Good Eats: Sam Sifton and the New York Times

Ah, if only all of us could have a To Do list like Sam Sifton.  Wouldn't that be the life?  To eat, to drink, and to get paid.

Far more manageable to read and absorb than the excerpts we read from Secret Ingredients: The New Yorker Book of Food and Drink, Sifton's work as the New York Times chief food critic made me realize how physically and mentally exhausting the life of an acclaimed foodie can truly be (eating out 6 - 7 days a week is just the start!).  However, my pity for him does not stretch far, as his life seems borderline idyllic.

About to embark on my own trip to New York City over spring break, I have to say I really enjoyed reading all of Sifton's critiques, reviews, and raves of good eats in the Big Apple.  Sifton's use of description and imagery such as in his review of restaurant Ai Fiori practically transported me to the simple farmhouse tables to enjoy the salad of blue crab and grapefruit, avocado, tarragon and crisp flatbread, and lobster velouté with shaved chestnut and black truffles, or the plate of wine-glazed ravioli stuffed with ricotta and mascarpone, with truffle-infused boschetto cheese; and braised veal agnolotti with a brush of butternut squash and sugo with the critic himself.  

Apart from his wonderful, mouth-watering descriptions, I was glad to see the balance of pros and cons in so many of Sifton's pieces.  The fact that he could come right out and say that the red shrimp from Bar Basque was bland and uninteresting or that the New York strip steak lacked crust, made him, in my eyes, a more credible narrator, and an ordinary guy in search of a good meal just like the rest of us.

I also really enjoyed reading the piece titled My Life in Food, where Sifton gave readers a play by play of every single calorie he consumed and burned over a one week period.  Although in numerous other articles Sifton claims that even though he eats for a living, that with the proper amount of exercise and the occasional day off, he's in the best shape of his life.  After looking at everything that Sifton actually consumes and comparing that to his 3-4 times a week workout routine, I found myself asking "Really, Sam Sifton?  Are you really in the best shape of your life? It just seems highly unlikely that a guy who eats and drinks his way through one New York restaurant after another has no major health problems, or won't in the future.  What about cholesterol?  What about high blood pressure?  What's the average life expectancy of a food critic anyway??

The last element that I found particularly entertaining in regards to Mr. Sifton's articles was his witty remarks about going in disguise.  From wearing fake mustaches to having his very own children address him by a different name, I thought it was amusing and endearing how Sifton approached the task of anonymity.  Although I know the task of a reviewer is to appear like the average customer, I can't help thinking that there would be some fun in letting a restaurant know a reviewer is in the house.  Would I get points off on next week's review assignment if I did that? 

   

Secret Ingredients

I had mixed feelings about Tuesday’s reading of Secret Ingredients: The New Yorker Book of Food and Drink.  To me, many of the articles in the section titled “Eating Out,” seemed dated or hard to follow.  Perhaps due to their publication dating nearly 20 years prior my birth, or perhaps due to the topic choice (French cuisine—which I know almost nothing about), I found myself spending more time on google looking up unknown words and foods than I spent actually reading the articles themselves.  However, the advantage of having such a wide variety of articles and authors in one place is that there were bound to be a few essays that really struck my fancy.  One such article was Joseph Wechsberg’s “The Finest Butter and Lots of Time.” 

Wechsberg’s use of characterization in “The Finest Butter and Lots of Time” brought his piece to life, making characters in other essays look dismal in comparison.  Wechsberg's description of head chef M. Point, the 6 foot 3 inch, 300-pound man, who drinks champagne like water, and tells you what to order in his restaurant gives this piece dimension and drama.  For me, M. Point was such a strong character that he was almost more memorable than the food itself and was the one element that really gave this article bite.  Although I personally would have been semi-terrified to eat in his restaurant, as the presence of such a domineering character would have created too much anxiety for me to truly enjoy the meal, Wechsberg, or someone of similar strong personality, seemed to easily juggle both, and write about it flawlessly.  

The second article that really struck me was Anthony Bourdain’s “Don’t Eat Before Reading This.”  Although this article was home to a plethora of topics ready for a hot debate—do restaurants actually have a “save for well done” policy??— the one thing that surprised me the most was Bourdain’s aversion for breakfast foods.  For someone whose words I admire so fondly, I was disheartened to hear that Bourdain hates breakfast.  Who can hate breakfast?! It’s such as wonderful meal.  Although in this article, I think Bourdain is a bit pretentious about breakfast (as well as vegetarians and buffets), I did enjoy hearing his voice again and now know when to and when not to order seafood at restaurants. 

The third article that really resonated with me was Joseph Mitchell’s “All You Can Hold For Five Bucks,” which introduced me to the New York steak dinner AKA a “beefsteak”--a fad that ran its course through the Big Apple during the first half of the century.  Although unaware of this American tradition until reading this article, I could connect it to an experience I had during my two month stay in Argentina last summer. From June to August 2010, I attended numerous asados AKA Argentinean beefsteaks.  An asado is a multi-generational event that brings together the young and the old to chat, drink, and eat their body weight in red meat.  From the description Mitchell gives of a classic New York beefsteak, and from my experience at numerous asados, I can tell you that they seem fundamentally similar.  Although I enjoyed reading Mitchell's article and could relate it to my own experiences, one thing Mitchell should have mentioned is the toll such large quantities of meat take on the body.  I can tell you first hand, that those of us unaccustomed to eating so much meat, have a lot harder time digesting the stuff than those who are used to it!  

The Perfect Meal: Rough Draft

For my Perfect Meal, I wanted to see if I could make an entire meal from fresh, local foods, either from farmers or stores committed to practicing sustainability.  

Four stops, five hours, and thirty dollars later, I had my meal.

The menu: Classic hamburgers made with 100% grass fed beef, topped with grass fed baby Swiss cheese, sautéed oyster mushrooms, and caramelized onions, all on a fresh baked pretzel roll.  Accompanying the entrée would be sea salt sweet potato fries, a field greens salad with cherry tomatoes, toasted walnuts, and a homemade lemon and olive oil dressing, and, of course, an ice cold Great Lake Brewing Company lager.  

Many hours before, however, my meal began as yeast rising in a local bakery, as mushrooms growing in the Kilbuck Valley, and as beef being packaged and labeled by a farmhand at Autumn Harvest farm.  For me, however, it began with a trip to Local Roots, a market located in my hometown of Wooster, Ohio, with my mom.  Committed to ensuring direct producer to consumer contact, sustainable farming methods, and fresh, organic producer, Local Roots proved to be my main supplier of ingredients for my Perfect Meal.

I began by selecting a pound of grass fed ground beef, a product of family friend and farmer Mark Ladrach.  The Ladrach farm, or Autumn Harvest Farm as it’s formally known, is certified organic and rejects the use of all artificial fertilizers, hormones, antibiotics, and herbicides.  Also the provider of a quarter pound of grass fed baby Swiss cheese, Mark and his family supplied two of my main ingredients: cheese and burger.  Next I visited the mushroom booth where my mom and I selected a large assortment of white, grey, and yellow oyster mushrooms.  Beautiful in color, and soft to the touch, these mushrooms would be perfect atop our burgers.  From there we moved onto the veggie booth, but were met with an unfortunately surprise.  Instead of the piles of greens I was expecting, a lonely sign was in their place.

No Greens This Week, it read.

Thing are growing slowly in the cold and needed time to recoup… sorry for the inconvenience!

I sighed. 

This would mean Plan B. 

We checked out at Local Roots, our total coming tonearly $16, before heading to The Bake Haus, a local bakery owned by my mom’s former ESL student.  We were greeted with, “Well look who it is!” as Sofie, a rather large woman with a German accent rushed out to give hugs.  It seemed to take forever to get out of there as news had to be traded, recommendations had to be made, and, finally, our rolls had to be bought, but eventually we got out of there with four perfect looking pretzel rolls, sold for $1.50 a piece.  Next we headed to downtown Buehler’s, one of the eight Buehler’s stores in the area.  Formally a local one-branch grocery store, Buehler’s has since gone on to open stores in numerous neighboring counties, and now considers itself corporate.  However, it was Wooster where Buehler's began, where the Buehler kids went to school, and where "Buehler Hill" is located, a plot of land where the entire Buehler family seems to live.  Even though Buehler’s has now expanded and is a supplier of industrial foods, it still promotes local products and sustainability whenever possible.  And it was there where my mom and I bought four large sweet potatoes, onions, lemons, cherry tomatoes, and regrettably, a pre-packaged field greens salad mix.   

Our last stop (which had been interrupted by a 2 hour wine tasting at the College of Wooster) was uptown Buehler’s to get a six-pack of Great Lakes beer on the way home.

At 4:30 I began cooking.  As a result of my limited cooking ability, and desire to eat sooner rather than later (I was hungry after 14 kinds of wine!), I enlisted my mom to help me cook the meal. 

First we peeled and chopped the sweet potatoes into french fry pieces, placing them in a tub of salt water, which, I learned, prevents them from turning brown and gives them a natural, salty taste. 

After draining the water, coating them in olive oil, salt, and pepper, I popped them in the oven at 400 to bake. 

Then I moved on to the burgers.  The beef had been sitting out and was room temperature by the time I molded it into 1/3 pound patties.  My mom told me three things when handling a hamburger.

1. Don’t over handle it.

2. Don’t smash it, or compact it too hard.  It should be loosely held together so the juices can flow.

3. If you want to make it really delicious, put a small square of garlic infused butter right in the middle.

After doing all of these things, and coating the outside of the meat in a salt and pepper rub to make a nice crust, I set the burgers aside to cook later.

Caramelizing the onions came next.  I sliced the onions, put some oil in a pan to heat, and plopped the onions on with a satisfying sizzle.  I let them cook down turning translucent, before removing them from the heat and sauteing the mushrooms.

While I was waiting for the mushrooms and the sweet potatoes to finish cooking, I toasted some walnuts and made a dressing for the salad out of lemon juice, extra virgin olive oil, salt, and pepper.  Soon a burning smell let me know that the sweet potato fries were done.  I popped the burgers under the broiler, leaving the oven door slightly cracked and waited for them to cook.  Soon delicious smells were issuing from the oven.  After flipping the bugers and slicing the baby swiss into thin pieces, I placed the cheese atop the meat.  Two minutes in the oven and the cheese had melted and was dripping down the sides.  Perfect.  After putting the buns under the broiler for a few seconds apiece, they were toasted and browned, and ready to be eaten.
Everything was ready.  The candles were lit.  The table was set.  The Great Lakes was out.  We sat down to eat.
The first bite of the burger was difficult.  The pretzel roll was so thick and the meat patty so large that it was honestly pretty hard to get my mouth around.  I think I even ended up cutting the roof of my mouth on the hard, salted crust of bread before I finally got a good solid bite.  But when I did, it was delicious.
The meat was juicy and cooked medium well, just like I like it.  The fries, although a little burned, combined sweet and salty flavors making me reach for more. The mushrooms and onions added texture as well as flavor making the entire burger pretty irresistible.  Accompanied with a swig of cold beer or a bite of lemony salad, it was a pretty good meal if I may say so myself
Although by no means would I claim that my meal was as sustainable as Michael Pollan's, or as delicious as Anthony Bourdain's, I would declare it a success.  After all, there were clean plates all around.      


***Pictures to come later!
***I'm still working on the ending, character development, and the actual eating of the meal.

Eat Real Food

This article is relevant to a number of things we have been addressing in class.  From Katie's CYOA, to Kelsey's food pyramid post, to our discussions about Wal-Mart, sustainability, and local farming methods, I think you all will find this article by Mark Bittman quite interesting.

Memoir Writing- Final Draft, "Our Sevilla"

It was swelteringly hot. 

The bright Spanish sun showed no mercy on our pale, Midwestern skin as Lobo and I, tired, sunburned, and thirsty, plopped down on a curb in La Plaza de la Encarnación.  Pushing her dark hair away from her forehead, Lobo gave me a look that clearly said, “So this is Sevilla.” 

I sighed.

We had arrived only the day before, and already our adventurous spirits were dwindling.  It was my host mother's insistence that we experience true Andalusian culture, which had really brought us here.  We just couldn’t go back to the U.S. without first rounding out our gap year as Rotary Exchange students with a quick trip to Sevilla.  

Es una cuidad preciosa.  It's a beautiful city, she had told us.

No se puede faltar.  We couldn't miss it.

So we went.  Although Lobo-- whose nickname is a play on her full name (Laura Bowers)-- and I were two American teenagers with almost zero experience planning economically savvy, culturally engaging, and food friendly trips, we got on a plane and came to Sevilla in hopes of finding some new, exciting element of Spanish culture the eastern side of the country was lacking.  At the very least, we thought, this trip couldn’t be worse than our recent “getaway” weekend to Mallorca.  Three nights of rain, paper-thin hotel walls, and British influenced Spanish cuisine was not my idea of fun, although the beaches were absolutely fabulous.  At first Lobo and I resisted my host mom.  
But we're going to miss our class end of the year party, I told her.
We don't know anything about getting around in Sevilla, Lobo argued. 
But my host mom was persistent. Venga. You’ll love Sevilla, she said.

So we gave in.

In all fairness, Sevilla was beautiful.  With its hundreds of gothic style cathedrals, lavishly decorated monuments, and lush tropical plazas, it truly is a sight to behold.  But with over 2 million tourists a year, that’s exactly what Sevilla has become: a sight to see.  Looking for a truly ‘Spanish’ experience was proving to be extremely difficult when surrounded by gringo families posing for their next Christmas card photo, munching away on the Pringles or Doritos they had brought from the hotel, and wiping their grease stained fingers across their khaki cargo shorts.  We wanted to be surrounded by Spain, not by a bunch of Americans, Germans, and Dutch ooo-ing and ahh-ing over it.  Or perhaps on some other level, Lobo and I were ashamed to fraternize with other tourists.  So deeply in love were we with Spanish culture, that try as we may to dress in Spanish brands, eat Spanish foods, and throw around Spanish slang like it was no one's business, amidst our own kind we were afraid to be spotted, or even worse, to feel comfortable.    
Our displeasure increasing, Lobo and I had plopped down on a curb as far away as possible from a couple bickering in English.  Pulling a damp, wadded bill out from my pocket, I bought a couple of Coca-Colas from a small, round man whose cheeks were as rosy red as his sidewalk cart.  He smiled at me as I collected my change carefully saying grácias with the appropriate, perhaps exaggerated, Spanish lisp.  
Gra-th-as. 
Cracking open the drinks, the sweet syrupy bubbles immediately fizzed over the top, dribbling down the sides and onto our fingers.  The icy soda seemed to burn my tongue as I sipped it slowly, enjoying each deliciously refreshing burst of flavor.  
This is what we came all the way to Sevilla for?  Lobo asked, finally voicing our mutual concern.  To dodge tourists and drink Coca-Cola?
I sighed in agreement, unaware at the time of the irony in drinking a Coca-Cola and complaining loudly in English about how much we loathed foreign tourists.

Lobo was right. We hadn’t even been here for a full day and we were already donezo.   

The next few days passed in a haze of group tours, expensive tapas in American sized portions, and my teaching Lobo to play chess with a board we’d found in our hostel.  Although we did make it out to several flamenco shows, which were truly quite impressive, Sevilla, for us, had not lived up to its name.  By the time our stay in Andalucia was coming to an end, Lobo and I were more than happy with the thought of returning to our host families and to be once again immersed in the culture we’d come to love. 

On our last morning in Sevilla, however, Lobo and I decided to get up early, determined to give the city one final chance and find some real "Spanishness," whatever that means.  We meandered through the narrow cobblestone streets, getting lost on purpose among the bright yellow, white, and red buildings.  We had been walking for some time and were starting to get hungry when suddenly the narrow path opened up and we were standing in a lush, green garden listening to the gurgling sounds of fresh water trickling through a fountain.  On the outskirts of the garden there were little mesitas set up for breakfast, and a smartly dressed waiter pulled out a seat.

Señoritas, he said gesturing to the table.

Lobo and I looked at each other grinning, then back at the table.

Grácias, I said, taking the seat.

The waiter ushered Lobo into the chair opposite me, placed napkins on our laps, and rushed off to prepare the first course.

Lobo and I were in giddy shock.  We couldn’t believe we had found this place, this little Spanish oasis in the middle a hundred touristy restaurants, souvenir shops, information booths.
It was practically beckoning us to come and enjoy ourselves.

So we did.
A basket of warm breads overflowing with buttery, flakey, golden brown croissants, glazed pastries, and toasted sesame rolls appeared on our table, the warm steam curling upward and slowly dissipating in the cool morning air.  It was accompanied by a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice and a side of homemade marmalade which we were told was la especialidad de la casa.  In a city famous for its citrus, it was no surprise that the marmalade was superb.  Tart, tangy, and sweet, la marmelada spread atop a warm biscuit was like biting into the naranja bigarade itself.  

Our tazas of café con leche arrived next; bold European espresso mixed with frothy steamed milk, a blend so perfectly delicious I don’t understand why it hasn’t caught on in the U.S; and with it, our entrées: two perfectly scrambled eggs layered over a bed of caramelized onions, and garnished with fresh dill, served with a piece of sweet, orange cantaloupe wrapped in Italian prosciutto.  The eggs were light, fluffy and cooked to perfection; the onions beautiful, translucent, sweet, yet savory; the cantaloupe was juicy and firm, the fine layer of prosciutto wrapped precisely around the melon giving a kick of sweet, savory, salty goodness in every bite.  Cielo.

Just as we thought we were finished, our waiter brought out two flutes of bubbly champagne, and cued his compañero to begin playing the harmonica.
To us, this was Spain.  This is what we had been waiting for. Perhaps to a Spaniard, the musician would have been too much, or the rolls not soft enough, or this 'oasis' not far enough off the beaten path, but to me and to Lobo, this was our moment.    

Lobo and I began to laugh, and laugh some more, until we were clutching our stomachs so full of good food and happiness that they ached, but we couldn’t stop laughing and the harmonica man kept playing and the fountain kept gurgling, and nothing could mar the perfection or steal the joy from this wonderful, beautiful, and --in our opinion-- truly Spanish moment in Sevilla.

The Omnivore's Dilemma, Part 3 "Hunting, a Religious Experience?"

After Thursday's in-class discussion about the religious experience associated with food, I thought it was really interesting that Part 3 of The Omnivore's Dilemma explores the realm of hunting.  Considered by many as means to a source of food, a "sport," or simply a way to prevent overpopulation, hunting is also regarded by some as a religious affair in which man and beast unite.
Although in his book Pollan primarily uses hunting as means to rebel against his upbringing, reconnect with his "hunter and gatherer" genes, and learn more about the ecology and ethics of eating, it is fascinating that he should take on this endeavor after alluding to the spiritual and religious suggestion of food in Part 2.   In the first half of Part 3, Pollan only hints at the spirituality of hunting such as on page 281, by declaring that, "a hunter ... is alone in the woods with his conscious," and that "the ultimate destination of the journey" is to prepare and eat a meal in full consciousness of what was involved (281).  However, I would argue that by the middle of Part 3, Pollan has come to acknowledge more fully the presence of religion in hunting.  
While reading this section, I was reminded of a book I read for my Anthropology course last fall called The City at its Limits: Taboo, Transgression, and Urban Renewal in Lima by Daniela Gandolfo.  In her book, Gandolfo analyzes the work of the Spanish philosopher José Ortega y Gasset who says that hunting is, "a vacation from humanity," (124) and that "in all justice, the meaning of the sport of hunting is not to elevate the beast to the height of man, but something much more spiritual than that: a conscious and almost religious humiliation of man who leaves aside his prepotency in order to descend toward the animal" (124).  
I was keeping Ortega y Gasset's words in mind as I plowed ahead in Part 3 when lo and behold I found Pollan quoting the Spanish philosopher himself.  While on some level I think Pollan recognizes the aspects of spirituality in hunting (such as in his recount of approaching his prey with his "hunter's instinct" [336]),  I think that perhaps he is a bit hesitant to deem hunting a truly "religious" act.  Even after recounting his own experience, Pollan feels the need to step back and say, Whoa, did I just say that?  However, while Pollan can argue that word "religious" may be excessive,  Gandolfo notes that the sport of hunting is the human attempt to re-create the numinous quality that the killing of any living creature has to our ancestors (124).  The longing to reconnect with our ancestors mirrors our longing to reconnect with the animal world, and at times provokes the desire to push the limits which sustain our modern social world.  Thus by hunting, humans have the opportunity to fulfill both desires thus partaking in an inherently religious act.  
Although it is hard to say whose opinions resonate with me more as Pollan, Gandolfo, and Ortega y Gasset all have fair points, I think that ultimately the religious quality of hunting is up to the discretion of the individual.  As I personally have not had much experience with hunting, nor do I consider myself religious, I would be interested to discuss this topic further tomorrow in class with anyone who has more knowledge than I.

Baconnaise

After our recent in-class discussion about processed, unhealthy foods, I felt the need to share this product with you.  An item that, in my opinion, is a disgrace to mankind, and one John Stewart says is "for people who want heart disease, but are too lazy to actually make bacon," I present to you Baconnaise.  I think the worse part is that it's vegetarian.  Yuck.

The Omnivore's Dilemma, Part 2 "The Pleasures of the Table"

The pleasures of the table begin with eating, writes Michael Pollan, but they can end up anywhere human talk cares to go.  Pair that with a warm June night, a fantastic glass of wine, and the waft of a chocolate soufflé baking in the oven, and 'eating' suddenly transforms into 'dining' (272).  In the section duly titled The Meal, Pollan reflects on certain aspects of food preparation and consumption that enhance his dining experience.  Local, organic ingredients, a young helper in the kitchen, and the anticipation of sitting down to a nice meal after a long week of working in the field, are just some of the examples Pollan gives.  When thinking about what aspects 'transform' a meal for me, I consider four things: ingredients, proper cooking time, company, and atmosphere.  Although all four are equally important, the two that are most pertinent to today's reading are fresh ingredients and proper cooking time.  
When reflecting on the ingredients of a meal I am first taken back to an experience I had this summer at Loretta Paganini's School of Cooking in Cleveland, Ohio.  
My mother decided to take me to Loretta's school as means to motivate me to be more active in the kitchen.  Loretta, although an experienced chef, did not seem to forget that there were cooking novices in her audience and began by explaining the importance of fresh, local ingredients.  "Without good ingredients, you have nothing," Loretta said in her thick Italian accent.  "I only use the best."  When cooking, you want to know where your ingredients come from and what exactly they are, she said.  Take this eggplant, for example.  I bought it this morning from my Amish friend.  He sells me the male eggplant because the males are the best.  They are more slender, have less seeds, and are sweeter.  The females are pear shaped and generally have a bitter taste.  It's the males you want.  As for these bell peppers, I get the ones with the most points on the bottom.  A good pepper has four or more points.  They are the sweetest, she said throwing diced pepper into a sizzling pan.  When I tasted both the eggplant and peppers just minutes later, I saw that Loretta was right.  They were sweet and delicious, just as they should be.
I learned that the quality of ingredients can really make or break a meal.  Cooking isn't that hard, Loretta explained, it's just knowing what ingredients to use that is tricky.  The idea that mediocre materials, produce mediocre results is one that I will keep in mind as I begin cooking more and more.

Apart from knowing and respecting my ingredients, another key concept Loretta advocated was proper cooking time.  As Pollan noted in his book, over-cooking the corn, or over-beating the eggs can lead to a less than satisfactory dish, and unsatisfied cliental.  Loretta applied the same logic when instructing us how to properly cook fresh scallops.  "A raw scallop should feel soft and fleshy, like your cheek," she said pressing a pudgy finger into the side of her face.  "A perfectly cooked scallop should feel like your chin.  But if it feels like your forehead, you've over cooked it!"
Both Loretta and Pollan have made me realize how the combination of good ingredients and proper cooking time can truly transform a meal.  As of now I honestly have not spent enough time in the kitchen to fully apply or appreciate these techniques, but they are definitely something to keep in mind over the next few weeks as I plan my 'perfect meal.'  Although realistically, my meal will probably not 'transform' anyone given my minimal cooking experience, limited space and resources, and college student budget, good ingredients and proper cooking time is something that I can and will control.

The Omnivore's Dilemma, Part 1

After reading Part 1 of Michael Pollen's The Omnivore's Dilemma, I am struck by how different Pollen's writing style is to that of anything we have read so far.  A complete 360 degree turn from Anthony Bourdain or Bich Minh Nguyen,  Pollen lays out his various arguments concerning the U.S. production and consumption industries in a straight forward, almost dry manner.  He refrains from the pithy, sassy, over-the-top commentary that enriched Bourdain's book and instead, thoughtfully backs up his arguments with hard research, statistics, and personal observations.  Although I found some of his criticisms quite appalling and others a little dull, his view on American supermarkets and chronic obesity caught my attention and, in some ways, they resonated with my own experiences and observations.
In his introduction, Pollen says that American supermarkets essentially perpetuate both the modern food industry and the national eating disorder.  It's in the stores and supermarkets, writes Pollen, where the American people are confronted with "the dilemmas of the omnivorousness," relying on sense memory, label scrutiny, and preconceived notions of key words like "heart healthy," "no trans fats," and "range-fed" when making choices about what foods to buy (5).  When thinking about Pollen's proposal, I find that I, too, have fallen into this exact trap.  Should I frequent the local Meijer, for example, and see that my favorite granola-bar brand has produced a new variety, I rely on my sense memory to recall any advertisements I may have seen, I check the label for words like "organic," "reduced fat," and "whole grain," and finally I evaluate my preconceived notions regarding each of these claims.  Only if the granola bar survives my scrutiny and meets my standards will I then buy it.  I now realize that my anxiety over buying a simple granola bar is mirrored with the anxiety of millions of other people and actually provides a marketing outlet for the modern food industry.  It's people like us who are targeted or, at the very least considered to be opportunities, for production and revenue increases.
The other trigger concept that I found interesting appeared in chapter 6 when Pollen introduces chronic obesity as an official epidemic.  Pollen attributes obesity to a variety of obvious factors including the abundance of food, low cost, and less physical exertion among today's generations.  However, he also attributes it ignoring or stomping out the idea of gluttony which I thought was particularly interesting.  Deep cultural taboos against gluttony, writes Pollen, originally prevented Americans from going back for seconds at fast food chains, movie theaters, etc... (105-106).  However, should people be given one, super-sized portion, they are more likely to eat the entire thing and not feel bad about it afterwards.  In a weird way, this struck a chord with me.  Although I consider myself to be a healthy individual and generally happy with my weight, I, like many girls, have played around with diet and exercise techniques.  At one point, during my sophomore year of high school, I laid off sweets for an entire two months.  When I started eating them again, I found that I tried to monitor my sugar intake by justifying to myself that eating one large cookie instead of two small cookies was better.  After all, 1 is less than 2, right?  Although by no means do I have a problem with chronic obesity, I understand Pollen's point and even can sympathize with those suffering from the epidemic.  Be it marketing techniques, heredity, or the elasticity of the human appetite, it's true that Americans are greatly suffering from over-eating.
American supermarkets and chronic obesity are just two of the many topics Pollen addresses in his book The Ominvore's Dilemma.  Although I have only read Part 1, I feel like Pollen presents such an in-depth perspective on a wide array of topics that I have a hard trouble digesting all of them upon a first read.  I'm looking forward to today's discussion to see if our class can dissect some of Pollen's concepts and make them easier to understand on a more basic level.