Climate change may be turning plants into “junk food”–more sugars, fewer proteins and micronutrients, wheat and rice bulked up like Hans and Franz.
Over the weekend at a party that was genuinely lovely despite impending Trumpocalypse, I tangled myself in a drunken assertion that Stockhom Syndrome doesn’t exist. In the context of terrifying, lying political leaders who govern regular schmoes trying to get by. I was flailing at this argument with two people who had more expertise than I on the topic, including a dear friend with a doctorate in clinical psychology. Sangria for the win. Continue reading
Regular readers (Hi!) may recall my partial book review of The American Way of Eating, a madcap adventure in the economic realities of food industry workers. And I mean industry workers: vegetable pickers, bagged sauce microwavers, and pallet unpackers. She is very clear: there is no cooking in any of her food industry jobs.
No Molto Mario and barely even the Sandra Lee Semi-Homemade she cites. The head of produce at Walmart knew nothing about produce.
Part 1 described McMillan’s experiences as an ag worker in California’s Central Valley. Heat stroke! Tennis elbow! Generosity as self-interested social practice!
She then worked in the grocery section at a Detroit Walmart and the kitchen of an NYC Applebee’s, the world’s largest grocery store and chain restaurant. These sections were so different that they seemed part of a different book.
Who has the cajones to review a book she hasn’t read even half of?
An English Ph.D. That’s who. That’s what we do: speak with authority about books we haven’t finished. I’m a licensed reader, people! It’s got to be good for something.
I recently sped through the first third of Tracie McMillan’s The American Way of Eating, the section about her experiences looking for and doing farm work in California’s Central Valley.
I wouldn’t call it schtick lit, though it has some similarities: Creative-class white woman tries to get bottom-rung food industry jobs to make some point about class and food in the U.S. But I wouldn’t compare it to My Year of Vegan Righteousness or 100 Days in a Row of Sex with my Middle-Aged Spouse. It’s too good. It’s too not-fun.