Cars Are Coffins

I have a very conflicted relationship with cars. On one hand I drive one almost every day and yet on the other hand I can’t stand them. I don’t enjoy the act of driving a car. I don’t enjoy having to pay for a car, insure it, maintain it, clean it, or any of the other responsibilities associated with owning it. I can appreciate the engineering that goes into some of the finer automobiles out there, but it otherwise wouldn’t bother me one bit if I woke up tomorrow and cars were largely obsolete.

I’ve been thinking about my relationship with cars lately because of the way I find that it contrasts with most other people. Having an unfashionable viewpoint is nothing new to me, but in this case I feel mine has substance. I believe that, whether they know it or not, cars are the source of many people’s agony. Think about it. Cars place large requirements on your time and money. Coping with automobile traffic is an affair often steeped in frustration and danger. Those who’ve made a substantial financial investment in a car often find themselves mired in worry about the well being of their purchase as well as the social motivations that prompted it.

This automobile induced agony is insidious and can be found permeating aspects of life and society that you’d otherwise never consider. Of course there are the obvious aspects like the fact that they are bad for the environment, dangerous to their operators and others, and often damaging to people’s individual finances. However we rarely consider their other detrimental, yet more subtle impacts.

I personally believe one of the worst aspects of the automobile is the stigma attached to it as a possession. A car is a status symbol. A car supposedly speaks volumes about its owner. A car is used to attract mates and incite greed in others. We are conditioned to desire these qualities in an automobile so strongly that we often go to extreme lengths to satisfy this need.

We’ll place ourselves in oppressive debt to own a car whose inflated price tag provides no material difference in its ability to move from point A to point B. While the financial folly is glaring, the less obvious ramifications are not. Despite the absurdity of placing ourselves in such a poor financial position, we won’t hesitate to look down our noses at those less foolish than us that choose to content themselves with far more modest purchases. This sort of baseless pride is infectious and creates a contrived inequality between people that is damaging to notions of inclusiveness and kindredness. It arbitrarily seeks to stratify us by a means so absurd and yet so widely observed.

Cars also imbue us with a sense of entitlement. Every time I see an animal carcass lying eviscerated on the side of a busy highway I feel sad and, more importantly, ashamed to be a party to it. We’ll forge roads wherever we like and, once there, it becomes ours. We are not kind and light-footed interlopers. We are conquerors. We bend our surroundings to our will. A road is a symbol of subjugation. It is ours and we’ll use it how we please. We remain unfazed as our children peer out from their backseat window at the disregarded remains of an animal shoved to the shoulder of the road and the margins of our thoughts. No more poignant commentary on our relationship with nature needs to be made.

Dominance over the wilds isn’t the only sense of entitlement a car affords us, though. As a cyclist I know this all-too-well. While we all contribute equal money to the construction and maintenance of our roads, we are certainly not permitted the same equality in its use. Cyclists, runners, and others of our ilk are marginalized and, worse yet, often vilified. There is a strange collective assumption that those is a car have, by default, a far more important destination than those that are not. Alternative forms of transportation are considered to be mere novelties. It’d seem that this is largely predicated on the fact that, ultimately, cars will get you there (wherever that may be) faster. But what if we applied this logic without exception? Would, then, the jet airplane render the car a bauble no more significant than a bicycle?

Of course it’d be myopic of me not to recognize that cars are also of great benefit to us. They allow us to transport goods and people in a timely and efficient fashion. They’ve provided us the ability to make great societal advancements and afforded most individuals opportunities they most likely wouldn’t have had without them (myself included). However, like most conveniences borne of technology, the car’s use has proliferated and evolved into something far beyond its original design. Stepping back and reevaluating their true necessity would provide us the understanding of how we could curtail our use and construction of automobiles. It’d challenge us to think creatively about transportation and adopt healthy and productive changes to our collective lifestyle. By doing so I envision a shift of focus onto the simpler yet more important things we have and, as a result, a much happier society.

The Weekend: Mishaps & Wilderness Showdowns

Tristan had been spending months gathering the parts for his new build. The build, itself, was the product of even more months of research and planning. Finally it all came to fruition – the parts were in, the time presented itself, and the bike was built.

Last Friday was to be its maiden voyage. We met at the West Hartford Reservoir parking lot after work and cast off on our normal loop. A mile into the ride things began to fall apart – literally. I heard a loud howl of frustration and saw Tristan gazing with singular intensity at his new bike. The seat post had snapped in two. The upper portion hung limply from the lower portion still clamped firmly in the frame.

Baffled, we decide I’d complete the loop while he went in search of a new post. I finished a lap and found Tristan had returned to the parking lot, new seat post in hand. Again we cast off onto the trail anticipating no further anguish. Of course we were fooling ourselves - this is mountain biking - anguish is in no short supply. We were within mere minutes of finishing the ride when we heard the sharp hiss of Tristan’s rear tire going flat. Daylight was waning, as was our patience, so we decided to walk out. Tristan would worry about the tire later.

The next day finds us at Case Mountain. It’s hot as hell and we’re both feeling a little mopey. We struggle through the initial climb and are justly rewarded with some time in what we’ve dubbed “The Playground”. We’re rolling rocks, dropping drops, and negotiating skinnies. We find an especially formidable looking rock roller. We decide to each have a go but, again, fate chooses to frown upon Tristan and arranges another flat tire for him.

The holes are numerous and large. With no spare tube available we attempt some patch-mongery and hope for the best. The best isn’t good enough and the leak persists. Meanwhile, we’re being stared down by the most audacious white tail deer I’ve ever crossed paths with. Broad daylight, this deer is a mere thirty meters away staring at us intently as we toil away on Tristan’s bike. The intimidation doesn’t stop there as the deer begins to thrash his tail, stomp his hooves, and make bizarre snorting noises. It isn’t until another rider finally rolls by that the deer decides to fall back. He’s moved on a bit, but we can still see him grilling us from a distance.

We knew the patch wouldn’t hold, but it doesn’t matter anyways as Tristan’s chain breaks as he remounts the bike. It looks like this ride, too, is doomed. We decide that he’ll walk back to the road where I’ll pick him up.

The weekend is flying by and we’ve yet managed to get a successful ride in. We intend to try riding again at Case on Sunday. Sunday morning the phone rings – the seat post clamp snapped while Tristan was tightening it. The Sunday ride is over before it even starts. I take off on a solo mountain bike ride that morning with a follow-up road ride that afternoon. I feel a small tinge of guilt when both go off without a hitch.

Ace Piece of Kit

Hot damn do I love this new single speed! To imagine that my $2,500 bike would sit in storage while this bike, a mere fraction of the cost, would supplant it as my primary ride. Yes, granted it’s not as fast or comfortable, but what it lacks in speed and creature comforts it makes up for in sheer simplicity. No derailleur to tune, chain slap to endure, shock to pump, front fork to adjust, 9 speed chain to snap or suck, or rear linkage bearings to service. I can just take it out, ride as long and as hard as I want, and put it back it away with nary a concern for routine maintenance. I could ceaselessly expound of its virtues but then that would cut into my riding time.

Bikes are Cool

A Word on Oatmeal

For those of you who know Corey, then what follows may not come as any surprise to you. If you don’t know Corey, then all you really need to know is two things: (1) he loves road biking and (2) he’s the only other person I know personally that shares an obsession with oatmeal as equally unreasonable as my own. When we’re not talking bikes, we’re talking oatmeal preparations. Preparations can range from the truly delectable to the utterly bizarre. Some of the preparations are born of ravenous desperation, while others are the careful orchestration of flavors and textures plied together to beget a creation comparable to no other before it.

Like myself, Corey doesn’t bother to write down the details of even his most inspired oatey amalgamations, as a deliberate lack of precision in its recipes is one of the many qualities that defines oatmeal as the supreme grain. Despite this fact, we will, at times, become engrossed in a frenzied e-mail chain where we’ll swap ideas, criticisms, and heartfelt praise that can only be understood by a true fellow oatophile. Whether it be steel cut or rolled, raw or toasted, salted or sweetened, the common denominator is always that hint of sublime earthy oat flavor.

In these e-mails we’ve often discussed the reigning appeal of the oat in a world where the gourmand is otherwise overwhelmed with a multitude of other grains – each of which draws similar laudation from others as does the oat from us. We’ve decided that, among other things, the oat is the following:

(1) Easily prepared. In fact the oat doesn’t necessarily need to be prepared at all. Corey reports having simply rolled sliced banana in oats with a little cinnamon, salt, and honey. I’ve often times gnawed on raw oats while cooking something else, or have added them to trail mix like a lazy man’s granola. Even prepared, the oat simply needs only to be boiled or toasted – a triviality for someone even halfway competent in the kitchen.

(2) A blank palette. The oat, while possessing its own distinct and inherently appealing flavor, is rather muted in the expression of its essence, making it an excellent backdrop for so many other flavors.

(3) Versatile in texture and application. Going hand in hand with numbers one and two, the oat can be prepared to take on any number of textures – from the nutty crunch of an al dente steel cut to the creamy smoothness of a well boiled rolled varietal. As a result the oat is not only a readily accepting palette for flavor, but for texture as well. This allows the oat to play the role of bread, crust, crumble, nut, crunch, and a myriad of others. Oats (obviously) can serve as the basis of a dish itself, or can play a secondary role to whatever it is taking the spotlight.

(4) Cheap. C’mon, let’s not kid ourselves – oatmeal is crazy cheap while still providing a good balance of protein and complex carbohydrates. This also means you can buy it just about anywhere and, because it’s pretty shelf stable, take it just about anywhere as well. In fact (not surprisingly) instant oatmeal has been my go-to meal for every climbing trip I’ve ever been on, since food always seems to be the last consideration in the budget.

(5) Quick. Quick and cheap. Those two superlatives alone should render the oat the preferred grain of dirty old men everywhere. Seriously, though, oatmeal can take less than one minute to prepare depending on the species. As such, oats make an excellent recovery snack for us athlete types, or an excellent meal for those pressed for time in a more general sense. Again, ease of preparation is why oatmeal always is my staple calorie on any climbing trip.

With so many gleaming attributes, just how are Corey and I preparing our favorite dishes? Every way imaginable. I don’t run a recipe site, so you’ll have to deduce the details on your own, but here’s what we’ve been lucky enough to come up with so far: cookies n’ cream oatmeal, pumpkin pie oatmeal, oatmeal raisin cookie pudding, breakfast oatmeal with bacon (or sausage), potatoes, egg, and syrup, promeal (protein powder enhanced oatmeal – a trademark of ours), and baked oats with a caramelized streusel topping. Besides some of our more contrived concoctions, oatmeal is also great for just adding whatever the hell you want to. Some of my personal favorites are cottage cheese, apple sauce, berries, fruit of any kind, cream, honey, chocolate chips, and sunflower seeds.

But I’d be fooling myself it I thought the oat isn’t largely unappreciated today. Its neglect is readily evident by its relegation to grocery store shelves otherwise occupied by the sugary chemical laden mutations of the cereal world. It’s consumption is commonly uninspired, often consisting of nothing more than a few lumps of some pedestrian granulated sugar and a dash of sickly thin skim milk. Therefore is comes as no wonder to me that oatmeal has grown to be synonymous with insufferable diet plans characterized by monkish deprivation. But I say to you, oh reader, cast aside the fetters of self-imposed oat celibacy and rediscover the lusty side of a grain not always known for bland and prudish ways. Tear asunder the doors of your cabinets with unbridled fervor to rediscover the plentitude of additives which await forbidden union with your next bowl of oats. Then, as you recline lazily in your chair, smoldering cigarette resting between lips upturned in a mirthful grin while staring contentedly at the ravished bowl before you, you’ll be sure to thank me.

Guest Post: Tour of the Battenkill Race Report

Below is Corey's race report from last weekend's Tour of the Battenkill. 

The night before Charlie, Brian, Jeff, Jim and drove the beginning of the course (through Juniper Hill) and the end of the course (Stage rd). This was really helpful, especially for the juniper hill portion. It was as steep as everyone said, but very short.

Our race started at 10:30 on Saturday morning, so we roll up to the parking area shortly after 9. As I’m getting my bike out and doing some last minute checks, disaster strikes. My rear derailleur cable snaps off inside the shifter as im running through the gears. Note for the future: CHECK CABLES before a big race.

After a brief heart attack, I run my bike over to mavic support praying that they’ll be able to help me. The mechanic rummages through the truck, finds a rear derailleur cable and puts my bike on the stand. 10 minutes of fiddling later, he can not get the broken end out of the shifter and is hesitant to take the entire shifter off for fear of losing pieces. He tells me I’m just going to have to ride one of their bikes, and pulls a bright yellow 52cm Mavic logoed Caad9 out of the truck, complete with SRAM force and R-Sys wheels. A few quick fitting adjustments are made and I’m off and riding. By this point its around 10:20 and I head over to the line, no time for a warmup.

Jeff, Matt, Charlie, Conor and myself are all in this field. The race is pretty uneventful up until the first climb (except for the pro mountain biker soloing off the front at mile 2 and winning the race by 9 minutes), when the pace picks up. All the NYVC riders are in the top 20 as we go around the sweeping dirt corner that marks the approach to juniper hill. The climb was intense, once we got over the top someone shouted that we had separation, so we hastily got into a paceline and started working together. Pretty soon no other riders were in sight. There were probably 15-16 of us in the selection, including Matt and Jeff. I told myself that I only needed to drop 5 of these riders to get a top 10 finish, which would have thrilled me.

Things were pretty uneventful up until the Salem climb. I lost a full bottle right before the climb, but was able to get another at Feed zone 2. Everyone was out of the saddle pushing hard on this climb, Matt was right up at the front setting the pace. Jeff had mentioned he wasn’t feeling too great and dropped back. Despite all this, the majority of the selection made it over the climb so I knew we had a pretty strong group. Going into the flat stretch the wind picked up, no one was interested in lifting the pace or pulling too hard. Most riders were just pulling through and shifting to the back. One guy, Ned (cox communications jersey) tried to get the group more organized and raise the pace so we could try and catch the guy off the front, but no one was really having it.

Around Mountain rd the race got really tough. I was sitting about 10th wheel before the turn, then the 2 guys in front of me suddenly slowed and a gap grew between me and the 8 or so guys in front. Realizing I was in danger of getting dropped, I sprinted around the 2 guys in front of me and went all out for a minute or so. I managed to catch up right at the base of a steep dirt climb, so the pain didn’t end for a couple more minutes. The series of steep dirt climbs after this split apart our selection. I was really feeling the efforts on these climbs, but based on the gasping I heard around me everyone else was as well. When we got to the end of the dirt sections we had about 8 guys left. For the next 3 miles we lifted the pace, everyone was giving hard pulls to ensure we put the other guys out of sight. Then we all relaxed and recovered a bit for the last stretch before stage rd.

As soon as we hit stage road, Ned cramps up and nearly takes out another rider as he pulls over. At this point I start giving everything I have left. 2 guys are ahead of me with the remainder behind, Matt is right on my wheel up until halfway up the climb or so. I remember from the night before that there is a yield sign at the top of the climb, so I just keep pushing waiting for that sign to come into sight. Finally I see it, as I crest the hill I look behind me and see 2 guys gaining. Instead of trying to stay ahead, I tuck and coast down the descent and they catch up to me. At this point I organize us into a 3 man paceline. There is only 5k to go at this point. Our line catches one of the riders that was off the front and the 4 of us work together till the last turn into the finish. As soon as we make the turn, the guy we had just caught takes off. Im right after him but he gaps me by a couple bike lengths. I push it but the gap sticks, he crosses the line in 3rd with me in 4th, and the other 2 guys right after. I almost couldn’t believe the result, I was super pumped.

It was certainly interesting doing the race on a bike I had never ridden before, with no computer or stats, but I cant complain about the outcome.

Summer Hide

I smack at a fly on my calf and look down at the resulting smear of blood. An angry welt rises between two deep bloody scratches. One of them still cradles the stubborn tip of a thorn. I’m soon distracted by a burning tingle on my arm and seek relief in frenzied slaps and scratches. The back of my neck burns from sweat and sun; my face itches where it’s spotted with dried mud.

Harried by overwhelming corporal sensation, I remount my bike and strike forward with renewed purpose. The wind licks across my cheeks and arms. The spray of cold mud and water from occasional puddles and streams soothes my myriad ills. My muscles ache dully, but pleasantly. My breathe presses out, then in. The legions of gnats have fallen back and my body’s trifling complaints are replaced by the simplicity of labor. Any pause renews the onslaught of gnats and fiery flesh, a sure sign I still lack that toughened exterior so essential to the season. I look forward to growing my summer hide.

Pizza & Sullying Our Land

So Friday was Associate Appreciation day whereupon we were shown appreciation with greasy pizza and jugs of soda. Naturally, I declined the gratuity. However, pizza continued to loom large on my mind and when dinner time rolled around I was victim to a real hankering for a pie. As I typically don’t keep flour on hand I had to decide if I was going to scrap the idea, go out and obtain flour, or figure out something else. I was frankly too lazy to go out and get flour but not so lazy that I wanted to scrap the idea, so I started flipping through my cookbooks and recipes for inspiration.

I found a recipe for oat bread using flour milled from oatmeal and, along with a pizza crust recipe, was able to cobble something together to form an oat crust. Basically I milled the oatmeal in a blender and using some salt, yeast, and honey came up with a nice formula for a crust. I made a rich tomato sauce from scratch and topped the pizza with fresh mozzarella, uncured apple wood smoked bacon, asparagus, onion, green pepper, and broccoli. It ended up being quite delicious and, even in my own self-castigating sort of way, congratulated myself on the creation. I actually found the denser crust created by the oat flour to be far more tart-like than anything, but really enjoyed it that way. It still was very moist, chewy, and extremely resilient to the rigors of heavily topping laden pizza consumption.

Having had a pleasant sleep filled with visions of pizza and bacon, I woke to find the sun shining in, what was, apparently a beautiful day. Both my patio doors and window face the east side of my building, however, which sometimes can impart a false sense of warmth that is easily deceiving. That being said, I broke out my mountain bike and departed on what would become one of the worst rides of my mountain biking ‘career’. First, as I have already alluded to, I set the stage for my ride by being totally underdressed – a fact I realized immediately after stepping out of the car at the shaded trailhead.

My goal was to explore a matrix of fire roads that crisscross over this large plot of land in Southington – part of the Crescent Lake property for those of you who are familiar. Well, not too far in I began to realize that they had started logging the area and were using the other end of the property as their point of entry. Because they were using an alternative entrance their operation wasn’t immediately conspicuous to me, for if it had been I probably would have reconsidered my venture altogether.

Anyhow, the roads, I learned, had been torn up by large logging machinery and were a combination of deep icy muddy ruts overlaid with a bunch of dead fall. Only twenty minutes into the ride I was covered head to toe in freezing mud, trying with all my might to keep my momentum as I pedaled uphill, as the road revealed itself to be a gradual but unrelenting climb in hub-deep arctic mud. The rutting was so deep that the roads were essentially acting as small rivers and thick brush on either side made it impossible to skirt the horrendous mess. However, stubbornness prevailed and I sallied forth instead of turning back. I can’t imagine I actually covered any significant amount of terrain, and yet I was still out for a good two hours. By the time I got back to the car I was fuming, rightfully blaming the loggers for such careless use of the land and for everyone’s eagerness to make a quick buck at the expense of Connecticut’s limited woodlands.

Upon riding back home with a mud packed hubs and an equally filthy visage, I contemplated just how sad the treatment of Connecticut’s land is. Human powered recreation seems to be a rarity around here, often leading to the limited amount of woodland set aside for its practitioners to be summarily overrun by OHV’s and loggers. This is far more commonplace than I care to admit and I continue to find more and more acreage fall victim to this sort of shabby and lowly treatment. As one can imagine, this is an issue that has long plagued me and my outrage only continues to grow with time. As such I am sure that you can expect future posts on this subject in my effort to begin combating the whoring out of our precious few woodlands.

Haste Makes Waste

Dinner last night was a disaster but, frankly, one that didn’t bother me. I got in late from a post-work mountain bike session and found myself with a sink full of dirty breakfast dishes and a very, very ravenous appetite. Instead of washing the dishes and composing my workspace, I decided to jump right into dinner without getting myself relaxed and prepared. Big mistake.

Dinner was supposed to be stuffed peppers along with a cold cucumber soup. I was going to stuff the peppers with black beans and brown rice, amongst other things. When I arrived home I realized that my experiment of leaving the rice and beans in a crock pot over the course of the day was a failed one and found the end product to be a gluey mixture of seemingly dubious origins (I plan to try this next time). To my prehistoric slurry I added some sautéed garlic, shallots, and a few pinches of spices. I realized after stuffing my green peppers with the mixture and sticking them in the oven that I had neglected to add egg, which I had planned to employ as a “binder” of sorts. Although my desiccated rice and bean mixture really didn’t need a binder at this point, I decided to beat up an egg and drizzle it over the top of the pepper regardless. Naturally it coursed right off the top of the pepper and pooled up on the baking pan, and later found it firmed up into a sprawling baked egg (which, though not planned for, was tasty in and of itself).

In the meantime I had started a batch of sweet potato fries as, at this point, I realized how famished I really was and needed something to address my rapidly plummeting blood sugar. Ultimately, it would be only the fries that turned out the way I had expected.

I then moved onto the cucumber soup while everything else was in the oven. I had never made a cold soup before and frankly this probably wasn’t the best evening to start. But I did, and ultimately ended up blending together cucumber, spinach, cilantro, yogurt, a tad bit of roasted red pepper, lemon juice, and a drizzle of olive oil. This slurry (as you can see I had given birth to several slurries on this particular evening) was actually pretty tasty but was far more watery than I had hoped for. I ultimately determined that I should have used the thicker Greek yogurt I had on hand as opposed to the European yogurt that had ultimately found its way into the soup.

Anyhow, the peppers finally did come out of the oven and some sort of dinner began to coalesce out of the various constituents. In my ravenous state everything seemed to be acceptable, although reflecting on the experience casts some doubt on the soundness of my judgment at the time. Once I had finished plowing through the mish-mash on my plate I realized what a mess I had made of things and promised myself that next time I was in need of immediate calories I’d abandon more elaborate dinner plans in favor of something simpler. Experimenting with new ideas, dishes, or techniques is definitely something best approached with ample time, patience, and clean kitchen.

So What’s Up in Eats?

Well this week has been a bit busy with spring and daylight savings time tempting me to prolonged forays into the out-of-doors. However, I’ve still gotten a fair amount of cooking in despite my limited time at home. Breakfasts, to start, have been pretty typical. Some sort of egg dish, some steel cut oatmeal sweetened with mashed banana and vanilla, and some pan-fried sweet potatoes.

On Sunday I made a delicious vegetable soup from some of the chicken stock that has long been monopolizing my freezer. It was a hasty amalgamation of what I had as leftovers in my fridge at the time – celery, kale, brown rice, tomatoes, black beans, onion, shallot, carrots, and broccoli. Topped with a couple of bay leaves, oregano, basil, salt and pepper and I had a solid soup for a lunch and dinner accompaniment throughout the week.

As for dinner the only standouts (if you could call them that) were:

Monday – Southwest Casserole of sorts. Browned grass fed beef over riced cauliflower with a sauce of tomato, cumin, red pepper, and jalapeno. Baked in the oven and then topped with guacamole, Greek yogurt, green onion, and cilantro. On the side I had some sweet potato chips with a chipotle yogurt dip I had made the week before.

Tuesday – Roasted root vegetable salad (carrots, parsnips, sweet potato, with some cauliflower), vegetable soup, soft boiled eggs on a bed of spinach.

Wednesday – Mussels in tomato sauce (tomato, garlic, shallot, oregano, salt, pepper). Vegetable soup (what a surprise), and for dessert I had roasted pear (with cinnamon, ginger, and nutmeg) topped with whipped Greek yogurt and toasted sunflower seeds. I put too much hot sauce in the soup and too much pepper in the tomato sauce. As a result dinner was too hot and spicy. Nothing plenty of Greek yogurt on top of the pear couldn’t fix.

Food & Change - A Manifesto

I’ve decided to retool this blog a bit and expand its role from merely a pulpit to more of a running journal devoid of the pomp and finish (yeah right) that it’s possessed up until this point. You may ask yourself, ‘stripped of its previous luster, what’s left?’ Well I plan to leverage this blog for allot more ‘stream of consciousness’ type writing, in addition to a forum to house my culinary ventures, minor trip reports, and a repository for self imposed goals and aspirations (thereby making it more difficult to shirk them at a later point in time). Basically, I am going to drop any previous pretense and just use it as a virtual scratch pad. Therefore, from here on out I am sure you can expect an increasing lack of cogency and coherence, giving rise to ever increasing entropy and clouded vision of purpose.
As mentioned above I’d like to use the blog as a way of tracking my culinary ventures. To that end I intend to dispatch with one of the authorial golden rules and write in ignorance of my audience and use this blog (at least in my capacity as an amateur cook) as a means for my personal edification and advancement. However, unlike any other blog posts on food you may have read previously, mine will be devoid of artfully arranged food photography, helpful recipes, and blissful accounts of the preparatory experience. Rather what you’ll find is a candid look at my forays into the world of cooking taking place in my tiny (and ugly) apartment kitchen, replete with blunders, oversights, and occasional poorly lit photographs appearing to have been taken from a moving car.

What calls for this change? Due to my increased attention to my nut & peanut (the astute among you will recognize they’re not the same thing) allergy I’ve found my options to be largely restricted when it comes to eating out. When combined with adherence to my tenets of healthy eating, I find my diet difficult to cater to unless I wish to prepare all of my meals myself. Out of these requirements has been born my renewed passion for cooking which has spurred me on to become a more competent, well versed, and knowledgeable cook, with a genuine appreciation not only for the food, but the act of preparing it.

Seeing that I intend to introduce cooking as a major player in my blog, I think it’d help to paint, in broad strokes, some of the ideals that govern my food and stylistic choices. I’ll refrain from getting into the basis for these decisions in this post and, in all likelihood, future posts as well.

- Food is Life: Food literally IS life. It fuels our bodies and minds and is the basis for our continued existence. Strangely, food in modern America has come to be treated as a grudgingly necessary component of the overly scrutinized input/output system formerly known as our bodies. As a result, food had become devoid of enjoyment and is a main source of our constant anxiety. Food, in America, garners only a miniscule fraction of the average American’s paycheck – a fact further illuminated by the contrastingly large amount spent by those in many other first world countries (and even more so in third world countries). Coupled with this financial deficit is the lack of enjoyment and time that food sees in this country. (It’s for this reason that other cultures don’t have the weight management issues that ours does -- read “Why French Women Don’t Get Fat”…I didn’t, but I understand that’s the premise).

I am trying to buck that trend and once again provide food the central role in my life that it both deserves and should rightfully occupy. I try to make time and expense secondary considerations when it comes to food. To this same end I make its preparation just as enjoyable and engaging as its consumption. Therefore, I don’t do fast food, 100 calorie packs, vitamin water, or eating in the car. I do sit down meals, everything from scratch, and whole afternoons spent on the dinner to follow.

- Whole Food: I strive with 98% success to eat only whole foods or, in other words, foods easily recognizable in their marketed forms. This means no additives, processed grains or sweeteners, canned produce, or factory prepared items.  I also don't do low fat.  Never.

- Limited Grains: I don’t really do breads (if I do, they’re sprouted), baked goods, or the like. I do use whole grains like brown rice, quinoa, oat groats, and the like on a limited basis. I definitely don’t do processed grains.

- Limited Land Based Protein: For environmental reasons I try to limit myself to only two pounds of land based protein a month. The rest of my protein I try to get from environmentally sound fished or farmed seafood, as well as limited consumption of dairy and eggs.

- Smart Buying (Organic): It’s my informed belief that locavorism and buying strictly organic is not necessarily the most environmentally friendly choice we can make as consumers. It definitely can be, but not always. However, my concern for responsible farming practices often leads me to buy organic foods before making the more environmentally friendly non-organic purchase. Therefore I try to temper buying decisions with a little bit of global altruism married with a little bit of self-preservation.

- Ratios: Ratios may seem like a funny word to use here but I really couldn’t think of a better singular term to describe this aspect of my culinary ‘code’. Besides being a déclassé cook, I am also a committed amateur athlete. The foundation of sound athletic performance and development is a diet well balanced in all the necessary macronutrients - fat, protein, and carbohydrate. By treating this ratio of macronutrients as a formula, many athletes easily achieve their nutritional requirements. However, many of these athletes treat food only as fuel and resultantly become objects of deprivation and self-castigation. I, on the other hand, don’t see a payoff in being an accomplished athlete with egregious deficits in other arenas of my life (see: Food is Life). Therefore, I try to observe ratios but understand that food enjoyed is ultimately the superior ‘fuel’.

- Minimalism: I appreciate minimalism not only as a sustainable means of living, but as an aesthetic one as well. I think doing more with less is a beautiful thing and therefore find I manifest that ideology in just about every aspect of my life. To that end I also employ minimalism in my cooking and am constantly exploring ways to minimize waste, ingredients, and kitchen tools. I think uni-taskers are antithetical to artful cooking and that finding creative ways to do more with less is both a stimulating and gratifying act.