I don’t imagine there were too many vegetarian dining options in the seventeenth century, but in 1622, the first ‘health food’ cookbook was published by Tobias Venner. It was called
“Via Recta ad Vitam Longam, or a Plaine Philosophical Discourse of the Nature, Faculties, and Effects of all suche things as by way of Nourishments and Dietetical Observations made for the Preservation of Health.”
That catchy title translates as either The Straight Road to Long Life or Avoid Eating at the Olive Garden (my Latin is sketchy at best). His advice:
“Cut down on heavy sauces, meats and desserts” and “Avoid eating at places which offer unlimited breadsticks, for they will surely lead to ill humours,”
Ellen Swallow Richards is credited with the first American health food cookbook, called First Lessons in Food and Diet, in 1904.
At the time, Miss Richards was already known for the success of her earlier books. At the turn of the twentieth century, the hipsters were all reading her classic, The Effect of Heat on the Digestibility of Gluten.
Fans of ESW raved about her provocative book, The Adulterations of Groceries, which I think is also might be the title of a Merchant-Ivory film.
I did some research on Ms. Richards, and I’m not trying to turn my little column into a post-feminist screed here, but I have a question . . .
WHY IS THIS WOMAN NOT FAMOUS?
Ellen Swallow Richards (1842-1911)
First american woman admitted to a school of science
First american woman to earn a degree in chemistry.
First woman admitted to MIT
First female instructor at MIT
One would think that the history books could give us one less paragraph on, for instance, the Monroe Doctrine to make a little room for Ms. Richards.
About a century after Ellen Swallow Richards, the USDA introduced the first ‘food pyramid,’ but it was doomed to failure. C’mon, people . . . Americans don’t remember their high school geometry! For the average American, you might as well have called it a Food Dodecahedron.
Recently, the USDA replaced the Food Pyramid with the even more remedial ‘Choose My Plate.’ But you know there will still be confused people wondering, “Do I have to have dairy with grains?” and “Is this part of the socialist takeover of the government Fox News mentioned?”
Other countries have tried to get creative with the whole “If we draw a picture of what they should eat maybe they won’t get fat like Americans” thing.
In France they have twenty-five separate nutrition guides, NONE of which are followed by the French. And Canada has a Food Rainbow. Of course they do.
The Chinese use a Food Pagoda, whereas in Japan, it’s a spinning top. Too bad the Japanese couldn’t find a way to use anime, because a hot alien chick with a machine gun could get a lot of teenage boys on the right nutritional path.
Forget foods you should eat — I’m just glad there aren’t many foods I can’t eat. It’s true that I don’t eat a lot of dairy, but I refuse to be called ‘lactose intolerant,’ because I’m a liberal, and I feel I should fight intolerance. See—food choices really are political choices.
The intersection of politics and food has given us the ‘locavore’ movement, which, if I understand it correctly, means I can only eat Chilean sea bass at local restaurants.
If there are ‘locavores,’ why not ‘locovores,’ who only buy their food from crazy people? Or maybe we could call people who only eat bland, boring foods ‘bori-vores.’ And, if you keep strictly kosher, you’re a ‘Torahvore!’ I got a million of ‘em!
Of course, in addition to vegetarians, there are vegans and then there are ‘fruitarians,’ who I can only imagine are even more judgmental than vegans.
And if the only animals you eat are seafood, I believe that makes you a ‘pesceterian,’ although maybe the ‘Pescetarians’ are a religious cult devoted to annoying people. Or a fanatical group that worships Joe Pesci.
I have trouble keeping track of what I’m supposed to eat. There’s always some new healthy grain or super-fruit or must-have amino acid. Then we hear that something that was healthy suddenly has been declared borderline toxic.
I think, decades from now, the scientific community is going to make the following announcement:
“Since everybody is different, our recommendation is that you eat you want. If it smells good, and tastes good, and you don’t know anyone who’s gotten sick from it, then by all means have some. Try not to have not too much of one thing.”
At this point, I figure I’m as qualified as anyone to toss out diet suggestions. So, if the either of the following diets work for you, great!
THE LEXICOGRAVORE DIET
First, assign a letter, in order, to each day of the month. You only are allowed on a given date to eat foods that start with that date’s letter. So, on the first of the month, you can eat apricots, artichokes, avocado . . . for day two you’ve got your bacon, maybe some blueberries, even brisket!
After day twenty-six, you can eat what you want until the first of the month, when it’s back to arugula, or maybe alligator. Also, on day twenty-four, you can eat what you want because no foods start with ‘x.’
THE CARTOGRAVORE DIET
Get out your placemat with the big map of the U.S. on it, because, on this diet, you will only be able to eat official state foods, and you’ll be eating them in the order the states were admitted to the Union!
On day one, how about carving up Delaware’s state bird and enjoying some blue hen? Sure, it’s their state bird, not their state food, but if you cook it right . . . Day two is cheesesteak, and you might want to fill up on it, because for New Jersey’s day, all you get is a tomato.
The rest of your first week includes Georgia grits (technically their official state ‘prepared dish’), but plan ahead, because Connecticut has no state food, so on day five, you don’t eat at all. Just be careful on day seventeen, because too much Ohio pawpaw probably isn’t good for anybody.
* * *
The creepily named ‘Center for Science in the Public Interest’ recently put together a list of the ten healthiest foods.
Sadly, none of them are pastries. Fans of butternut squash, though (you know who you are) should feel vindicated.
Every few years we find out something is bad for you that we thought was just fine. It was easier to be healthy when I was younger, because we didn’t know as much!
“Why, when I was your age we only had ONE kind of cholesterol, and we weren’t sure whether it was good or bad for you!”
Let’s be honest. We all have a vague idea of what ‘healthy’ is, but we crave the crap. And to me, that’s part of a balanced diet, too.
But if I’m gonna eat something I KNOW is bad for me, I don’t need to find out HOW bad. I’ve never understood why, for example, Hostess would bother to list ‘nutritional information’ for their ‘fruit’ pies.
I guess it’s useful to know that if you eat one, you’ll get two percent of the calcium and four percent of the phosphorus you should be getting in your daily diet.
Hey, if my math is correct, that means that if you eat twenty-five pies a day, you’ll get all the phosphorus you need!
What I love most about that picture is that it refers to “real fruit pie” (there’s even a picture of real fruit to prove it).
Yet, if you look closely at the wrapper, the food wizards at Hostess realized it still needed to be “artificially flavored.” I picture one of the product guys at a meeting saying,
“Yeah, I’m on board with the real fruit, but here’s another direction we could go: we take the fruit and whatever boring ‘real’ flavor it has and we add more flavor artificially!”
By contrast, the label on this organic pasta may be the ultimate example of truth in labeling. Much more than the nit-picky specifics of what the ingredients are, I just want to know that they’re ‘real.’
Nothing ruins a nice dinner like finding out that your food contains fictional ingredients. �
�I can’t eat this! It’s eight percent Flubber!”
Given the American psyche, I’m sure there will be the inevitable backlash, when it becomes hip and trendy to eat as badly as possible. Americans will be all over it.
After all, people bought Jolt Cola (“All the sugar, twice the caffeine!”). Who’s to say you won’t start seeing chips advertised with extra salt?
Or maybe Dunkin’ Donuts will start adding trans-fats to their pastries. You’ll be able to order a hot dog and say, “Heavy on the nitrites, please!”
My Dinner with Marjoram
In my first couple years of cooking, I’ve been willing to experiment with almost anything on the shelf. Granted, my relationship with coriander isn’t as close as we’d like, and I’ve only flirted with bay leaves, but in general, I’ve tried to be even-handed in my spice-ifying.
I once used sage in a dish simply because I hadn’t used it for a few weeks (turns out it doesn’t work very well on ice cream).
My point is that a cook should stay on good terms with all the herbs and spices in the pantry, and not become too attached to any of them.
Which is why I was taken aback the other day, while reaching for the rosemary. Behind the rosemary, in the back, with no label and a cap that had never been removed, I saw a container of marjoram.
And then I was hit by the realization that, over the last two years, in preparing hundreds of dishes, I have never used marjoram.
While I was fawning over flashier jars, I was ignoring something that was considered downright medicinal by Hippocrates.
And according to some historical botanists (botanical historians?) the ‘hyssop’ referred to in the Passover story was actually marjoram!
Not impressed yet? Well, marjoram was also name-dropped by Shakespeare in Sonnet 99: “And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair . . . (out of context, that makes it sound like marjoram is some sort of depilatory, which I’m fairly sure it isn’t).
looking at this, i realize i may have
smoked a lot of marjoram in college
I couldn’t call myself a cook until I had used everything on my rack at least a few times. On the other hand, I need to feel comfortable with a new ingredient, so we arranged to meet.
At the start of the interview, I must say that marjoram was a bit defensive, but as we talked more, she loosened up.
Unfortunately, all audio from the interview was lost, so I’ve had to reconstruct the conversation from memory, but I assure you, this was an actual conversation.
MARJORAM: THE EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW
“Before we get started…what would you prefer to be called? Can I call you Marj?”
“That’s fine . . . Just don’t call me oregano. It’s really irritating how often people mix us up – sure, we’re the same genus but c’mon, we’re ENTIRELY DIFFERENT SPECIES!
Anyway, I’m obviously milder and sweeter than oregano. The only thing we have in common is the antioxidant thing, and that’ll be passé soon.”
“You’ve made it clear that you want to distance yourself from your cousin, but isn’t it true that oregano used to be known as ‘wild marjoram?
Aren’t you, in fact, trying to have it both ways? Isn’t it your hope that, if someone runs out of oregano, they might reach for you instead?”
“That’s outrageous! Look, I’ve always been open about my family. I don’t deny that my legal name is ‘Origanum marjorana,’ but that’s not how I define myself.
After all, I’m also a member of the mint family, and some people say I remind them of thyme. These are all just labels. Do labels really matter?”
“Well, actually we—need the labels so we know what’s in the different jars—
“But do we ever really know what’s in any jar? Nobody knew I could talk, because nobody cared. Well, now I’m giving an interview! I don’t hear oregano talking!”
“On a less . . . confrontational note, how long have you been in the seasoning game? I know you’ve been around since at least 2008, because that’s when I got most of my spices. But I understand you’ve been around longer than that, am I right?”
“First, let me correct you. I’m an herb, not a spice. A lot of us are, we just get stuck with the spices because nobody makes an ‘herb rack.’
As to your question, lemme just say that, in ancient Egypt, I was used to appease the gods during embalming. THE GODS THEMSELVES, I TELL YOU! Anyway – yeah, I’ve been around a while.”
“Many people believe you have healing powers, and it’s said that you can cure dozens of conditions from sleep apnea to tonsillitis to anxiety, in addition to assuaging grief and deflecting bad luck. Do you support these outlandish claims?”
“Look, I may be a plant, but I’m not stupid. Of course I can’t cure somebody’s tonsillitis. I was just talking with my friend Rosemary about these whack-job aromatherapy people.”
“I think it all started with one loony-tune herbalist in the sixteenth century, who claimed that smelling me “mundifieth the brayne.” Not that some people couldn’t benefit from a little brain mundifying . . .
So I’m not claiming to be medicinal, alright? I will say that if you use me as part of a nice rub on some leg of lamb, that might cure a lot of your ills. Oh, and if you find me on top of a grave, the dead person is guaranteed a good afterlife. That one’s true.”
“Some would say that you’re too sensitive, and that may have led to your image problem. How do you respond?”
“I don’t think I’m overly sensitive. Sure, I don’t do well with frost, or even cold, and I prefer well-drained soil, but who doesn’t? And I really need full sun exposure. And, I need a lot of room to spread out. Other than that, I think I’m pretty easy going.”
“Let’s get back to the subject of cooking. At the moment, you’re thought of as an unusual spice—sorry, herb—but you’ve been popular in the past. How do you plan on regaining your popularity?”
“If people knew how versatile I am, we wouldn’t have to have this discussion.”
“Trying French cooking? There’s a little thing called herbes de Provence that you can’t even DO without me.
Feeling like sausage? Hell, in Germany I’m known as the ‘sausage spice.’ I know I’m an herb, but you can’t tell the Germans anything. And if you’re into British food, you can always try me with goose and chestnuts.
Just . . . try me on something. Please. I’m getting desperate. At least try me in some meatloaf, would ya?”
There you have it. A revealing, even heartbreaking look at one herb’s fight for respect. But on a deeper level, isn’t marjoram speaking for all of us?
That’s Not Really Food
I have accumulated a small library of weird old books, mostly from thrift stores, and was delighted to remember some vintage cookbooks in my collection. I thought I’d look through them for some ideas.
After all, it’s not like food has changed much in the last hundred years. We eat pretty much the same stuff our grandparents did, right? It’s just the technology that’s changed, right?
When I looked at my 1927 Piggly Wiggly Cookbook, I had the idea to do a “Julie and Julia” sort of project, where I cook all the recipes in the book.
I didn’t get much farther than the ‘jellied chicken and oyster consommé.’ That’s wrong on so many levels. Jellied chicken . . . jellied anything in soup . . . chicken and oyster…
If that sounds like a big bowl of ‘yikes,’ how about ‘pickled pigs feet’? That has the bonus of being both vile AND gelatinous! Incidentally, the fact that something’s ‘pickled’ doesn’t offset the fact that you’re eating feet. And ‘codfish balls’? Write your own joke for that one.
The oddest thing I learned from the Piggly Wiggly Cookbook is that people in the twenties used something called Fluffo, which, as best I can tell, was whipped, aerated lard. I have a feeling that may have been the actual cause of the Great Depression.
I could see myself trying some of these ‘vintage foods,’ on a dare, or as a contestant on ‘Fear F
actor.’ I won’t be cooking any of them, and I probably won’t see them as the ‘special’ at any restaurants I’m likely to visit.
But there are two things I frequently see on menus that I will avoid like . . . jellied chicken. Those would be eggplant and beef liver.
Eggplant would be fine, except for its taste and its texture. I guess for most people, there is one food item that they not only don’t enjoy, but actually don’t understand. For me, it’s eggplant.
There’s an ‘eggplant recipe database’ online with 3,116 recipes, or, as I refer to them, ‘ways to disguise eggplant.’ Now you can try to trick me by adding other words after it like ‘parmigiana’ and ‘catalana’ and ‘creole,’ but at some point, I will get to the eggplant part, and I will not enjoy it.
As far as liver goes, let me first admit an inconsistency. I have no problems with a little schmear of chicken liver on a sandwich. I have issues with a big slab of cow organ on a plate.
People will tell me, “You just haven’t had liver the way I make it,” to which I usually respond, “I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to eat it no matter how it’s prepared, since it’s the organ that processes toxins out of the body.”
If you’re on a masochistic search for ‘food’ you’re not supposed to eat, you need to go to a State Fair. Every summer, hundreds of thousands of people stand in long lines in stifling heat for the opportunity to stuff their pieholes with items they would never eat outside the fairgrounds.
Usually this is because of humanity’s strange obsession with food on a stick. I can’t picture a restaurant offering deep-fried butter or chocolate-covered bacon on a plate for ten bucks, but put that crap on a stick, and we’ll buy two of each!
I’d also like to take a moment to tell potential state fair vendors something: ENOUGH WITH THE CHEESE!. I like a smidge of gruyere as much as the next guy, but at last year’s State Fair, I think there was a booth selling cheese-filled cheese.
Does This Taste Funny? A Half-Baked Look at Food and Foodies Page 6
