I’m sure you’ve all been hearing about the huge Listeria outbreak that seems to have come from a crop of contaminated cantaloupe.  When we first saw the story on the news, there happened to be half a cantaloupe, cut up and ready to eat, in a Tupperware in our refrigerator.  Lee had already eaten the first half.

He had a moment of panic:

“Should I throw the cantaloupe away?  Wait–what were those symptoms?  I’ve already eaten a bunch of it.  WHAT IF I GET SICK?”

“You’re not going to get sick.  It’s fine.”

“BUT HOW DO YOU KNOW??”

And that, my friends, is yet another reason to eat local.  I knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that our cantaloupe did not, could not possibly have come from that unfortunate farm in Colorado.  I knew where our cantaloupe came from–a farm about thirty miles from our house..  I knew the farmer, by name.  I had chatted with his wife the day I bought that melon.  She thumped on several, helping me choose one that would be perfectly ripe and ready two days hence, when I knew we’d want to eat it.

Even if I hadn’t had such a clear memory of the purchase and provenance of that particular cantaloupe, I know that my local melons (like the rest of the produce I buy at the farmer’s market) are grown with an eye toward quick consumption.  They don’t have to be “washed” (which is speculated to be the reason the outbreak has been so widespread), or shipped long distances, or stored for a month or two.  Those melons were apparently harvest in July, and the USDA/health dept. is concerned–now, in October–that there still might be some of the offending crop waiting in people’s refrigerators.

Yuck.

People.  Buy local, and eat with the seasons.  It’s the sensible thing to do.

Mark Bittman, a widely respected food writer, had an Op-Ed piece in yesterday’s New York Times that overturns a widely believed myth about food prices:  fast food is not any cheaper than cooking at home.

It seems that as a country, we often throw up our hands in despair over the obesity problem, citing the inescapable temptation of cheap, plentiful fast food.  Why shouldn’t people eat fast food, if that’s all they can afford?

Bittman has a fabulous graphic showing the price of dinner for a family of four:  McDonald’s, a home-cooked meal of chicken, rice, and salad, or a home-cooked meal of rice and beans.  If you’re on a budget, you’ll want to stay away from McDonald’s.

Personally, I eat very little fast-food; I’m a little squeamish about what’s actually in food that can be produced on that kind of scale.  But I’m in the minority, as evidenced by the ubiquity of those golden arches (and all the other eye-catching signs and slogans that line our roadways).  According to Bittman, the crux of the problem is this:  people don’t like to cook.

Wait, what?

I don’t really see it as optional.  Eating?  Sort of essential (if you don’t believe me, google Mazlov’s hierarchy).  Unless you’re going to just graze on random  raw plant matter, you probably ought to know how to cook a few things.  It’s a crucial life skill, right up there with knowing how to use a toilet and cross a street without getting run over and tie your shoelaces.  I feel like obligated to teach my kids how to cook a few basic meals for themselves, just like I’ve taught them how to do laundry and schedule their own medical appointments.

The political action Bittman talks about–the changes in regulation and legislation that would curb the influence of fast-food conglomerates–are beyond my puny little control.  But the cultural changes that will pave the way for a real improvement in our nation’s health?  I can do my part.  I can teach my children where food comes from, how it gets to store*, and how to turn that raw material into a meal that nourishes both body and soul.

*Yesterday Delaney and I were at the supermarket, and she asked for some Granny Smith apples.  I told her about this article, which points out, among other things, that the average supermarket apple was picked 14 months before you see it in produce section.  14 months!  She hesitated for a nano-second, then asked if we had time to go to the farmer’s market.  That’s my girl.

Great news!  Chocolate is good for your heart.  Admittedly, some of us don’t need to be convinced, but for those of you who do, you can read more here, or if you prefer a more visual explanation, here .

On a related note–that little Hershey’s snack-sized bar in the photo above?  It has 77 calories.  More importantly, it costs 13 cents (assuming you buy it in an 8-pack at Target).  So if you put a pile of them in your usual chocolate spot, your kids will think they’ve struck gold.  Just hide your personal Valrhona stash somewhere else, and they’ll never realize they didn’t get the good stuff.

To be filed under the category of “Things That Make My Head Explode”:

People who glance at a menu and announce there’s nothing they like.

Really?  I find that hard to imagine.  I’m a stupidly picky eater, and even I can find something in most places.

What drives me most insane is when my kids insist there’s nothing they want on the menu.  Toby pretty much lives on pasta.  Delaney pretty much lives on chicken sandwiches.  But if you were to take either of them to a restaurant they’d never been to before, they’d take one glance at the menu, and tell you how awful it is.

The conversations are getting a bit repetetive:

“I don’t like pesto.”//”Order it without the pesto.”

“I don’t like mayonnaise.”//”Order it without the mayonnaise.”

“I don’t like onions.”//”Order it without the onions.”

“I don’t like melted cheese.”//”Order it without the cheese.  Or with the cheese on the side, so it’s not melted.  Just order already.”

“We can’t eat here.”//”Why not?”//”Everything is garnished with parsley.  I hate parsley.”//”Order it without parsley, for Pete’s sake!”

*tears*  ”I wanted a sandwich!”//”What’s the problem?”//”It says it has pickles!”//”Oh, good heavens.  Stop acting like it’s some kind of tragedy.  Just ASK FOR NO PICKLE!”

(in an accusatory voice) “You said they had pasta.”//”They do.  See?  Linguini.”//”That says mushroom linguini.  You know I hate mushrooms.”//”But it also says linguini.  That means they have pasta.  Just ask for some plain noodles!”

And my personal favorite:

“There’s nothing I want.”//”How about the chicken sandwich?”//”No.  It has romesco.”//”Do you know what romesco is?”//”No.  But I know I don’t like it.”

Unless you keep kosher, or have celiac disease or a peanut allergy, or some other profoundly limiting circumstance, there’s bound to be something you can eat.  I don’t eat much meat*, but I can manage just fine at a steakhouse.  Or a BBQ joint.  Lee tries to eat pretty low-fat; it’s admittedly difficult in restaurants, especially if you order straight off the menu, but if you’re willing to ask questions and make special requests, it’s do-able.

That’s my point:  whether you’re just a picky eater, like me, or have a genuine dietary need, like Lee, you have to be willing to speak up.  You are, after all, the customer.**

*I don’t eat beef at all.  Not ever.  The last time I ate so much as a bite of beef was in 1993, and that was only because the doctor was threatening me with a transfusion, so Lee made me eat a steak.  I do eat some ham, and the occasional bit of chicken or turkey.  And I adore the occasional crustacean.

**Some (but not many) restaurants are unwilling/unable to honor special requests.  That’s fine–that’s their prerogative.  We make a mental note, and don’t go back.

Remember the oat bran craze?  Or blueberries?  Now it’s pomegranate, and mangosteen, and acai.

They’re all nice enough, and undeniably healthier than a cheeseburger and fries.  But good enough to make up for that cheeseburger and fries?  Not so much.

And no single food is going to ward off all illness, or make you live forever.  No”miracle” drink is potent enough to stand in for appropriate medical care or necessary medication.

Cranberry juice, for instance:  if you think you’re getting a UTI, and you drink a glass of cranberry juice, and the symptoms go away, great.  That’s fantastic, and totally appropriate.  But if the symptoms don’t go away, and you just keep drinking cranberry juice and ignore the fact that you have a problem, that’s just stupid.

Oat bran–same thing.  It’s perfectly fine, of course.  It makes a nice alternative to cream of wheat, and is a lovely, fibrous addition to muffins.  But if you eat it every single day, insisting that it’s going to bring your cholesterol down even when the bloodwork indicates otherwise?  You might want to rethink that idea.

There’s no such thing as a miracle food.  It’s pretty much all fine, in moderation.  The problems start when we eat too much of just a few things, and that applies equally to milkshakes and brussels sprouts.

According to this article that I stumbled across this morning, tiny food is a hot new trend.

Awesome.  I find large food alarming.

I’m fantasizing about my ideal meal:  half a teacup-full of a creamy warm soup, followed by a handful (my hand, not some basketball player’s) of a perfectly balanced salad.  Three or four shrimp, preferably poached in butter.  Half a dozen slender spears of asparagus, and maybe a few fluffy gnocchi, or a tiny coil of fresh pasta.  For dessert–a miniature tart, of course.

Sigh.  Too bad we don’t believe in dainty food here in the South.

Last month I read this article in The New York Times with great interest. The very next day, I tuned in to the Diane Rehm Show on public radio, and heard this program, about the very same topic.

Food prices are going up.

The interesting part, though, is the way manufacturers are trying to preempt the increases.  They’re reducing package sizes, so that they can hold prices steady.  Theoretically this will keep consumers from freaking out at the sticker shock.

I have two observations (I was lifting weights while I listened, avidly, to the Diane Rehm episode, so I was able to really focus and think about the issue; it’s been on my mind ever since).

1)  The package-shrinking issue that both the radio program and the NYT article discuss is pretty specific to packaged food.  It seems to me that if you avoid things like goldfish and pretzels, and stick to basic ingredients, you’re more likely to be buying things by the pound, so you should (theoretically, if you pay attention to such things) be more aware of any price increase, and less susceptible to sneaky marketing practices.  A pound of broccoli is a pound of broccoli.

2) When it comes to junk food (again, like goldfish and pretzels), it seems to me that smaller packages are probably a good thing.  I mean, who really needs a giant bag of potato chips?  The excess packaging of those little 100-calorie packs freaks me out, but from a health standpoint, they’re brilliant.  Okay, not brilliant–they’re still goldfish and pretzels, after all, which hardly count as food–but still helpful for those of us who have trouble stopping after a reasonable portion.

Ironic, no?  We’re a nation with a massive obesity problem, and we’re annoyed that our food is coming in smaller packages.

Day before yesterday I went out to lunch with my mother.  Usually when we go to lunch, just the two of us, we try to go somewhere a little unusual (she kind of has my attitude about eating out–she’d just as soon try something interesting that she can’t get at home)–the Turkish place downtown, or a French bakery or Indian buffet.  Like me, she doesn’t eat much meat, but beyond that caveat, we both like to try new things.

But–on Wednesday, we were both on schedules and needing to get things done.  Lunch was a good chance to catch up, but neither of us had time for an adventure.

So we went to Panera, mainly because it’s close to my house, and it’s quick and easy.

I hadn’t been in ages, and I made a fantastic discovery:  the menu board now has calorie counts for every item!

Panera has always been a little ahead of the curve on nutrition information–I’ve relied on their website for years, and before that, they had these huge notebooks behind the counter that you could peruse if you asked.  But putting the calorie count on the menu, right there where we can see it as we order–this is huge progress.  Are you really going to eat that whole bagel and cream cheese if you KNOW it’s a full third of the calories you need in a day?

I realize lots of people will ignore the information, or not understand how to interpret it, but hopefully at least some of us will use it to make intelligent choices.  I know I did–I had my usual cup of black bean soup, but instead of accompanying it with a wedge of Asiago focaccia, I chose a (really tasty) green salad with a bit of grilled chicken.

Now if fast food joints would put this kind of information on their drive-thru menus, we might be able to get a handle on the obesity problem that’s killing us.

That was the headline of the New York Times article about the new USDA dietary guidelines, out last week.  Apparently the government is finally realizing what the rest of us noticed years ago:  Americans are fat, and the way to lose weight is to eat less.

Thank goodness someone is finally saying it out loud.

The obesity epidemic in this country is complicated, and I don’t feel like trying to write something complicated right now.  But if you’re interested in learning more about these new guidelines, I suggest you listen to the Diane Rehm show from February 1st.  Walter Willett (whom I respect a great deal) was on the panel, as well as several other experts.  It was a fascinating–if sometimes heated–conversation.

But here’s the thing that bothers me.  Like I said, I realize that this is a complicated issue.  BUT–and this may be purely a reflection of the milieu in which I came of age–there’s a really alarming dichotomy about the way we talk about weight in this country.  It’s like America has a collective split personality.  Most of us are obese, but there’s also this segment of the population that has, or has had, or is afraid of having, an eating disorder, like anorexia or bulimia.

I watched this whole controversy play out last spring about an advertising campaign (for Gap?  J Crew?  I can’t remember) involving t-shirts that said, simply, Eat Less.  The blogosphere was appalled.  Twitter was incensed.  The model was sort of scrawny, so I guess I understand why that message on that young woman’s body might be provocative, but I just didn’t get the level of outrage.

I mean, let’s face it–as a group, Americans really do need to eat less.  Even the government has noticed.

I’ve lately witnessed several parents going out of their way to give a child whole milk, when skim was readily available.  This surprises me.

I sort of thought, at this point, we were all in agreement that whole milk contains a lot of unnecessary saturated fat (5 grams per cup, to be precise).  The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends switching kids to skim milk at age 2.   Lots of studies show that arteries can start clogging up during childhood–so what gives?

Milk has some kind of hold on our collective unconscious, it seems.  We equate it with wholesome nutrition–strong bones, strong muscles, smart, clean-cut kids, and that elementary school favorite, the milk mustache.  I think a lot of people think of milk as a basic building block of childhood nutrition.  And it is good stuff, but only if you leave out the saturated fat.

Now, in the interests of full disclosure, I should point out that I’ve never had cause to worry that my children weren’t growing adequately.  There were born tall, and have been growing like weeds ever since.  So when they were little, and I encouraged a glass of milk with breakfast, it was because I wanted them to get plenty of calcium, and maybe start the day off with some protein.  It was never because I thought they needed extra calories.

So maybe, if your kids are especially tiny for their age, whole milk is easy way to get in extra calories.  But that just worries me–especially if there’s any family history of heart disease.  Besides, the older kids get, the harder it is to convince them to switch to skim (and that’ll have to happen eventually, right?).

It seems to me that there has to be a better way to grow healthy kids.  Whole wheat toast?  Olive oil?  Lean protein?  An apple with peanut butter?

Maybe it’s just me . . .