odd years, I guess, and trying to avoid driving long distances. It's not the worst health problem in the world, but I really was hoping that something could be done about it.

The skinny on being 28

For the last few months, random people have been telling me how skinny I am out of the blue. Today it was someone on the train. Sometimes it's complete strangers, sometimes people who have known me for a number of years. It's not like I've lost weight--in fact, I've put on a few pounds recently. The only significant thing I can think of that's changed about me in recent months is that I turned 28. How is it possible that the same weight that made me despair of being a cheerleader in high school (well, okay, there are other good reasons, too) and that had people telling me I was "hippy" in college has people telling me I'm skinny as I hurtle toward the big 3-0? After being the same weight--give or take five pounds--for half my life now, what is so magical that all of a sudden makes people tell me I'm skinny? I know plenty of people who are skinnier than me. Does this happen to them, too? Is it because I've reached an age where so many women are trying to work of baby fat, and I haven't had to deal with that yet? Do I look like I need a compliment to cheer me up? I'm not trying to brag that people are telling me I'm skinny or fish for compliments, so please don't leave any comments along those lines. I just find the whole thing extremely odd and puzzling.

Taming the savage

We saw Ratouille the other day. It was great, and in its honor, here is a blog post about rats and food:

During my first few days of my new commute, I read “The Omnivore’s Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals” by Michael Pollan. It took me a few reading sessions to figure out what was bothering me about this book. At first, it seemed only that it annoyed me that Pollan didn’t take full advantage of a topic that is ripe for puns. It turns out, however, that it simply wasn’t meeting my expectations for the genre. In a book that purports to illuminate a controversial or political topic like the food industry and vegetarianism, one expects such a title to be a half-hearted attempt to demonstrate that the author sincerely understands the problem before launching into a solution that has seemed completely obvious to him all along. Often, such titles are laced with irony (A Modest Proposal) or are simply stating the problem that the writer hopes the reader will agree is neatly solved by the end of the book (The Problem of Pain, Globalization and its Discontents). Insecurity is the last thing I expected when I cracked the cover, but it is the dominant characteristic of the book and its author. Rather than seeking to rationally solve the dilemma, the book is a narrative of it.

That is not to say that Pollan does not have an agenda. He is clearly in favor of some sort of food cultivation that treats animals humanely, uses as few chemicals as possible, is transparent to the consumer (what journalist wouldn’t be?) and, if possible, mimics nature. One has only to read the last few sentences of the book to figure that out:
“But imagine for a moment if we once again knew, strictly as a matter of course, these few unremarkable things: What it is we’re eating. Where it came from. How it found its way to our table. And what, in a true accounting, it really cost. We could then talk about some other things at dinner. For we would no longer need any reminding that however we choose to feed ourselves, we eat by the grace of nature, not industry, and what we’re eating is never anything more or less than the body of the world.”

Unfortunately for anyone hoping to make an argument like Pollan’s, there is surprisingly little scientific or sociological research out there that either confirms or denies the value of organic (or, what Pollan advocates, “super organic”) food for our health or our culture. Or that is Pollan’s excuse, at least, when he does not cite many sources of that sort.

Although the book contains copious kernels of information, especially concerning the cultivation of corn (I finally know where the name “corned beef” comes from), almost none of it actually directly supports his argument. What’s a foody to do? When reason is unavailable as a tool for argument, a man unsure of his own mind is apt to turn toward the most powerful personality. Fittingly, the book is less a testament to Pollan’s persusive powers than to the sense of absolute certainty with which two of his central characters embrace their own food philosophies. (I suppose I could call them “interviewees” instead of “characters”, but this is, after all, practically a food novel.) Certainty is like a magnet to Pollan. He spills quite a bit of ink extolling the virtues of Polyface Farm, a nearly self-sustaining farm in Virginia that only sells its products locally. The farm is owned and run by Joel Salatin, who is as certain that his is the right way to farm as he is that it’s okay to kill animals because they do not have souls. Then there’s the rest of the book, where a cornucopia of description about a particular person is once again available. This time it’s a semi-professional hunter-gatherer whom Pollan describes as his Virgil in the world of the shortened food chain. In both cases, the charisma of the characters must do tremendous work toward persuading their acquaintances to follow their lifestyles (or at least buy their food).

When the lives and personalities of Pollan’s characters may fail to persuade, Pollan puts his own narrative power to work. Early in the book, Pollan identifies what actually differentiates most organic foods from their industrial counterparts and makes them so appealing to many people—pastoral narrative describing how the food was raised. He labels it a deception fabricated by a very industrial organic food industry, and then proceeds to robe his own food agenda in layers of the purplest pastoral. He even admits that is what he is doing at one point, after he has waxed overly poetic about his hunting trip: “Wait a minute. Did I really write that last paragraph? Without irony? That’s embarrassing. I’m actually writing about a hunter’s ‘instinct,’ suggesting that the hunt represents some sort of primordial union between two kinds of animals, one of which is me? This seems a bit much.” He seems to be shocked at himself, but he is unapologetic: “Irony—the outside perspective—easily withers everything about hunting, shrinks it to the proportions of boy’s play or atavism. And yet at the same time I found that there is something about the experience of hunting that puts irony itself to rout. In general, experiences that banish irony are much better for living than for writing. But there it is: I enjoyed shooting a pig a whole lot more than I ever thought I would have.” Where there is no scientific or even simply reasonable argument to be made, Pollan appeals to the sensibilities and instincts of his readers through compelling stories. One starts to wonder whether he is good buddies with (freaky documentarist dude)

For all of his shock over his use of the word “instinct” in his hunting passage, he is certainly unashamed to employ it liberally in the rest of the book. Words like “primitive” and “instinct” pepper the passages in which there is the least amount of rational argument or supporting evidence. Pollan relies heavily on a common idea of what seems natural and on common conceits of what pre-civilized man was like, without any evidence to support these conceits. There’s nothing to support the idea that chickens are better off free to roam, but doesn’t it just seem like it ought to be the case? We should avoid the pathetic fallacy when it comes to figuring out how cows feel about death, but common sense should just tell you that, while cows don’t feel much pain or contemplate the questions of existence and death, there is just something wrong about the way animals are treated in feed lots.

Of course, these techniques of persuasion are actually entirely in keeping with the actual dilemma of the omnivore, at least as Pollan sees it. The dilemma, of course, is the tyranny of choice. Given the ability to eat almost anything, what should an omnivore choose? Pollan gives the example of another omnivore, the rat, who learns through trial and error as well as an instinctual (there it is again) sense of what may make him sick. Human beings have similar tools at our disposal, as well as the guidance of other omnivores: “In deciding whether or not to ingest a new food, the omnivore will happily follow the lead of a fellow omnivore who has eaten the same food and lived to talk about it. This is one advantage we have over the rat, which has no way of sharing with other rats the results of his digestive experiments with novel foodstuffs. For the individual human, his community and culture successfully mediate the omnivore’s dilemma, telling him what other people have safely eaten in the past as well as how they ate it. Just imagine if we had to decide every such edibility question on our ownL only the bravest or most foolish if us would ever eat a mushroom.” (372)

And so we are left to feel persuaded, or not, by the experience of selected others and a supposedly common sense of what is or ought to be instinctual. Even in the presence of some scientific evidence, Pollan argues, we should trust tradition and instinct to guide us where food is concerned. Science has failed us in the past, but culture and instinct cannot. After all, we have thousands of years of food cultivation experience and millions of years of biological evolution to thank for the solutions these two things pose to the omnivore’s dilemma. Although I remain unconvinced that those two things are sufficient to change my eating habits, I actually appreciate being made to think a little harder about what I put into my mouth and where it came from. Of course, immediately after reading it, I grilled myself some frozen chicken breasts from Costco and sauced them with a mélange of the most processed of foods (Diet Coke, ketchup, industrially dehydrated garlic and onion, steak sauce, and some sort of mysterious hot sauce with a rooster on the bottle), so his powers of persuasion can’t be all that formidable. I am not sure that his is a bad approach—I’m certainly not immune to the powers of Tradition. But even this powerful tool is a weak weapon in Pollan's hands; for all of his digging into the rich earth of information about agriculture, he has very little to support his appeals to a common sense of food tradition. I am about as persuaded of the virtues of free-range food by his foody novella as I am convinced of the myth of the Noble Savage after reading Rousseau’s Emile.

Historionics

My company had a seminar for managers on the history and goals of the company yesterday. Kind of weird to think that I work at a place that's been doing basically the same thing since different regions of the country had their own currencies. People complain a lot about globalization over the last few decades, but a lot of it's stuff that happened within our own borders in the previous decades, and we don't really seem to be too much worse off for it.

I'm having fruit for dinner again

I love summer.

Like a jacuzzi on tracks

I’ve commuted by train and by bike for six days now and found that it’s a bit tiring but thoroughly enjoyable. I didn’t realize how irritable and stressed out I felt after driving every day until I stopped doing it. Not sitting in completely unpredictable traffic with frustrating drivers makes me feel like I have some degree of control. Funny how that works—I feel more in control in a train on tracks driven by someone I can’t even see than I do in my own car.

The arrival of the parental units is imminent!

My parents are arriving this morning! Huzzah!

This waltondammerung post brought to you by ridiculously cheap airfares to and from Columbus, OH. Seriously, even if you have no reason to visit Ohio other than to see the giant Longaberger basket and the Indian Mounds (Kellee and Aaron. Ahem.), it's worth going just for the cheap, cheap airfare. Sometimes you can get tickets for as low as $10 round-trip.

Misc yumminess

I love lamb. So does Josh. It's sort of a revelation to me since I never ate it growing up. Once I realized just how darn cheap lamb chops are, I decided to start cooking lamb a lot. This is my favorite lamb recipe so far (well, okay, the only one I've tried). It's delicious and oh-so-simple to make. It's a 20-minute recipe that actually takes 20 minutes. Even when you have to chop up fresh tomatoes instead of using canned. It's especially good with the fresh rosemary I am growing on my porch. If you live nearby and would like a few sprigs, just say the word.

Tuscan Lamb Chop Skillet
Ingredients:
8 lamb rib chops, cut 1 inch thick (11⁄2pounds)
2 teaspoons olive oil
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 can 19-ounce white kidney (cannellini) beans, rinsed and drained
1 can 8-ounce Italian-style stewed tomatoes
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
2 teaspoons snipped fresh rosemary
Fresh rosemary sprigs (optional)

Directions:
Trim fat from chops. In a large skillet cook chops in
hot oil over medium heat about 8 minutes for
medium doneness, turning once. Transfer chops to a
plate; keep warm.
Stir garlic into drippings in skillet. Cook and stir for 1
minute. Stir in beans, undrained tomatoes, vinegar,
and snipped rosemary. Bring to boiling; reduce heat.
Simmer, uncovered, for 3 minutes.
Spoon bean mixture onto 4 dinner plates; arrange 2
chops on each serving. If desired, garnish with
rosemary sprigs.

Also great with Stuart Cellars'Tartria. Okay, the Tatria is pretty much the best red meat wine ever and would go with pretty much anything well, but I might as well put a plug in here. :)

In honor of an exceptionally good season for stone fruit in CA, a great recipe for peach upside-down cake from the fruit and vegetable Bible. I just made this for the first time last week, and we liked it so much I am making it again tonight. I hardly ever make desserts just to eat at home:

The Peaches
3 tbs butter
1/4 cup light brown sugar, packed
5 freestone peaches (3 if they're Costco-sized, like mine were)

The Almond Cake:
1/4 pound (1/2 cup) unsalted butter at room temperature
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1 tsp vanilla
1/4 teaspoon almond extract
3 eggs at room temperature
2/3 cup blanched almonds, finely ground
1 cup flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
1/3 cup chopped pecans

Preheat oven to 375 F. Heat the butter with the brown sugar in a 10-inch cast-iron skillet over medium heat until the sugar is melted and smooth, then remove the pan from the heat. Peel, halve, and core the peaches. (I did not peel them because I'm lazy. I also cut them in thin slices because the peaches were so big. Still good.) Place them cut side down on the sugared surface. Fill the spaces in between with 1/3 cup chopped pecans.

Cream the butter and sugar until light and fluffy, then add the vanilla and almond extract. Beat in the eggs one at a time until smooth. Stir in the almonds, followed by the remaining dry ingredients. Spoon the batter over the fruit and smooth it out with an offset spatula. (Whatever that is. I used a spoon and it was fine, probably because I completely melted the butter in the microwave before mixing it, so the dough was really runny. Still good, though.)

Bake in the center of the oven until cake is golden and springy when pressed with a fingertip, 35 to 40 minutes. Let cool in the pan for a few minutes, then set a cake plate on top of the pan, grasp both the plant and the pan tightly, and turn it over. Carefully ease the pan off the cake. If any fruits have stuck to the pan, simply pry them off and return them to the cake. (Or just eat them. No one will notice...)

Welcome, Jessica!

A friend from church caught me off guard the other day when she mentioned she had found my blog by Googling my name. I thought all recognizable references to me that could be caught by Google disappeared into pages of meaningless search results when the last of my Hillsdale Collegian articles was taken out of the paper's online archives--they were the few links that listed me as "Amy Farnham" and there are just too darn many "Amy Walton"s out there in the world. Anyway, she told me she took the time to read through all of my archives, which means she has more time to spend on my blog than I do. :) At least someone is reading, even though I hardly ever post any more. Welcome, Jessica. Maybe you'll give me an incentive to start writing more often again.