50% Natural

While the republic burns, let's take a break and talk about my inconsistent chicken-buying habits instead.

So, look, I was originally planning to write one of my philosophical posts I seem to keep writing of late about the fleeting nature of time and life and blah blah blah. Specifically, I was going to write about the strong pull of the past, and the strange way nostalgia works. (Just got back from my 25th college reunion, so, you know. Relevant)

But the truth is, it’s been a particularly shitty couple of weeks for our country. Between watching these fuckers in the Supreme Court overturn Roe, make it harder for the government to curb emissions and easier for people to carry concealed weapons, and also watching the January 6 hearings knowing that millions of brainwashed MAGA cult members won’t belive or care the last president fomented a coup based on a lie, one can’t help feeling a little, well, exhausted. Disheartened. Powerless.

So today, I just don’t wanna write about the shifting sands of time or boats being borne back ceaselessly into the past. I wanna write about Carob and SuzyQs.

Carob: I’m not even sure exactly what it is. Some kind of bean? Anyway, in the seventies, some sadistic ex-hippie / earth mother types started using it to make a waxy, bitter chocolate substitute and pushing it on unsuspecting white, suburban mothers. As a result, my mother started incorporating it into our family diet (even our EASTER BASKETS, for the love of God) along with wheat germ, homemade granola, and “fruit leather,” which I’m pretty sure was just baked applesauce. She grew her own alfalfa sprouts in jars, and I can only assume she made her own yogurt at some point. Meanwhile, for several years in the early eighties, my brother and I were only allowed to have sugar-free lollipops. These tasted like a lollipop crossed with a candle.

Now, flash forward ten years or so: I’m a teenager, and our kitchen is regularly stocked with Diet Rite, Gorton’s fish sticks, and Suzy Qs. (If you’re not familiar with them, they are the Hostess verison of a Devil Dog, but far superior on account of the softer cake part and the higher cream to cake ratio. One could also describe them as the Kardashian version of a whoopie pie.) We still ate fairly healthily overall. My mom cooked a well-balanced family dinner nearly every night. There was no white bread in the house, only wheat. But neither was there any wheat germ or carob.

I often wonder what happened between 1977 and 1987 that led to this change. Certainly, there were larger cultural forces at work. The earth mother / Our Bodies Ourselves / Free to Be You and Me culture yielded to microwaves, aerobics, and Smurfette. But I aso suspect that on some level my mom got to a point where she was like “eh, fuck it.” Pass the Suzy-Qs.

I can relate.

Except my shifts from healthy to unhealthy, earth mother to….space mother (?), environmentally responsible to unresponsible happen not on a decade to decade basis, but month to month or week to week. Sometimes even day to day.

Example: There was a period when I declared (to myself and those around me, including my husband, who rolled his eyes): WE SHALL EAT NOTHING BUT HUMANELY RAISED AND LOCALLY SOURCED MEAT! Because it’s better for the environment (if you’re going to eat meat) and nicer to the animals. And if it means spending more and going out of our way to find it, well, it’s a sacrifice worth making!

Flash forward a few months, and maybe our checking account is a little anemic, and I’m crazy busy, and I’m at Stop & Shop (where I am buying whole wheat bread and also Oreos) and I’m all “This time, I’ll just buy this store-brand ‘Nature’s Promise’ chicken, because the package has a leaf on it, and it’s more expensive than the regular kind, so that must mean it’s better for the environment, and the chickens, and my children’s insides, and come on, I can’t be perfect.”

And then, next thing you know I’m saying eh, fuck it. It’s probably exactly the same meat as that stuff over there on the yellow trays that’s on sale for $1.89 a pound. We have solar panels and one of our kids is a vegetarian, so it cancels it out.

Flash forward a few more months, and maybe I happen to have just gotten a big fat check from a client so I’m feeling flush with cash, and I just read something about pesticides ravaging us all from within, and I’m at our local farmer’s market slapping down $20 for two pounds of chicken from a farm in Western Mass., declaring NO, THIS TIME I MEAN IT! ONLY HUMANELY RAISED AND LOCALLY SOURCED MEAT!

Rinse, repeat.

(Speaking of rinsing and repeating: I once tried that shampoo that comes in bar form—no plastic packaging. It made my hair look like shit.)

Periodic oscillations aside, I suppose I have actually gotten gradualy more “eh, fuck it” as the kids have gotten older. Like, I used to buy the fancy, all-natural frozen waffles when the kids were little. At some point, I shifted to Nutri-grain Eggos. Now, I just grab the cheaper, ‘Homestyle’ ones and call it a day. The kids like them better, and I’m pretty confident that eating the non-whole-grain kind won’t subtract years from their lives. I mean, if they’re going to eat frozen waffles anyway, right? (But did I mention the wheat bread? It’s organic wheat bread. So I think that cancels out the waffles. And maybe the Pepperidge Farm cinnamon raisin swirl bread, too.)

I admire the commitment of the 100% natural and organic and healthy and sustainable people. I really do. But this is one area where I think I will forever be inconsistent.

I feel like I should make some larger point here now, as I often do at the end of my posts. Something about everything in moderation, or perfect being the enemy of good, or the importance of balance in one’s kitchen and one’s life, or something like that. I should probably also touch on inequality and food deserts and the connection between "virtuous” eating and wealth / privilege.

But…eh, fuck it.

You stopped thinking about Roe vs. Wade for five minutes, right?

You’re welcome.