Food for thought

Recently, I came across this piece in the New York Times. Nothing here is special or new, especially post the era of Michael Pollan and his books. Anyway here is the Opinionator piece:

A Food Manifesto For The Future

Reading that, I was led to think of how simpler and healthier life was not too long ago, even in something as simple as food. 

Thirty years ago, my grandma would dispatch me daily to the store. I carried a cloth bag (no plastic bags to throw out), picked up fruits and vegetables that were (probably) trucked in daily from the region. They were indeed puny compared to the specimens found today at any supermarket, but I imagine they were so because the soil that grew them was not taxed and injected with chemicals. (Lets not get into GMO). 

We carried glass bottles which the shops filled with unrefined, flavorful oil, the cold-pressed kind that has since become something premium, rather than de rigeur. Meat eaters ate the stuff once or twice a week, and it was a precious commodity. Even processed foods like baked goods were locally made and one hopes free of the additives and stabilizers needed to sustain the packaged product of today that the best and the brightest market (those not taking their completely justified pound of flesh in the financial services industry, that is). For heaven's sake, the booze was fresh, natural and organic, tapped as toddy everyday from our very own coconut trees. 

Today the country I left suffers more cardiac diseases, diabetes and hypertension than almost anywhere. Processed, packaged food is de rigeur. Natural oils like coconut, sesame and mustard that shaped the genes for generations were swiftly replaced by well marketed, "golden", refined bleached and deodorized oils. One-horse villages sell imported leeks. Cookery programs showcase meat - the aspirational pinnacle of quotidian "nutrition" being marketed to 1.2 billion. I am no Luddite, but is this progress?

I learned my lesson the hard way. I today do not eat meat; cook more; have almost banned packaged food and beverages from my life; use natural oils; graze the once-reviled salad-bar like an ungulate; and... am paying more to do all this, just rewinding to what should always have been status quo. 

In summary, we are idiots. We deserve everything because we sold our health, ultimately, willingly. I'll leave you to figure out - to whom? And really, for what?

Past imperfect

I remarked in a car full of Eastern European women that I was considering a Tintin collection as a birthday gift for an 11-year old. There were chuckles and someone said, "Do you want it to be an investment"? I suppose it is a bit weird to have an abiding affection for an asexual (does he have an umbilical cord?) creature of indeterminate age that looks like a well-shaped amoebum (or maybe paramecium) complete with  with a furry dog and filthy sailor for companions.

Then there are those dyed-in-the-wool Enid Blyton fans, including one who has been pestering me forever to write about her (Blyton that is, not about the pester-er). Where I grew up, this was de rigeur diet for the bookworm club, and even for the jocks. But the British saw blighted Blyton for what she was - George, we all know, was going to end up pregnant at 15, go through a Goth phase, briefly turn butch, like it so much and finally settle down with Ellen the Degenerate naked and hugging a tree. But the legacy is strong, and you can see Enid Blyton lined up in rows at Border Singapore. I know, I was just there today.

All this brings me to the realization that one must accept things and move on. Or else you will turn into hideous morons that I have had the misfortune of knowing. This always happens at subcontinental parties: someone is playing something nice, something from the last decade, French electro, or, god forbid, even house or Euro club. Many idiots are drinking "JD Coke" or "Red Label". Everyone is flush. Suddenly someone cries "Classic Rock"!! Next thing, it is a chorus and everyone is doing that completely stupid move where they raise their hands, with a couple of fingers sticking out, urging everyone to keep on rocking. Someone switches the music to "Scorpions", who are of course Still Loving Each Other. Peace reigns.

I meantime have vomited in disgust.

I am sorry to pontificate, but once in a while we have to move on. We need to maintain our curiosity and learn new things, to appreciate new music, literature, sexual positions and even things like fashion trends. I am talking to you, you there with a porcupine on your head - that hairstyle went out with the 70s Bollywood. We are all going to calcify after we die, figuratively speaking, for an archeologist to dig up eons from now. Why start the process now?

I think I'm gonna get the 11-year old something called "Diary of a Wimpy Kid".

Literary pursuit

Eschewing the usual attempts at getting to know people at local bars, resulting in only getting to know over and over again that I am too shy for this stuff, I spent many an evening reading. 

Here is a short list:

- The decline and fall of the Ottoman empire: previously described. A few high-level facts stuck in my head this time, but man the days of photographic memories are gone.
- Brave New World: I think I started reading this at least once before but got put off by the whole "Fordliness" rubbish. Plowing past that, this was a pretty powerful book and certainly one to engender some deep thought.
- Tightrope Men (by Desmond Bagley): apart from a weak ending, what a lark of a book. Characteristically, I spat out laughing in public, for there is plenty of dry humor.
(The two books above purchased second-hand at Art Bridge Cafe in Yerevan)
- Ram Chander's Story (Mark Tully): narrated with a simple yet effective delivery style, this  60-pager was a terrific read.

Purchased at Dubai duty-free, a book on Attila and another on the history of the Arab peoples.

Tomorrow, back to work and I will be reading emails all day. Fuckin' hell.

How to get committed?

If you want to be put in an asylum, I strongly suggest picking up a book by Bill Bryson. I have been cracking up - tears welling in my eyes, actually - reading his "A walk in the woods" in public places in several countries. No doubt diminishing my female-attraction factor well into negative territory. Thank god I was not dribbling as well.

Tannu Tuva - Part Dua

(Dua means "two" in Malay. Ain't I clever?)

The book I earlier mentioned - Tuva or Bust - was a terrific read. Not quite what you expect, but if you ever thought half the fun is in the getting there, this book is for you.

Also makes you really happy that the Internet is around. I mean, apart from porn.

Tannu Tuva

"Tuva or bust"! With this cry, I declare my next destination in the remote corners of Asia.

Walking around Harvard Square, I came upon an excellent book store - "Globe Corner". Unlike regular travel books, it had both guides and interesting, geographically-contextual pieces of work organized by different parts of the world. Here I came across the abovementioned title, written by Ralph Leighton, who was a fellow-traveler of Richard Feynman. Feynnman of course is every geek's hero, because he totally got Physics, and also got totally laid all the time.

Already, I am immersed in this book. As much as being in Mongolia - memories of the chilly bath on the banks of the stream in Ikh Tamir still enervate me like nothing else - was great, Tuva sounds like one of the many wonderful places that the wonderful Mongols have lost to greedy bigger neighbors.

So if anyone wants to sign up for Tuva and/or Kalmykia, please keep me posted.

To my list of delusions, now I add another - I think I must be a reincarnated Mongolian/Tibetan lama. Something about those cultures just attracts me unmeasurably. (Although Tuvan is linguistically Turkic, but everyone knows Mongol and Turkic are intertwined).