Six on History: Food
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1) In America’s sandwiches, the story of a nation, The Conversation
"Everyone has a favorite sandwich, often prepared to an exacting degree of specification: Turkey or ham? Grilled or toasted? Mayo or mustard? White or whole wheat?
We reached out to five food historians and asked them to tell the story of a sandwich of their choosing. The responses included staples like peanut butter and jelly, as well as regional fare like New England’s chow mein sandwich.
Together, they show how the sandwiches we eat (or used to eat) do more than fill us up during our lunch breaks. In their stories are themes of immigration and globalization, of class and gender, and of resourcefulness and creativity. ... "
"French tacos are tacos like chicken fingers are fingers. Which is to say, they are not tacos at all. First of all, through some mistranslation or misapprehension of its Mexican namesake, the French tacos is always plural, even when there’s only one, pronounced with a voiced “S.” Technically, the French tacos is a sandwich: a flour tortilla, slathered with condiments, piled with meat (usually halal) and other things (usually French fries), doused in cheese sauce, folded into a rectangular packet, and then toasted on a grill. “In short, a rather successful marriage between panini, kebab, and burrito,” according to the municipal newsletter of Vaulx-en-Velin, a suburb of Lyon in which the French tacos may or may not have been born.
In the American imagination, French cuisine can seem a static entity—the inevitable and unchanging expression of a culture as codified by Carême and Escoffier and interpreted by Julia Child. Bœuf bourguignon, quiche Lorraine, onion soup, chocolate mousse. Although these dishes remain standbys, alongside pizza and couscous and other adopted staples, French cuisine can be as fickle as any. The latest rage has nothing to do with aspics or emulsions. What are French people eating right now? The answer is as likely to be French tacos as anything else.
The precise genesis of the French tacos is the subject of competing folklores, but it’s commonly agreed that it was invented sometime around the turn of the twenty-first century in the snacks of the Rhône-Alpes region. “Snacks” are small independent restaurants offering a panoply of takeout and maybe a few tables: snack bars, basically. Typically, they sell kebabs, pizza, burgers, and, now, French tacos. The unifying concept is the lack of need for a fork.
The earliest innovators of the French tacos were probably snack proprietors of North African descent in the Lyonnais suburbs (suburbs in the French sense of public housing, windswept plazas, and mass transportation, rather than the American one of single-family homes, back yards, and cars). You could trace it back to a pair of butcher brothers, inspired by a dish their mother used to make; or perhaps it was a short-order cook, experimenting with a cheese sauce for a pizza-dough wrap; or maybe the French tacos is a take on mukhala’a, a North African stuffed pancake. There are many stories, but none, except that of unpredictable cultural mixing, perfectly tracks. “France is a country that, for decades now, has been urban, industrial, and diverse,” Loïc Bienassis, of the European Institute for the History and Cultures of Food, told me. “The French tacos is a mutant product, France’s own junk food.”
"When the Gunsmoke project was just getting off the ground, in 2018, an expert from the U.S. Department of Agriculture's Natural Resources Conservation Service drew up a soil conservation plan for the farm. That plan called for wide strips of native grasses across the farm to help prevent soil from blowing, and for the steepest slopes to stay covered, most years, with crops such as alfalfa that don't require annual planting.
Gary Zimmer, an expert on organic farming who collaborated with General Mills in launching the Gunsmoke project, said that he drew up a plan that incorporated many of these measures. But he said much of his plan was never implemented.
"It's in a deep hole," Zimmer said, referring to the farm. "I don't know how you get it back out organically. It's hard to farm organically if you do it really well, and have your intensive management. But 30,000 acres, poorly managed, is a really good sign for failure."
General Mills doesn't own Gunsmoke Farms or control it directly. It signed a "strategic sourcing agreement" with an investment firm called TPG Sixth Street Partners, an affiliate of the firm TPG, which acquired the land in order to supply General Mills with organic wheat, peas and other crops. Sixth Street later became an independent operation, and it currently owns Gunsmoke. The investors have hired a series of managers to run the farm.
General Mills said in a statement to NPR that turning Gunsmoke Farms into a thriving ecosystem "is a journey" and promised continued efforts to minimize erosion and improve soil health there.
Sixth Street Partners said in its statement that the farm is "early in the process of regenerating land" and that its mission — organic farming — also provides additional environmental benefits, such as lower use of pesticides and synthetic fertilizer.
Ruth Beck, who's married to Dwayne Beck, spent many years as an extension agronomist with South Dakota State University, advising farmers in the area around Gunsmoke Farms. She said it's simply difficult to grow crops organically, on a large scale, in this semi-arid part of the country. "You know, we've got to figure out ways to do that, if that's what people want," she said. "But we aren't there yet." ...
"ON A SUNNY DAY IN May, a dozen people met in the Roman ruins of Troia, in what is now Portugal, with a recipe. The ingredient list? 400 kilos of sardines, 150 kilos of sea salt, and 350 liters of seawater. The group included archaeologists, nutritionists, palynologists, ichthyologists, and, of course, one skilled chef. They had assembled to experimentally recreate garum, the ancient fish sauce of the Roman Empire, just as it was originally produced.
"U.S. Senator Lindsey Graham doesn't often talk about principles, but on Wednesday the South Carolina Republican declared his willingness to go to war for them. Or rather, for Chick-fil-A's "principles."
"I want everyone in South Carolina and across America to know I have Chick fil-A's back," Graham tweeted. "I hope we don't have to, but I will go to war for the principles Chick fil-A stands for. Great food. Great service. Great values. God bless Chick fil-A!"
What prompted his fast food prayer?
"Notre Dame students and faculty outraged by proposed campus Chick-fil-A, claim fast food option isn't inclusive enough," a Fox News report Graham linked to says.
Graham is getting torched for declaring his allegiance to a fast food restaurant.
Despite its claims, many believe Chick-fil-A profits still fund anti-LGBTQ efforts and organizations, either directly or indirectly. And despite numerous articles whitewashing the words of Chick-fil-A's Dan Cathy, it wasn't just a casual opposition to same-sex marriage that offended the LGBTQ community, it was his vehement Bible-based assault.
“I think we are inviting God's judgment on our nation when we shake our fist at Him and say 'we know better than you as to what constitutes a marriage' and I pray God's mercy on our generation that has such a prideful, arrogant attitude to think that we have the audacity to define what marriage is about."
He also called support for same-sex marriage, "twisted up kind of stuff."
But back to Senator Graham, or rather, back to those who are mocking him.
The Lure of H Mart, Where the Shelves Can Seem as Wide as Asia
