Sainted sight

Edits
A recent arrangement, partly from the yard.

This, then: the vast and strange beauty of the world and all the living things in it.

Trees have families and can recognize their children by their roots. One in twelve men are color blind. The production of almonds consumes 10% of the state of California’s water supply each year. Emily Dickinson was buried in a white coffin with a Lady’s Slipper orchid. Japanese macaques bathe together in naturally occurring hot springs and throw snowballs at each other for fun.

O Lord, refresh our sensibilities. Give us this day our daily taste. Restore to us soups that spoons will not sink in, and sauces which are never the same twice. Raise up among us stews with more gravy than we have bread to blot it with, and casseroles that put starch and substance in our limp modernity. Take away our fear of fat and make us glad of the oil which ran upon Aaron’s beard. Give us pasta with a hundred fillings, and rice in a thousand variations. Above all, give us grace to live as true men — to fast till we come to a refreshed sense of what we have and then to dine gratefully on all that comes to hand. Drive far from us, O Most Bountiful, all creatures of air and darkness; cast out the demons that possess us; deliver us from the fear of calories and the bondage of nutrition; and set us free once more in our own land, where we shall serve Thee as Thou hast blessed us — with the dew of heaven, the fatness of the earth, and plenty of corn and wine. Amen.

— Robert Farrar Capon, The Supper of the Lamb

We went to North Carolina this past weekend, taking a fast-paced tour of siblings, parents, and grandparents, and it was a pleasure to feel that rush of nostalgia for the state. In Chapel Hill, we walked through the arboretum and saw the tree where we got engaged and the church where we met and were married. As we drove, we remarked on the landscape and architecture and felt that it was a little foreign to us, now that we have lived for seven years in Virginia. But it’s not really that different. We just like to think that it is.

Problems I enjoy: Too many books to read. Too many plants to plant. Too many German shepherds in the kitchen.

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On eating that which is real (and being relaxed about it)

Haricots with chevre

Americans never adopt fads lightly. When we take up a cause, we commit and we go to the extreme. Moderation is a virtue that we never seem to have much needed in the United States of America. Be it the size of our homes and cars, the depth and breadth of our reality TV, our fervent denial of climate change, or our mass accumulation of guns, we do nothing on a small scale. We take on nothing lightly. Nowhere does this tendency seem more clear to me than our current obsession with food.

We could talk about how enormously fat Americans are, which is true, but I am interested in the other side of the spectrum, where people are fixated on healthy food, where we consider ourselves holy because we have not (yet) slipped into obesity. It’s one pole or the other for me and my fellow patriots: Either we wantonly stuff ourselves full to bursting with tasty processed substances or we piously nibble on quinoa patties and congratulate ourselves on our freezer full of free-range, locally butchered delicacies.

Eating the right things has become a class-conscious mania that notably afflicts the middle- and upper-class, who can afford to eat well (which is in itself a terrible injustice). In lieu of humble-bragging about our legitimate virtues, we preen over our organic, local, free-range, grain-free choices at Whole Foods, and we impute it to ourselves as righteousness.* (*Side note: Concept lifted from this great/ruckus-raising sermon by Dave Zahl.)

I am as guilty of this natural-food worship as the next person. I too got fired up years ago when Food, Inc. came out. I too read all of Michael Pollan’s books and attended my farmers’ markets faithfully. I too became a vegetarian for a solid week after reading Jonathan Safran Foer’s Eating Animals. I too believe that it is certainly better to support small-scale farming and to ingest organic food.

But for me, lately, the sheen of this fad has been dimming.

You can’t ask anyone over to dinner anymore without first inquiring about all of their dietary restrictions. Remembering your friends’ food aversions has become as culturally important as remembering their birthdays. Mothers self-flagellate if they don’t feed their children 100% organic, locally grown meals. Whole Foods denizens seem to have abandoned the joy of cooking and eating in exchange for the joy of self-congratulatory nutritional piety.

We eat not to enjoy food but to brag about its origin to our friends or anyone within earshot.

It’s getting out of hand.

I’ve been inspired to think about this loss of “real eating,” while reading the late, great Robert Farrar Capon’s delightfully bizarre book about food and faith, The Supper of the Lamb. As Capon says, considering a man who is obsessed by nutritional fads and rejecting food for the sake of his diet:The Supper of the Lamb

To begin with, real eating will restore his sense of the festivity of being. Food does not exist merely for the sake of its nutritional value. To see it so is only to knuckle under still further to the desubstantialization of man, to regard not what things are, but what they mean to us—to become, in short, solemn idolaters spiritualizing what should be loved as matter. A man’s daily meal ought to be an exultation over the smack of desirability which lies at the roots of creation. To break real bread is to break the loveless hold of hell upon the world, and, by just that much, to set the secular free.

—Robert Farrar Capon, The Supper of the Lamb

A touch dramatic, yes, but I take his point heartily.

(As an aside, I am looking forward to taking a page from the Europeans this summer, especially the French, who seem to have perfected the artful seesaw between moderation and indulgence in eating. Both seem to be necessary for a full, happy life.)

If I may bastardize the Gospel of Matthew:

And when you eat organic kale, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to eat organic kale standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. But when you eat organic kale, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.

Eat real food and enjoy it. Divorce guilt from eating. Share food, not food judgments, with others, and be thankful.

Bright with praise

Japan: Day 1
First meal in Tokyo, 2008. (c) me.

PRAYER AFTER EATING

Wendell Berry

I have taken in the light
that quickened eye and leaf.
May my brain be bright with praise
of what I eat, in the brief blaze
of motion and of thought.
May I be worthy of my meat.

Get me a book before I starve to death

Personal quirk: I find it extremely difficult to eat unless I am reading something. This makes me a rather unfortunate dinner guest. In reality, I can manage without words if I’m in the company of others. But if I’m breakfasting alone? Get me a book before I starve to death.

Brideshead Revisited is my current lunch-time reading and it’s funny and light. So far. It’s also SO English that I can hardly stand it (cousins named Melchior and champagne in your dormitory quarters at noon). Despite my somewhat broad experience with British literature, I have a lot of gritty, American disdain for Anglophiles and can only take these super-British books in small doses. Spread them out, you see, sprinkle them in amongst the Russians, French, Japanese, and Americans and all will be well.

Unrelated: I started a dog blog called Doggerel. This should not largely concern you and I don’t expect any of you to read it. Rather, I’m telling you to give you some form of relief. I hope to direct my animal- and dog-oriented posts over here from now on. To save your sanity and mine.

Also, strawberries are unbelievably delicious right now. Get thee to the grocer’s.