I passed by my friend in Trader Joe's with my hubby. He saw that she had TJ's multigrain waffles in her cart and jealously stated, "She USED to get those, I wish we still had them. They're so nice and easy to use and make!"
My friend and my hubby instantly concluded that there must be something, who knows what it was, in its ingredient list that must have been on my list of Things That Seem Normal But Are Totally Poison. Well, yes. They were right. It had soy lecithin and I'm no fan of soy. That same friend had asked me on another day about canola oil and said she knew I wasn't a fan of it, but didn't know why.
I'm here to explain my position, based on what I have researched, on con-ola oil. Oh. Did I say that? I mean canola oil.
We have to start with the history of canola oil to kind of understand its place (its rather prominent place, I might add) in our society today. Canola oil is actually a made up word. The edible oil industry and their homeboys had to make something up because its true source, the rapeseed plant, seemed kind of like a problem word. Rape? Yeah. Not so good for marketing. So they made up something that reminded them of "can do" and payola and as it came from Canada, they thought they might want to call it something like "Canada oil". Well, whatever. They got away from the whole idea of rape. I guess the thought of rape doesn't really sell oil. Or if it does, that's kind of even sicker. So.
Meanwhile, back in the mid 1980's peeps (well, scientists, specifically) started seeing that the vegetable oils (corn oil) and soybean oil started bringing up crazy amounts of health problems. They had to market something that would be the savior of the oil world. People started writing books about "Omega Diets" and having people turn to the Mediterranean for true longevity and miraculous health. They began researching olive oil and found that hey - it was really good for you and did not bring out those problems people had with corn oil and soybean oil. Great.
Except one problem. They couldn't get enough of it. There just wasn't enough of it to go around. Not only that, but they had to have something way cheaper. The processed foods industry couldn't pay all that money for olive oil when they were used to doing it on the cheap with corn oil or soybean oil. That would drive their prices up, and thus, their profits low. But based on the research, they still needed something that mimicked the properties of olive oil. Where to look?
In India, China and Japan for hundreds of years people had used fresh-pressed rapeseed oils. Upon initial review, scientists saw that rapeseed contained significant levels of erucic acid. What's wrong with erucic acid? Well, it is a 22-carbon monounsaturated fatty acid that is directly linked to Keshan's disease - which shows up in the form of fibrotic lesions on your heart. Yeaaaah, not so good. I'm good without the fibrotic lesions, thanks. Why weren't people all over India and the rest of Asia filled with fibrotic heart lesions? It has to do with a balance of good fats (lard, butter, ghee, tallow, coconut oil, and palm oil) in their diets that ward off the negative affects. Unfortunately, the diet gurus of today preach eating low fat and staying away from such evils as butter, lard, ghee, tallow, and the like. Hello, heart lesions!
So the scientists came up with a clever way to get rid of that nasty stuff by genetically modifying and seed splitting it. Ah, so clever. I am so glad we do know better, aren't you? I'm sure nothing bad could come of taking the DNA code and changing it. It's probably so very smart of us! Gosh, science is the best. Now they fixed it right up so it was low in erucic acid and had plenty of those 18-carbon oleic acids (which they wanted). They called it LEAR, meaning low erucic acid rapeseed. They started selling it in 1986, but the farmers who took up with it took a huge hit and it didn't catch on. I guess people didn't like the word rapeseed or LEAR sitting in their cupboards.
Back to the drawing board.
This is when they had to do two things. The first was to rename it - that's when it became "canola" oil. It was produced mostly in Canada (eh) but had a big problem. It did not get GRAS status. (GRAS stands for "generally recognized as safe".) This was kind of a huge problem since the FDA couldn't give it a stamp of approval and thus, peeps wouldn't be buying it. Argh for them! By some just absolutely WONDERFUL miracle, it secretly got GRAS status in 1986. I suppose it had nothing to do with the $50 million that the Canadian government put foward to the FDA to encourage this wonderful miracle. And yes, I'm serious.
Now it's green lighted and ready to go, they just had to call up their marketing deparatment for more special tricks to let us know why on earth we should be gobbling it up in every direction. You can't just put out tv adverts like you're aiming for these low class monsters in between The Simpsons and Jerry Springer, no. You've got to high-class it up. How? Ah yes! Got it. Sell high-end fancy schmancy cookbooks and promote them as all the rage (for anyone who's anyone, that is) and it will trickle down the line to the pathetic masses. Lucky little pathetic masses!
Finally it caught on, glory and hallelujah. At first, it was said that canola was safe. Well, unfortunately, no long term studies had been done which is kind of a requirement in being honest about whether something is quite safe or not. Well, what the heck, right? For $50 million dollars I think you could have a lot of people declaring pretty much anything is pretty stinkin great/safe/miraculous, whatever you want!
So what do the few studies actually say anyway? In 1978 in the Netherlands the Unilever corporation wanted to do some testing to see whether or not the new LEAR oil caused heart lesions in test animals (like the oil that had the high levels of erucic acid did). The results were mixed. Rats that were genetically bred to have heart troubles in the first place (those heart lesions) ended up having even more heart lesions. They compared this to the rats that were in the same heart category but were fed on diets of olive oil, sunflower oil or flax oil. The other rats that were bred with healthy heart characteristics were not affected as the others.
In 1979, they pooled several studies to test what happens when LEAR oil and other oils are taken together. What they found out won't shock you that much - when rats got to have other heart healthy fats (like coconut oil) - they had built a protective barrier and were not prone to heart lesions.
An interesting study in 1997 showed that piglets that were given canola oil in their milk replacement solution had a Vitamin E deficiency and a low platelet count (with increased platelet size). This was even shown although the milk replacement had adequate levels of Vitamin E present.
Other studies showed that rats who were bred with proneness to heart disease had shortened life spans when their diet consisted of canola oil.
In some more recent studies, high consumption of monounsaturated fats was directly linked to increased rates of breast cancer. Good thing we aren't seeing any of that around in the world today, eh?
Oh. Yeah.
So from this side of the fence, I'm going to choose to stay away from it. Not only is it in the top 3 of the GMO crops of the entire world, but the studies that do exist do not shine favorable lights onto it. What will come of the long term studies? What will we see in the future in regard to the consumption of this highly processed and refined oil? I fear that it is one of the ingredients that will take us down the road away from health and natural living although it is disguised as a healthy alternative and even a heart-healthy savior for those who are prone to heart issues (with one look at the studies, you know it's nothing but the opposite which makes me kinda irritated).
Take a good look in your cupboard and decide where you want to draw the line. Do your research and make your own educated decision.
It genuinely one day may save your life.
Peace, love and dump the garbage in the garbage,
Ms. Daisy
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Monday, April 15, 2013
Could it be? Is it possible?
If you know anything about the seasons in the midwest of the United States, you know that in some parts, winter lasts about 5 or 6 months, summer lasts about 3, fall lasts about 2 and a half months and spring lasts about four minutes. Today is the first day it really feels like spring and elated does not even begin to describe my sentiment.
Oh! The wonder of spring! Things growing, turning green, the smell of the ground being thawed out with rain (or continual torrential downpour for 5 days, which is what it was last week), birds chirping and returning back to the frigid tundra (my special nickname for the midwest), and best of all - it is the gateway to the best season of all: hot weather season! (Some people call it "summer".)
(Which is why fall is the WORST season of all since it represents the death of the warm weather season and the gateway into frigid 6-month horrors. This is not even to mention the tree litter that cascades and douses your lawn as if it were some kind of dump truck on the expressway with its top off, just so you can rake up 45 5-foot-tall yard bags worth of the junk.)
It is the season for lawns. For edging (OH! GLORY! HOW I'VE MISSED YOU!), weed whipping, mowing, (I really show get a cow for this, but since my back yard is about the size of your neighbor's Honda civic, I guess it might not work out), for grading your neighbor's lawns! (Oh wait. No. Just admire the good ones.)
And gardening! (Seriously, how could anyone NOT love spring?!) I am especially excited as my new issue of Urban Farm just came today.
What are you looking forward to? What are you growing in your garden? Do you have a cow to cut your grass for you or do you do it via mower?
Hooray! Spring!
Peace, love and green stuff everywhere!
Ms. Daisy
Oh! The wonder of spring! Things growing, turning green, the smell of the ground being thawed out with rain (or continual torrential downpour for 5 days, which is what it was last week), birds chirping and returning back to the frigid tundra (my special nickname for the midwest), and best of all - it is the gateway to the best season of all: hot weather season! (Some people call it "summer".)
(Which is why fall is the WORST season of all since it represents the death of the warm weather season and the gateway into frigid 6-month horrors. This is not even to mention the tree litter that cascades and douses your lawn as if it were some kind of dump truck on the expressway with its top off, just so you can rake up 45 5-foot-tall yard bags worth of the junk.)
It is the season for lawns. For edging (OH! GLORY! HOW I'VE MISSED YOU!), weed whipping, mowing, (I really show get a cow for this, but since my back yard is about the size of your neighbor's Honda civic, I guess it might not work out), for grading your neighbor's lawns! (Oh wait. No. Just admire the good ones.)
And gardening! (Seriously, how could anyone NOT love spring?!) I am especially excited as my new issue of Urban Farm just came today.
What are you looking forward to? What are you growing in your garden? Do you have a cow to cut your grass for you or do you do it via mower?
Hooray! Spring!
Peace, love and green stuff everywhere!
Ms. Daisy
Friday, April 12, 2013
My kind of party!
I am SO EXCITED about the new book I got in the mail. I was peeking out the window, watching for the mail lady to bring me a wonderful large envelope containing this fascinating and delightful book. I waited for days...and then - it finally came.
The rays of heavenly sunshine and the angels singing announced that yesterday the beloved book had arrived.
I tore open the yellow envelope and beheld it - it was everything I had hoped for. And more!
What is this amazing book, you may wonder? I will be ever so glad to tell you.
It is - Grammar by Diagram by Cindy L. Vitto. This book is a thorough investigation into the fascinating look at grammar and diagramming sentences. She is a delight and a wonder. Oh! The organization of this book! She even devotes a great deal of her introduction to explaining why the book is organized as it is.
I could hardly wait until the children were in bed to cozy up on the couch with my new grammar book. It even includes quizzes! Be still my beating heart. I eagerly began - she starts, of course, with nouns and pronouns (what sane person wouldn't!) and does not only just give you the general idea; she dives in head first and gives all sorts of wonderful categories (subjective, objective, reflexive, intensive, possessive, indefinite, reciprocal, interrogative, demonstrative and relative). Joy of all joys!
As I absorbed every jot and tittle, I began thinking as I approached the diagramming how completely and utterly fun sentence diagramming is and I had this great thought: oh my goodness, party games!
I asked my sleeping husband, "Oh honey! I have an idea! Wouldn't it be a fun party game to diagram sentences?"
He roused himself awake to answer, "Um...well...not for me..."
Party pooper!
Yeah, I guess not, though. Already at our parties we don't serve pop (poison) and my kids think dessert is eating a prune, so if I started passing out sentences to diagram, I guess that might put some people over the top.
Well, I would like it anyway. Oh well. Maybe I'll just save it for my birthday instead of pulling it off as a fun kid's game (like instead of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey?).
But it is TOTALLY THEIR LOSS.
And now, back to p. 61.
Peace, love and I love pedestaling prepositional phrases that function as predicate adjectives,
Ms. Daisy
The rays of heavenly sunshine and the angels singing announced that yesterday the beloved book had arrived.
I tore open the yellow envelope and beheld it - it was everything I had hoped for. And more!
What is this amazing book, you may wonder? I will be ever so glad to tell you.
It is - Grammar by Diagram by Cindy L. Vitto. This book is a thorough investigation into the fascinating look at grammar and diagramming sentences. She is a delight and a wonder. Oh! The organization of this book! She even devotes a great deal of her introduction to explaining why the book is organized as it is.
I could hardly wait until the children were in bed to cozy up on the couch with my new grammar book. It even includes quizzes! Be still my beating heart. I eagerly began - she starts, of course, with nouns and pronouns (what sane person wouldn't!) and does not only just give you the general idea; she dives in head first and gives all sorts of wonderful categories (subjective, objective, reflexive, intensive, possessive, indefinite, reciprocal, interrogative, demonstrative and relative). Joy of all joys!
As I absorbed every jot and tittle, I began thinking as I approached the diagramming how completely and utterly fun sentence diagramming is and I had this great thought: oh my goodness, party games!
I asked my sleeping husband, "Oh honey! I have an idea! Wouldn't it be a fun party game to diagram sentences?"
He roused himself awake to answer, "Um...well...not for me..."
Party pooper!
Yeah, I guess not, though. Already at our parties we don't serve pop (poison) and my kids think dessert is eating a prune, so if I started passing out sentences to diagram, I guess that might put some people over the top.
Well, I would like it anyway. Oh well. Maybe I'll just save it for my birthday instead of pulling it off as a fun kid's game (like instead of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey?).
But it is TOTALLY THEIR LOSS.
And now, back to p. 61.
Peace, love and I love pedestaling prepositional phrases that function as predicate adjectives,
Ms. Daisy
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Camp Horror Food
Have you ever sent your offspring to summer camp? Usually, once they get around an appropriate age where they are fairly self-sufficient, they are allowed to go hang out for a week with their peers and do hedonistic things all day like go swimming, zip-lining, pet animals, and the like.
Now to be fair, they do have camp counselors who are hired to corral them and tell them when they have to wake up, eat and go to sleep. It is almost a function of growing up in these United States.
While all of these things seem oh-so-beneficial (yes, sounds like it, quite sure), there is something that alarms me just a teensy bit (as if a week of pure wild hedonism isn't quite enough) and that is the utter quality and purity of the food selections offered. I am pretty sure that we're straight up GFS-ing it (GFS, if you don't have it, is a bulk "food" store where you can get "food" in aluminum cans that are bigger than your toilet and all manner of preserved and pre-fabbed quasi-foods filled to the top with pretty much everything you would never think of putting into your own mouth - partially hydrogenated oils, artifical colors, preservatives, high fructose corn syrup, GMO soy and corn products, and anything else you would scoff wildly at. Or I would, whatever.) for breakfast, lunch and dinner. For a week.
What's a responsible parent to do? You know, being that, if we go out to eat at all (which we do, four times a year - once for Valentine's Day with our friends, and for 3 birthdays), we pretty much instantly get sick the day after (or two). It's great. So I can imagine the amount of loveliness that it would be for my little to fill up on such yum-sies for an entire week. This compounded with 2 hours less sleep daily is sure to make a delight of a child.
So what would you do?
Here's what I'm thinking. I probably should just call the place and ask if they would be okay with me sending a week's worth of food. What's the harm in that, eh? You never know until you ask. And if you're ever faced with this, perhaps if there are enough of us out there who want a better food choice for our children, maybe they'll be inspired to change their food choices and provide something more real.
How to get to that spot? I think it's through educating people who make those decisions about food choices. Kinda like your own personal version of Jamie Oliver.
It's do-able and it's worth it.
Peace, love and feed them well!
Ms. Daisy
Now to be fair, they do have camp counselors who are hired to corral them and tell them when they have to wake up, eat and go to sleep. It is almost a function of growing up in these United States.
While all of these things seem oh-so-beneficial (yes, sounds like it, quite sure), there is something that alarms me just a teensy bit (as if a week of pure wild hedonism isn't quite enough) and that is the utter quality and purity of the food selections offered. I am pretty sure that we're straight up GFS-ing it (GFS, if you don't have it, is a bulk "food" store where you can get "food" in aluminum cans that are bigger than your toilet and all manner of preserved and pre-fabbed quasi-foods filled to the top with pretty much everything you would never think of putting into your own mouth - partially hydrogenated oils, artifical colors, preservatives, high fructose corn syrup, GMO soy and corn products, and anything else you would scoff wildly at. Or I would, whatever.) for breakfast, lunch and dinner. For a week.
What's a responsible parent to do? You know, being that, if we go out to eat at all (which we do, four times a year - once for Valentine's Day with our friends, and for 3 birthdays), we pretty much instantly get sick the day after (or two). It's great. So I can imagine the amount of loveliness that it would be for my little to fill up on such yum-sies for an entire week. This compounded with 2 hours less sleep daily is sure to make a delight of a child.
So what would you do?
Here's what I'm thinking. I probably should just call the place and ask if they would be okay with me sending a week's worth of food. What's the harm in that, eh? You never know until you ask. And if you're ever faced with this, perhaps if there are enough of us out there who want a better food choice for our children, maybe they'll be inspired to change their food choices and provide something more real.
How to get to that spot? I think it's through educating people who make those decisions about food choices. Kinda like your own personal version of Jamie Oliver.
It's do-able and it's worth it.
Peace, love and feed them well!
Ms. Daisy
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Just a quickster...
Overheard in my house - two children playing:
Child 1: (Holding a toy.) Is this a bad guy (girl?)?
Child 2: Yes.
Child 1: Does she speed, smoke cigarettes and (dramatic voice) DRINK POP?!
We clearly do nothing but walk on the wild side over here. Perception is everything.
Don't be a bad guy (gal).
Peace, love and happy Tuesday,
Ms. Daisy
Child 1: (Holding a toy.) Is this a bad guy (girl?)?
Child 2: Yes.
Child 1: Does she speed, smoke cigarettes and (dramatic voice) DRINK POP?!
We clearly do nothing but walk on the wild side over here. Perception is everything.
Don't be a bad guy (gal).
Peace, love and happy Tuesday,
Ms. Daisy
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Traumatized...
I do apologize for being away for such a long time today, but I assure you I've had good reason.
Mainly that reason is because I've just begun to get over the trauma I've experienced today.
Yes! I said it.
(And now I must explain.)
You see, my mother, well. She - the truth is - she loves coffee. I mean LOVES. (As you know I am one of the eleven people in the United States who turns a snobbish nose at the stuff and pinkies up to my tea cup.) But this is not so bad at the first. When I tell you the second part, you will know why this is something a bit dramatic.
She does not love Starbucks coffee (too strong), she does not love Biggby. Tim Horton's is okay. Dunkin' Donuts is getting quite near the top of the ladder. But tied up there, hanging out with Timmy is...oh gosh, I can't even saaaay it. For crying out loud, she loves...McDonald's coffee.
I am pretty sure Satan is the president of McDonald's. But I digress.
One time, I was in her car and we were driving to the mall or something and she decided that she wanted to GO THROUGH A DRIVE-THROUGH FAST FOOD PLACE and get a coffee. (This food place was the aforementioned devil-land.)
It has been probably six or seven years since I have driven through a drive-through place and I look at them now as I pass and yell things (even though they can't hear me) about how they're paying to eat poison and such things. Sometimes if I'm exceptionally pensive, the sight of people in a drive-through (which they spell "thru", yeah. Ohhh kay.) will make me wonder about the whole meaning of this world and make me think about converting to full-time farmerhood instantly. Sometimes if my offspring are in the car and they are behaving poorly, I will threaten that we will turn into a drive-through fast food place. They immediately stop their tomfoolery at this suggestion.
It is the saddest place on earth.
So as she was driving me through it, I (consciously or not) slumped down in my seat hoping nobody would associate me with the M-word. I smiled sheepishly as the friendly quasi-food hander-outer passed off the poison coffee to my mother's delighted hands. My face looked like some kind of nervous tick smile, my eyes being filled with dread and panic.
Fast forward to today.
My mother is being ultra-helpful and babysitting the littles while I get many unpleasant errands done - she is even cleaning my house because I have company coming over. She is even SEWING curtains for me. So yes, she deserved like $20 million dollars, a crown and an award. But all she wanted was...yes, folks, a McDonald's coffee.
Which means.
I. have. to. go. to. a. McDonalds. More than that. Through the drive-through!
I was running tight on time so I couldn't drive to Ohio (to be safely out of sight of anyone who would recognize me) or California, so I had to go to a McDonald's around my house. For a few moments (as the fear paralyzed me) I thought of calling my hubby and asking him to get it on the way home, but then I made myself pull on my big girl panties and man up.
I must sacrifice it all for my sacrificial mother! I must go through the McDonald's drive-through! Arggggh!
Oh the conflict! Do you understsand that I have some kind of bumper sticker that says something like, "Support your local organic farmers"? Do you know what happens if you drive that bumper sticker through a McDonald's? It implodes. And probably your fingernails melt off. At least I was sure that was the likely situation, anyway.
So, bravely I went. I got less brave as I got into the line. I purposely moved my head out of the view of the person behind me looking into any mirror at me and then put on my sunglasses and hood just in case. I began thinking I was pretty sure that this is how it would feel if a Christian person had to walk into a devil-worshipper building to pick up some brochures. (I really don't know if they have brochures, but you get the idea.)
Besides it seeming what must have been something like four years in that line, I came out mostly unscathed (at least on the outside), minus the zits I acquired at the stressfulness of the situation. The mission was accomplished. I did not answer "nothing" when the person asked what they could get for me today, I did not eek out, "You are serving poison and murdering the world." All I said was, "small black coffee, please."
(twitch, twitch)
I'm perfectly fine.
(twitch)
Peace, love and that will be $1.06 at the first window,
Ms. Daisy
Mainly that reason is because I've just begun to get over the trauma I've experienced today.
Yes! I said it.
(And now I must explain.)
You see, my mother, well. She - the truth is - she loves coffee. I mean LOVES. (As you know I am one of the eleven people in the United States who turns a snobbish nose at the stuff and pinkies up to my tea cup.) But this is not so bad at the first. When I tell you the second part, you will know why this is something a bit dramatic.
She does not love Starbucks coffee (too strong), she does not love Biggby. Tim Horton's is okay. Dunkin' Donuts is getting quite near the top of the ladder. But tied up there, hanging out with Timmy is...oh gosh, I can't even saaaay it. For crying out loud, she loves...McDonald's coffee.
I am pretty sure Satan is the president of McDonald's. But I digress.
One time, I was in her car and we were driving to the mall or something and she decided that she wanted to GO THROUGH A DRIVE-THROUGH FAST FOOD PLACE and get a coffee. (This food place was the aforementioned devil-land.)
It has been probably six or seven years since I have driven through a drive-through place and I look at them now as I pass and yell things (even though they can't hear me) about how they're paying to eat poison and such things. Sometimes if I'm exceptionally pensive, the sight of people in a drive-through (which they spell "thru", yeah. Ohhh kay.) will make me wonder about the whole meaning of this world and make me think about converting to full-time farmerhood instantly. Sometimes if my offspring are in the car and they are behaving poorly, I will threaten that we will turn into a drive-through fast food place. They immediately stop their tomfoolery at this suggestion.
It is the saddest place on earth.
So as she was driving me through it, I (consciously or not) slumped down in my seat hoping nobody would associate me with the M-word. I smiled sheepishly as the friendly quasi-food hander-outer passed off the poison coffee to my mother's delighted hands. My face looked like some kind of nervous tick smile, my eyes being filled with dread and panic.
Fast forward to today.
My mother is being ultra-helpful and babysitting the littles while I get many unpleasant errands done - she is even cleaning my house because I have company coming over. She is even SEWING curtains for me. So yes, she deserved like $20 million dollars, a crown and an award. But all she wanted was...yes, folks, a McDonald's coffee.
Which means.
I. have. to. go. to. a. McDonalds. More than that. Through the drive-through!
I was running tight on time so I couldn't drive to Ohio (to be safely out of sight of anyone who would recognize me) or California, so I had to go to a McDonald's around my house. For a few moments (as the fear paralyzed me) I thought of calling my hubby and asking him to get it on the way home, but then I made myself pull on my big girl panties and man up.
I must sacrifice it all for my sacrificial mother! I must go through the McDonald's drive-through! Arggggh!
Oh the conflict! Do you understsand that I have some kind of bumper sticker that says something like, "Support your local organic farmers"? Do you know what happens if you drive that bumper sticker through a McDonald's? It implodes. And probably your fingernails melt off. At least I was sure that was the likely situation, anyway.
So, bravely I went. I got less brave as I got into the line. I purposely moved my head out of the view of the person behind me looking into any mirror at me and then put on my sunglasses and hood just in case. I began thinking I was pretty sure that this is how it would feel if a Christian person had to walk into a devil-worshipper building to pick up some brochures. (I really don't know if they have brochures, but you get the idea.)
Besides it seeming what must have been something like four years in that line, I came out mostly unscathed (at least on the outside), minus the zits I acquired at the stressfulness of the situation. The mission was accomplished. I did not answer "nothing" when the person asked what they could get for me today, I did not eek out, "You are serving poison and murdering the world." All I said was, "small black coffee, please."
(twitch, twitch)
I'm perfectly fine.
(twitch)
Peace, love and that will be $1.06 at the first window,
Ms. Daisy
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Open Letter to Senator Blunt: Creator of the Monsanto Protection Act
Dear Senator Blunt,
I understand that you had an integral part in devising what has
now been nicknamed the "Monsanto Protection Act" and I write to you
today to ask you to think about the eternal consequences for doing so.
According to many sources, you claim that you are a Southern
Baptist. If this is truly your
conviction, you believe that in the beginning God (through his Son, Jesus)
created the world and declared that it was good. If you adhere to other Southern Baptist
doctrine, you believe that God is the author of life and He is supreme and the
authority over our physical world (as well as spiritual).
Your decision to support, create a bill for and protect the biotech company
Monsanto spits in the face of God as sovereign creator and protects a business
whose unquenchable thirst for money and power disturbs, destroys and disfigures
the world that God created and the people in it. I am sure you are well-read enough to know of
the sterilization and death that comes as a result of the consumption of genetically
modified crops and seeds.
At your hands, you have allowed, promoted and protected a company
who will be at fault for death. The blood
of those who will be affected is on your hands. However you thought of this or justified it, it
will eventually come to you and be your condemnation. Your children Matt, Amy, Andrew and Charlie (along
with your grandchildren Davis, Eva, Ben, William, Brooks and Allyson) will live
in the world that you have helped make exponentially more toxic and sick.
Perhaps you can use your 30 pieces of silver to buy yourself a good
field.
Sincerely,
Ms. Daisy
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Pasties do not equal carpet on the ceiling
Hei nainen and mies! And that is all the Finnish you get for the day. It is likely that it doesn't even make any grammatical sense (and do please ignore the English word in there...doesn't exist...), however, I do not claim proficiency in the Suomi language.
Okay, okay, meanwhile, back in the Batcave - I'm here today to talk about the dinner I'm cooking in the oven. Oh I wish you could even just get a whiff of it! It is delightful. This recipe comes from my 99 year-old grandmother. She got this recipe from her husband (who, presumably, got it from his mother). Beyond that, I know not it's source. But if you know what a Yooper is, THAT is the source.
For all of you who just think I just made up a weird word, no, no, no. I did not. Well, not this time, anyway. A Yooper is a person from Michigan's Upper Penninsula. The name comes from what we call the Upper Penninsula here - it's called the "U.P." (yoo-pee), thus, the inhabitants are called "Yoopers". Yoopers are special people. They like snow. My grandfather was a Yooper and brought this recipe with him when he moved away from that snowy, 2-tracked world.
What is this food of such historical significance? I shall tell you. It is a pasty.
This food is so beloved and so tied in with the identity of those who live in the area that the area of Calumet in the U.P. even has a Pasty Festival in June. Pasties were also adopted and tied to the large Finnish population that came to that area. I looked to see if I could find the source of where pasties came from, and there is also a town in western England (Cornwall) that swears they've got the market on pasties - apparently there is even a "PGI" on it - a protected geographical indication (you know how like true balsamic vinegar only truly comes from Modena and champagne really only comes from that area in France, yeah, that.). BUT, to put in for my Yooper heritage, if you go to pasty.com, it's a U.P. website shipping pasties anywhere (you should try one).
I grew up eating this dinner and you know that whenever you grow up doing something, you think it's pretty normal and everyone must do it, even if NO ONE does. This is one of the reasons that I thought it perfectly normal that at my parent's cottage that it had carpet on the floors as well as the ceilings. Normal. See, told ya. It was cold up there and probably the people who had lived there before us must have been carpet salesmen...or...some...thing...?
Batcave, Daisy, get back in the Batcave.
Yes, ahem. So. Anyway, even though carpet on the ceiling is weird (I do know that now), this meal is very un-weird and is just totally delicious.
So, what exactly is a pasty? It is basically an individual pie made of dinner-ish items. The recipe I have is a meat and veggie mix in a wonderful pastry shell. If you're going to have a proper pasty, it must by pure definition include rutabaga. Other veggies in my pasty are carrots, potatoes, and onions. You salt and pepper them and dump them into a bowl all cut up (when they're about the same size, they cook evenly and your life is better). Then you mix in (by hand) uncooked meat. My grandmother's recipe calls for ground sirloin. I happened to read up on the history of pasties and back in the 13th century in England, they were made with venison. They are recorded throughout history in random places (almost all accounts from England) and even Jane, Henry VIII's favorite wife, sent him one and wrote that she hoped it got to him in better condition than the last one that she sent.
If Henry liked it, well, then...it must be good! (Let's not go blanket on that statement lest we include beheading spouses, I'm just here to support the pasties.)
So you've got to try it. Make a simple pastry crust recipe (flour, salt, butter and ice water). Chop veggies like it's going out of style: potatoes, yellow onions, rutabaga, and carrots. Make them all relatively the same size and dash them with salt and pepper. Dump in some meat (may I recommend grass-fed, please?) and mix away. After you roll out your dough, make six (or however many you intended) and fill them up with your veggie/meat combo. Roll the dough over and make them in the shape of a D, crimping the edges. Bake at 375F for 10 minutes then at 350F for 60 minutes.
Eat with ketchup and ask how you went this long without them.
Peace, love and pasties,
Ms. Daisy
Okay, okay, meanwhile, back in the Batcave - I'm here today to talk about the dinner I'm cooking in the oven. Oh I wish you could even just get a whiff of it! It is delightful. This recipe comes from my 99 year-old grandmother. She got this recipe from her husband (who, presumably, got it from his mother). Beyond that, I know not it's source. But if you know what a Yooper is, THAT is the source.
For all of you who just think I just made up a weird word, no, no, no. I did not. Well, not this time, anyway. A Yooper is a person from Michigan's Upper Penninsula. The name comes from what we call the Upper Penninsula here - it's called the "U.P." (yoo-pee), thus, the inhabitants are called "Yoopers". Yoopers are special people. They like snow. My grandfather was a Yooper and brought this recipe with him when he moved away from that snowy, 2-tracked world.
What is this food of such historical significance? I shall tell you. It is a pasty.
This food is so beloved and so tied in with the identity of those who live in the area that the area of Calumet in the U.P. even has a Pasty Festival in June. Pasties were also adopted and tied to the large Finnish population that came to that area. I looked to see if I could find the source of where pasties came from, and there is also a town in western England (Cornwall) that swears they've got the market on pasties - apparently there is even a "PGI" on it - a protected geographical indication (you know how like true balsamic vinegar only truly comes from Modena and champagne really only comes from that area in France, yeah, that.). BUT, to put in for my Yooper heritage, if you go to pasty.com, it's a U.P. website shipping pasties anywhere (you should try one).
I grew up eating this dinner and you know that whenever you grow up doing something, you think it's pretty normal and everyone must do it, even if NO ONE does. This is one of the reasons that I thought it perfectly normal that at my parent's cottage that it had carpet on the floors as well as the ceilings. Normal. See, told ya. It was cold up there and probably the people who had lived there before us must have been carpet salesmen...or...some...thing...?
Batcave, Daisy, get back in the Batcave.
Yes, ahem. So. Anyway, even though carpet on the ceiling is weird (I do know that now), this meal is very un-weird and is just totally delicious.
So, what exactly is a pasty? It is basically an individual pie made of dinner-ish items. The recipe I have is a meat and veggie mix in a wonderful pastry shell. If you're going to have a proper pasty, it must by pure definition include rutabaga. Other veggies in my pasty are carrots, potatoes, and onions. You salt and pepper them and dump them into a bowl all cut up (when they're about the same size, they cook evenly and your life is better). Then you mix in (by hand) uncooked meat. My grandmother's recipe calls for ground sirloin. I happened to read up on the history of pasties and back in the 13th century in England, they were made with venison. They are recorded throughout history in random places (almost all accounts from England) and even Jane, Henry VIII's favorite wife, sent him one and wrote that she hoped it got to him in better condition than the last one that she sent.
If Henry liked it, well, then...it must be good! (Let's not go blanket on that statement lest we include beheading spouses, I'm just here to support the pasties.)
So you've got to try it. Make a simple pastry crust recipe (flour, salt, butter and ice water). Chop veggies like it's going out of style: potatoes, yellow onions, rutabaga, and carrots. Make them all relatively the same size and dash them with salt and pepper. Dump in some meat (may I recommend grass-fed, please?) and mix away. After you roll out your dough, make six (or however many you intended) and fill them up with your veggie/meat combo. Roll the dough over and make them in the shape of a D, crimping the edges. Bake at 375F for 10 minutes then at 350F for 60 minutes.
Eat with ketchup and ask how you went this long without them.
Peace, love and pasties,
Ms. Daisy
Friday, March 29, 2013
Good Friday
Top o' the mornin' to yas, me lovies. As you may or may not know, today is what is known as Good Friday throughout Christendom. If you don't know what that is or where it came from, well, you shan't have to wait any longer - here comes a quick tutorial.
Although Good Friday is a Christian holiday, it's actual roots stem out of Judiasm. Moses, one of the patriarchs of Judiasm, was set apart by God (YHWH or Yahweh - but the name of the Lord God is so sacred that within Judiasm, it is too holy to write it, so it is usually written as G-d or YHWH - the "I Am") and was told face to face some things about how God wanted people to live. God gave Moses the Law - both the 10 Commandments (have you heard of them? Those are the ones like - you shall have no other gods before me, you shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain, remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy, honor your father and mother, don't lie, steal, covet, have an affair, murder, etc.) as well as the laws for what the priests (the Levites - men from the tribe of Levi) should do and what should be done if someone messes up and breaks one of God's laws.
The way that God instructed them to "fix" it was based on what He deemed as an appropriate and acceptable offering. Because offending and breaking God's law was so serious, (and is - present tense) the only way to cover over these breaches in the law was to have life poured out in the form of blood. Many people recoil at the thought of blood, but it is suggested that the beastliness of shedding blood (this is animal blood, by the way) is only seen as such from the point of view of a person because we are so commonly involved in sin (or the breaking of God's law) that we do not have a proper perspective of the actual atrocity and horror of the nature of sin. So, back in the day, animal sacrifices were constantly being made because people mess up and break God's law pretty much every other second. Or more. Sometimes the sacrifices would be bulls, sometimes birds, sometimes lambs and other animals.
Now fast forward to the year 1 A.D. All of this is still going on throughout Judiasm. Now within Judiasm, God had promised someone to come and rescue them. There were many signs that would point to knowing that such a person would be the right person. This person was God's son, Jesus. God had a plan. All those animal sacrifices were bandaids - they only covered over the problems, but God was about to send a true fix: a perfect sacrifice. Jesus was born to Mary in Bethlehem and his daddy was God himself. Jesus never broke one of God's laws - he was God - and lived a perfect life. He grew up and when he was about 30, he began telling people more and more about God and what He wanted. He healed people of sickness and disease and for a few - even death itself. He was showing that he had authority over the constraints of this physical world: illness and even death.
Well, after about 3 years of this, the leaders of the day decided they had had it. They heard that this dude was calling himself God's son - basically the equivalent to God himself - and that was the horrible sin of blasphemy. The punishment for this was death. Now in this time, the Roman empire was going strong and the Romans thought up some pretty sick and torturous ways of putting people to death. They would kill people by nailing them to a T-shaped cross on their hands (at the wrist) and into their feet. I won't go too much into the gruesome details, but basically the gist of it is that the person dies of suffocation via drowning in their lungs of blood. They brought Jesus up to the leaders and asked him if he was the son of God. He didn't deny it so they totally freaked out and brought him over to the governmental group of the day so that they could execute judgement (since they did not have authority to carry out putting people to death, only the government could). So, they got the green light to kill him, even though he didn't do anything wrong ever once in his whole life. They put him to death, but God had a plan. This death was to be a once-and-for-all perfect sacrifice that would be able to be applied to the accounts of those who believed. This is why faith is talked about so very much - because it is by faith that you receive this free gift of God.
The death of Jesus was to satisfy the wrath that God has against sin, the breaking of his law. See, there's two ways to pay: you can pay it yourself for eternity or you can take the gift that has been freely bestowed to any who will take it - the sacrifice of God's son's blood on your behalf.
Now the story doesn't stop at his death. God raised Jesus to life three days later showing he was yet again above the parameters of this physical life. He hung around for 40ish days, testifying to what God had done. His friends told everyone what happened. After that time that Jesus was with them after he was raised back to life, he ascended to heaven in front of his friends. Obviously, his friends were totally excited and were amazed at what God had done and told anyone and everyone the story.
They wrote accounts of it and those very accounts can even be read today in what is known as "the gospels" (gospel means "good news" - you can see why they called it that, since it was the freedom from the wrath that was due to them). The "gospels" are the books of the Bible named after their authors - Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. Read them if you want to know more and/or see for yourself.
Anyway, the long and short of it is that today, Good Friday, is the day that we remember that Jesus went to the Roman cross, willingly accepting what was laid before him by his Father in order to give glory to God and to make a way for those who would be able to accept his sacrifice. Today is the day that we remember that Jesus died and what that means.
May you find peace today with God through his perfect sacrifice, Jesus.
Peace, love and I am thankful for it,
Ms. Daisy
Although Good Friday is a Christian holiday, it's actual roots stem out of Judiasm. Moses, one of the patriarchs of Judiasm, was set apart by God (YHWH or Yahweh - but the name of the Lord God is so sacred that within Judiasm, it is too holy to write it, so it is usually written as G-d or YHWH - the "I Am") and was told face to face some things about how God wanted people to live. God gave Moses the Law - both the 10 Commandments (have you heard of them? Those are the ones like - you shall have no other gods before me, you shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain, remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy, honor your father and mother, don't lie, steal, covet, have an affair, murder, etc.) as well as the laws for what the priests (the Levites - men from the tribe of Levi) should do and what should be done if someone messes up and breaks one of God's laws.
The way that God instructed them to "fix" it was based on what He deemed as an appropriate and acceptable offering. Because offending and breaking God's law was so serious, (and is - present tense) the only way to cover over these breaches in the law was to have life poured out in the form of blood. Many people recoil at the thought of blood, but it is suggested that the beastliness of shedding blood (this is animal blood, by the way) is only seen as such from the point of view of a person because we are so commonly involved in sin (or the breaking of God's law) that we do not have a proper perspective of the actual atrocity and horror of the nature of sin. So, back in the day, animal sacrifices were constantly being made because people mess up and break God's law pretty much every other second. Or more. Sometimes the sacrifices would be bulls, sometimes birds, sometimes lambs and other animals.
Now fast forward to the year 1 A.D. All of this is still going on throughout Judiasm. Now within Judiasm, God had promised someone to come and rescue them. There were many signs that would point to knowing that such a person would be the right person. This person was God's son, Jesus. God had a plan. All those animal sacrifices were bandaids - they only covered over the problems, but God was about to send a true fix: a perfect sacrifice. Jesus was born to Mary in Bethlehem and his daddy was God himself. Jesus never broke one of God's laws - he was God - and lived a perfect life. He grew up and when he was about 30, he began telling people more and more about God and what He wanted. He healed people of sickness and disease and for a few - even death itself. He was showing that he had authority over the constraints of this physical world: illness and even death.
Well, after about 3 years of this, the leaders of the day decided they had had it. They heard that this dude was calling himself God's son - basically the equivalent to God himself - and that was the horrible sin of blasphemy. The punishment for this was death. Now in this time, the Roman empire was going strong and the Romans thought up some pretty sick and torturous ways of putting people to death. They would kill people by nailing them to a T-shaped cross on their hands (at the wrist) and into their feet. I won't go too much into the gruesome details, but basically the gist of it is that the person dies of suffocation via drowning in their lungs of blood. They brought Jesus up to the leaders and asked him if he was the son of God. He didn't deny it so they totally freaked out and brought him over to the governmental group of the day so that they could execute judgement (since they did not have authority to carry out putting people to death, only the government could). So, they got the green light to kill him, even though he didn't do anything wrong ever once in his whole life. They put him to death, but God had a plan. This death was to be a once-and-for-all perfect sacrifice that would be able to be applied to the accounts of those who believed. This is why faith is talked about so very much - because it is by faith that you receive this free gift of God.
The death of Jesus was to satisfy the wrath that God has against sin, the breaking of his law. See, there's two ways to pay: you can pay it yourself for eternity or you can take the gift that has been freely bestowed to any who will take it - the sacrifice of God's son's blood on your behalf.
Now the story doesn't stop at his death. God raised Jesus to life three days later showing he was yet again above the parameters of this physical life. He hung around for 40ish days, testifying to what God had done. His friends told everyone what happened. After that time that Jesus was with them after he was raised back to life, he ascended to heaven in front of his friends. Obviously, his friends were totally excited and were amazed at what God had done and told anyone and everyone the story.
They wrote accounts of it and those very accounts can even be read today in what is known as "the gospels" (gospel means "good news" - you can see why they called it that, since it was the freedom from the wrath that was due to them). The "gospels" are the books of the Bible named after their authors - Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. Read them if you want to know more and/or see for yourself.
Anyway, the long and short of it is that today, Good Friday, is the day that we remember that Jesus went to the Roman cross, willingly accepting what was laid before him by his Father in order to give glory to God and to make a way for those who would be able to accept his sacrifice. Today is the day that we remember that Jesus died and what that means.
May you find peace today with God through his perfect sacrifice, Jesus.
Peace, love and I am thankful for it,
Ms. Daisy
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Sambar, Raita and Naan
If you looked at the title of the post and said, "Huh?!" I must tell you that without even knowing it, your life is lacking and incomplete. That's right, not to be too dramatic or to put too fine a point on it, you've been missing out COMPLETELY.
Here's the scoop. Lately I've been feeling a bit under the weather - nothing worth writing home about, but still a bit of unpleasant-ness. I have been blessed (as I've posted before) with the type of friends that oodles upon oodles of books ought to be written because they are loving, selfless and intensely caring.
One such friend has recently displayed her love and concern for me by bringing me pretty much the best meal you could ever even begin to imagine or dream of. This beautiful person has roots from the land of flavor: India. And she brought me a meal of such drastic amazing-ness, contrast and satisfying texture that without proper restraint, it would be possible to eat an entire bathtub full. In fact, it is a meal that exhibits such wonders of flavor that it is entirely possible for me to imagine having it for breakfast, lunch and dinner (although that may be a bit un-traditional to say the least) for weeks at a time.
Sambar is a soup - it is filled with vegetables like carrots, potatoes, green beans, and I don't even know what else. It's like a mountain of variety. Then there are the spices used to make it - they are nothing short of an utter PLETHORA. I've watched her make sambar once - I kid you not - it is like watching van Gogh paint. It is a fascinating and wonderous show that will enrapture your entire self - the scents, the sights, the sounds. You get to the point where you can not wait for it to be done because the smell of it is torturous to behold and not to sample.
Then you get to taste it. It is flavorful with a little kick, warm for your belly and fills your mouth with so many satisfying textures that you have to near audibly warn yourself to please stop sucking it down like you are a wild warthog (for crying out loud, self, people are WATCHING you!). Oh, but wait - because I haven't told you about the contrast. This is nothing short of complete and utter culinary genius. The raita is a cold, cool calmer of your palate - made of whole yogurt and cucumbers, onions, tomatoes and peppers - it holds two complimentary but opposite tastes and textures and temperatures and flavors in your mouth at the same time - it makes you wonder how it is even possible for your mouth to be so entertained and delighted all at the same time. It is seriously some kind of wild frat party going on in your mouth and you are so entranced by it, you are pretty much crowd surfing.
Naan is a flatbread made of delicious and amazing butter (well, flour, too, but seriously I don't even care about flour if we can talk about butter). If you have a tendency to be a carb-o-holic, let me suggest to you for your own good that you never try naan. You will eat maybe fifty pounds of it before you stop and realize what on earth you have just done. This wonderous naan is dipped into the raita (and the sambar, if you want) for more taste sensation and sheer hedonistic mouth joy.
This was my text to my friend this morning: "Can I get your raita recipe? I want to make it so I can eat it in a bingeworthy passion lamenting its absence from the bulk of my life."
At one point I imagined myself bathing in raita. I guess I may have some issues.
All this to say - I don't know what you've got to do to get your hands on some sambar, raita and naan, but until you have, your life is lacking drastic culinary enrichment and I'm pretty sure that even your soul secretly cries out for such delicacies.
Go. Run. Then come back and thank me later.
Peace, love and I looooooooooove you, girlfriend!
Ms. Daisy
Here's the scoop. Lately I've been feeling a bit under the weather - nothing worth writing home about, but still a bit of unpleasant-ness. I have been blessed (as I've posted before) with the type of friends that oodles upon oodles of books ought to be written because they are loving, selfless and intensely caring.
One such friend has recently displayed her love and concern for me by bringing me pretty much the best meal you could ever even begin to imagine or dream of. This beautiful person has roots from the land of flavor: India. And she brought me a meal of such drastic amazing-ness, contrast and satisfying texture that without proper restraint, it would be possible to eat an entire bathtub full. In fact, it is a meal that exhibits such wonders of flavor that it is entirely possible for me to imagine having it for breakfast, lunch and dinner (although that may be a bit un-traditional to say the least) for weeks at a time.
Sambar is a soup - it is filled with vegetables like carrots, potatoes, green beans, and I don't even know what else. It's like a mountain of variety. Then there are the spices used to make it - they are nothing short of an utter PLETHORA. I've watched her make sambar once - I kid you not - it is like watching van Gogh paint. It is a fascinating and wonderous show that will enrapture your entire self - the scents, the sights, the sounds. You get to the point where you can not wait for it to be done because the smell of it is torturous to behold and not to sample.
Then you get to taste it. It is flavorful with a little kick, warm for your belly and fills your mouth with so many satisfying textures that you have to near audibly warn yourself to please stop sucking it down like you are a wild warthog (for crying out loud, self, people are WATCHING you!). Oh, but wait - because I haven't told you about the contrast. This is nothing short of complete and utter culinary genius. The raita is a cold, cool calmer of your palate - made of whole yogurt and cucumbers, onions, tomatoes and peppers - it holds two complimentary but opposite tastes and textures and temperatures and flavors in your mouth at the same time - it makes you wonder how it is even possible for your mouth to be so entertained and delighted all at the same time. It is seriously some kind of wild frat party going on in your mouth and you are so entranced by it, you are pretty much crowd surfing.
Naan is a flatbread made of delicious and amazing butter (well, flour, too, but seriously I don't even care about flour if we can talk about butter). If you have a tendency to be a carb-o-holic, let me suggest to you for your own good that you never try naan. You will eat maybe fifty pounds of it before you stop and realize what on earth you have just done. This wonderous naan is dipped into the raita (and the sambar, if you want) for more taste sensation and sheer hedonistic mouth joy.
This was my text to my friend this morning: "Can I get your raita recipe? I want to make it so I can eat it in a bingeworthy passion lamenting its absence from the bulk of my life."
At one point I imagined myself bathing in raita. I guess I may have some issues.
All this to say - I don't know what you've got to do to get your hands on some sambar, raita and naan, but until you have, your life is lacking drastic culinary enrichment and I'm pretty sure that even your soul secretly cries out for such delicacies.
Go. Run. Then come back and thank me later.
Peace, love and I looooooooooove you, girlfriend!
Ms. Daisy
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