There’s a great scene in the Handmaid’s Tale that I always paraded out for my students where Aunt Lydia talks about the concept of freedom from and freedom to.  As a society, Americans obviously put a high value on “freedom to” ideas — freedom to say what we want to say, freedom to choose our leader.  But Lydia reminds the women that there is also value in the freedom froms.  Freedom from being raped, freedom from being… well… a lot of the other freedom froms that I’m coming up with are covertly practiced in Gilead so forget examples.

But the point is that we put a lot of value on the idea of trying new foods; that much is clear from the comments on the last few posts.  And I guess there is a little Aunt Lydia in me because I also see the value in the freedom from being asked to eat foods.

When it comes to restrictions, I would much rather have someone tell me that I could never eat something I love again (take away my freedom to eat) than tell me that I have to eat something I don’t want to eat just for the sake of saving someone’s feelings or for their idea of nutrition (freedom from having to eat things).  I am obviously very focused on social behaviour and how I comport myself, but I also like to surround myself with people who are open-minded and accepting.  I’m lucky that all the people I interact with on an on-going basis are accepting of my food quirks and don’t get offended by my lack of desire to eat something.  Because I’d really rather have someone take away every food I enjoy eating rather than ever having to put in my mouth something that I can’t wrap my mind around trying.

Would you rather have someone tell you that you can never eat your favourite food again (for me, it would be cucumber.  Goodbye cucumber) or would you rather have someone tell you that you have to eat your least favourite food every day (for the love, you know the person would choose fried grasshoppers for me)?

I think the most interesting part of this whole food discussion is whether you consider food to be fuel or art.  People who call themselves foodies obviously fall on one side of the line: they appreciate the taste of food and view the preparation of it as an art form.  One person likened picky eaters to people who only look at one painter’s work; you can’t understand the scope of printmaking if you’re only looking at Warhol.

But.

The other side of it is people who view food as fuel, and then it doesn’t matter if you’re willing to try new things just so long as you are getting balanced nutrition.  Just as a car doesn’t need to test out every fuel at the gas station, some people simply know which foods help their body run well, they give their body those foods, and they move on to focusing on things that matter to them.

I am definitely not a foodie, and I’ve never had a desire to try certain things.  I know people who will travel to go to specific restaurants, whereas I travel and then pick a restaurant that works best with my self-limitations.  Or I travel with food: I often bring food with me on trips because I see it as fuel, something necessary to sustain life, and I’m not traveling to try out the foods.

Before you suck in your breath and tell me how I’m missing out on experiencing the culture, tell me this: do you learn the language of the country you’re visiting before you go?  See, I do.  We all experience other cultures in the way that is important to us.  For me, it’s words, so I delve into the new culture by learning the language as best I can before I go.  For you, it may be food, and you seek to eat the same way as the locals.  I just want to point out that there is more than one way to see the world.  And my way involves traveling with a jar of peanut butter but seeing really cool things that aren’t in the tour book because I’ve always talked with the locals.

So, back to art or fuel — the place where I stray from the obvious way I treat food is that I see chefs as artists.  I am lumping bakers and cooks and sous-chefs and the like all under the category of chef — I see people who work in food preparation as artists, especially when they are bringing their own creativity to the dish.  I am easily impressed when I go to someone’s house and see how they prepared food, and I’ve taken cooking classes before (most notably, I have a cake decorating degree… even though I don’t like cake either).  I like to make up my own recipes, though I don’t always want to eat what I make.  I like the act of preparing food, but I see that as separate from the act of consuming it.  Which isn’t to say that I don’t like food: I do.  I like what I like.

So which is food for you: fuel or art?

I am an incredibly picky eater, and I have been that way since birth.  My pediatrician told my mother that I would outgrow it one day, but I never did.  My pediatrician tried to tell me the same thing about the Wolvog once, but I just smiled at her and said that it was unlikely he would change and it didn’t really matter in the scope of things if he did.  As long as he has a well-balanced diet, I really don’t care what the range of it is.

And that’s sort of the crux of it: I am okay with being a picky eater.  Do I wish I were otherwise?  Sure, in the same way that I wish I loved roller coasters.  It’s a passive wish; not something I am doing anything about nor something I think about more than in passing from time to time — usually when someone admonishes me for being a non-roller-coaster-riding picky eater.  I know some of you are shaking your head at this, thinking how sad it is that I limit myself food-wise.  But I’m certainly not upset about it.  It’s not a point of pride any more than being right-handed is a point of pride: it’s just a fact of who I am.  I am a picky eater.

I am so picky that I don’t even eat my own cooking from time to time.  For instance, I made a bunch of vegetarian options for seder and ended up not wanting to eat any of them.  I know people (cough… like my mother) get annoyed with me when I’ve rejected food, but I REJECT MY OWN FOOD.  It is nothing personal; I am literally that picky that I won’t put something in my mouth if I’m not in the mood for that thing regardless of how hungry I am.

People always say that people will eat anything if they’re hungry enough and that is the way to retrain a picky eater, but I am living proof that it’s not true.  I am absolutely okay skipping meals — skipping multiple meals — skipping multiple meals over multiple days — rather than eating something I don’t want to eat.  It is a long standing joke with my friends that if I was ever in a situation such as the one in the movie Alive, and we crashed with a roasted chicken and potatoes and broccoli, the question wouldn’t be whether or not I’d eat my friends: I would choose death over eating the roasted chicken.  And I wouldn’t eat the potatoes or broccoli if they had been on the same plate as the meat.  Even if they weren’t touching.

Josh calls this my poor survival instincts.

Some days I think my inability to eat the roasted chicken is messed up.  And some days I think that perhaps I’m more evolved — that just as chimpanzees know to avoid the red berries, I instinctively avoid eating things that could clog my arteries or cause food poisoning.  Or something noble like that.

So.

I don’t eat meat: as in, I don’t eat any animal ever.  No steak, no chicken, no fish, no seafood.  I won’t eat foods that are made with parts of animals such as broth or gelatin.  I won’t eat food that was cooked with any of these things.  I will have eggs, though sometimes I go egg-free for a bit (eggs and anything crunchy such as chips come and go from my life.  I haven’t had a chip in many months.  Eggs usually only feel off-limits for short periods of time.  It’s a texture thing).  I will have skim milk, sour cream, yogurt, and ice cream — but only certain brands and not others.  I will have three kinds of cheese, but only if they’re melted and I don’t like to touch them with my hands: mozzarella, parmesan, and monterey jack.  Though I would prefer not to eat cheese at all.  I don’t like things that are fried.  I don’t like things that are goopy.  I prefer my fruits and vegetables uncooked, though there are certain vegetables I’ll eat cooked such as broccoli or green beans.  I prefer darker foods to lighter ones — totally happy with broccoli, not so much with cauliflower, green vegetables over orange ones, red grapes over green grapes.  I do not eat cottage cheese or mayonnaise (nor can I look at someone consuming these things).  And I usually like my food not touching.

People see being a picky eater as something they need to overcome or something to be embarrassed about.  Parents usually look at it as something to correct or circumvent or avoid.  But I don’t see being a picky eater that way at all.  The things I like, I like a lot and get to enjoy more often because my mouth doesn’t feel pulled in a multitude of directions.  When I go to a restaurant, I can order in seconds because there is usually only one or two options on the menu I’ll even consider.  I get to engage in creative problem solving whenever we have to eat out of the house.  And beyond that, I am more empathetic to other picky eaters such as the Wolvog.

Rather than feeling as if we need to fix something, I am totally cool with shrugging my shoulders and admitting without shame: I am a picky eater.

Picky eaters of the world unite?

Don’t you have foods you won’t eat?  Even if your list isn’t as extensive as mine?

Updated at the bottom

I’ve seen this pop up on Facebook and on blogs — a food list challenge of 100 foods that you “need to try before you die.”  And I need to pause for a moment and ask… why.  Why these foods?  I mean, sure, the listmaker thinks they’re great, but other than that fact, what makes these food trying-worthy?  And aren’t some of these things only fantastic based on the preparer?  I’ve had fantastic paella and I’ve craptastic paella.  And that’s sort of the problem with this food bucket list — it isn’t like the 100 books you need to read before you croak, in which the book will be the same for each person.  The fabulousness of the food on this list is entirely dependent on where you are eating it.

I personally have no interest of ever putting an animal in my mouth, so it probably won’t surprise you that according to this list, I will miss out on quite a few things in life.  But since I have had two of the first five, I thought I’d give it a shot.

1.  Abalone:  Not a chance

2.  Absinthe: Yes!  Back when it was still illegal.  A friend brought it back from the Czech Republic when he was over there lecturing for a semester.  It tasted disgusting and it burned — my stomach felt like it was on fire for a long time afterward.

3.  Alligator:  Not a chance

4.  Baba Ghanoush: Yes, though I don’t really like it.

5.  Bagel & Lox: Not a chance

6.  Baklava: I’ve had it many times, though I don’t like it (I have a feeling this will be a common refrain for this list)

7.  Barbeque Ribs: Not a chance

8.  Bellini: Sure – I had one post yoga a few weeks ago.

9.  Bird’s Nest Soup: Not a chance

10.  Biscuits & Gravy: If vegetarian gravy counts, then of course I’ve had biscuits and gravy.

11.  Black Pudding: Not a chance

12.  Black Truffle: Black truffle oil?  Yes.  I’m assuming this is close enough?

13.  Borscht: This is one of those things I could eat, and Josh wishes I would eat, but I won’t eat.

14.  Calamari: Not a chance

15.  Carp: Not a chance

16.  Caviar: Not a chance

17.  Cheese Fondue: I am absolutely horrified by the idea of cheese fondue.  I don’t even think I could stand to be near it much less put it in my mouth.

18.  Chicken & Waffles: Not a chance

19.  Chicken Tikka Masala: Not a chance

20.  Chile Relleno: Not a chance

22.  Churros: Yes, the best one I ever had was in Cordova, Spain, near the train station.  I’m not a churro fan, but that one was particularly good.

23.  Clam Chowder: Not a chance

24.  Cognac: Yes.

25.  Crab Cakes: Not a chance.  Which is so sad since I’m from Maryland.  I can shell a crab in minutes and have no problem de-meating them, but I have never put a piece in my mouth.

26.  Crickets: ARE YOU KIDDING ME!  DOES THIS LISTMAKER WANT TO KILL ME?

27.  Currywurst: Not a chance

28.  Dandelion Wine: Haven’t ever had it offered to me.

29.  Dulce De Leche: Yes, I’ve had it straight as well as in things.  Don’t love it, but it’s fine.

30.  Durian: One of those things I could try, but why?

31.  Eel: Not a chance

32.  Eggs Benedict: Yes, I make a vegetarian version that is divine.

33.  Fish Tacos: Not a chance

34.  Foie Gras: Not a chance

35.  Fresh Spring Rolls: Love them.

36.  Fried Catfish: Not a chance

37.  Fried Green Tomatoes: Yes — many times in many places.

38.  Fried Plantain: Huge fan of the plantain.

39.  Frito Pie: I had to Google this one.  Horrifying!

40.  Frogs’ Legs: Not a chance

41. Fugu: Not a chance

42.  Funnel Cake: Yes, at fairs and such.  But not in many years.  I don’t like fried foods.

43.  Gazpacho: I am not a fan of cold soups.  And I think gazpacho sometimes tastes as if you are eating someone else’s cold vomit.

44.   Goat: Not a chance

45.  Goat’s milk: I could technically drink this, but I won’t.

46.  Goulash: Yes, I make a vegetarian version.

47.  Gumbo: I could make a vegetarian version so I could try it, but I won’t.

48.  Haggis: Not a chance

49.  Head Cheese: Not a chance

50.  Heirloom Tomatoes: Yes, dozens of times.

51.  Honeycomb: No – I’m not even sure where I would get one to consume.

52.  Hostess Fruit Pie: No – and I shudder thinking about anything made by Hostess.

53.   Huevos Rancheros: Yes, we eat this all the time.

54.   Jerk Chicken: Not a chance

55.   Kangaroo: Not a chance

56.   Key Lime Pie: I don’t eat pie.  I make pie, but I don’t eat pie.

57.   Kobe Beef: Not a chance

58.   Lassi: I would be willing to try this.

59.   Lobster: Not a chance

60.   Mimosa: Many times.

61.   MoonPie: I fear this is another one of those products made by Hostess or the like.

62.   Morel Mushrooms: I’m sure I have, though I can’t think when specifically.

63.   Nettle Tea: Have never been offered it.

64.   Octopus: Not a chance

65.   Oxtail Soup: Not a chance

66.   Paella: Yes, I make a great vegetarian version.

67.   Paneer: This is one of those things I could technically try… but I won’t.

68.   Pastrami on Rye: Not a chance

69.   Pavlova: I’ve had this because I’ve made this.

70.   Phaal: Not a fan of very spicy foods so I think I’ll skip this one.

71.  Philly Cheese Steak: Not a chance

72.   Pho: Yes, I love a vegetarian version.

73.   Pineapple & Cottage Cheese: Just these words make me shudder, so imagine the convulsions my body would go into if I had to encounter this food face-to-face.

74.   Pistachio Ice Cream: Yes, dozens of times.

75.   Po’Boy: Not a chance

76.   Pocky: No, but I always see it at the food store.

77.   Polenta: Yes, I have made some lovely polenta dishes in my life.

78.   Prickly Pear: Have never encountered it.

79.   Rabbit Stew: Not a chance

80.   Raw Oysters: Not a chance

81.   Root Beer Float: Dozens of times.  I love root beer.

82.   S’mores: I had a s’more before I realized that marshmallows contained gelatin.  And now that I know, when I see a marshmallow, all I see is sugar-covered animal collagen.

83.   Sauerkraut: Something I could try… but I won’t.

84.  Sea Urchin: Not a chance

85.  Shark: Not a chance

86.   Snail: Not a chance

87.  Snake: Not a chance

88.  Soft Shell Crab: Not a chance

89.   Som Tam: I’m not a fan of papaya, so there doesn’t seem a point in putting this in my mouth.

90.   Spaetzle: Yes, many know of the Great Spaetzle Incident which is still discussed in our household.

91.   Spam: Not a chance

92.   Squirrel: Not a chance.  Who would cook Simon Liverspot?

93.   Steak Tartare: Not a chance

94.   Sweet Potato Fries: Yes, I eat sweet potato fries from time to time.

95.   Sweetbreads: Not a chance

96.   Tom Yum: Yes, this soup was consumed on a very early date with Josh, and it promptly gave me food poisoning.  That is how I knew it was love — because he came over while I was still in a state of vomiting.

97.   Umeboshi: I’m just not a fan of plums of any sort.

98.   Venison: Not a chance

99.   Wasabi Peas: Another food I could eat, but I won’t.

100.   Zucchini Flowers: There’s a good chance I’ve had them, but I can’t think of what they taste like so I’m not claiming them.

So all in all, I have had 29 out of 100.  And enjoyed few of those 29.

How many have you tried?  And best story about trying it.

Updated:

It IS a very US-centric list. Biscuits and gravy are commonplace here — I’d be more shocked to find a brunch place that doesn’t serve it. Same with chicken and waffles.

I think the problem with a food list is also what is exotic to you isn’t exotic to others. And vice versa. I’m sure there are plenty of people who think hummus and malawach and tehina are exotic, but they’re totally commonplace items to me I would never put on a 100 foods to eat before you die list.

I think many people could probably do a decent job though of constructing a single list, therefore, throw out 5 items you believe people need to taste before they die and I’ll compile a new list that is a little more varied.

My contributions: setas al ajillo, falafel, root beer, chocolate pots de creme, and potatoes dauphinoise.  And feel free to knock any of mine from the list.  Three votes of removal I think means automatic kick-off.  I’ll move your choices up to the body of the list as soon as I can.

OUR FOOD CHALLENGE LIST OF FOODS TO EAT BEFORE YOU DIE:

1. Setas al ajillo
2. Falafel
3. Birch beer
4. Chocolate pots de creme
5. Potatoes dauphinoise
6. Gado gado
7. Chirimoya
8. Rambutan
9. Carambola (starfruit)
10. Guava
11. Persimmon
12. Mussels
13. Sushi
14. Quiche
15. Roasted garlic (in the husk)
16. Bruschetta with fresh summer tomatoes
17. Napoleon Cake
18. Sauerbraten
19. Flourless Chocolate Cake
20. Rhubarb Cherry Pie

Taking time away from making a tortilla espanola for the seder tonight to respond to Samantha Schoech’s post on Babycenter about equating miscarriage with baby death.  Mostly because I need to take it out of my head in order to cook.

She’s entitled to her opinion; thought it is just that: her opinion.  Just because she doesn’t believe in looking at miscarriage as the loss of a baby doesn’t mean that others can’t.  The simple solution — the one I choose to take — is to not read her posts anymore.  And frankly, to not visit Babycenter so I don’t have to encounter her posts.  It’s a big Internet.  If Schoech chooses to write that, she can and if Babycenter chooses to publish that, they can.  But I also have a choice here: not to support the site and not to read her work.

By which I mean that when I get a sense that someone is writing something inflammatory solely for page views and not to release something important from their mind, I tend to be turned off and stop reading.  I personally dislike having my feelings fomented for no other reason than to increase page views.  And my foment-o-meter which measures things that are written only to upset people is on red with this post: I believe that Schoech believes this, but I believe that Babycenter latched onto it because they want page views:

Not because they want an actual conversation.

I base this on the judgmental nature of the language used in the post.  Schoech writes in the comment section: “I care very, very deeply about language. It matters. I influences everything form emotions to politics to… everything.”

Language matters, which is why she used phraseology such as:

• “A familiar pet peeve. If one more person calls a miscarriage the “death of a baby” I’m going to lose it.”
• “I have living children now and I can say that losing one of them would make my three miscarriages look like mosquito bites in comparison.”
• “The attitude that equates miscarriage with the death of a child bothers me because it is hyperbole and hyperbole bugs me.”
• “It bothers me because it’s what my grandmother would have called ‘ghoulish,’ that weird delight we all take in recounting stories of horrible misfortune.”

And then, of course, she goes on to misappropriate the term “nazi” a few times for effect.  Even though hyperbole bugs her.

My reaction to her post comes solely from this thought:

You know those conversations you sometimes get into where it just becomes one person after another upping the ante on untimely deaths, awful illnesses, and hideous accidents?

Well, this “death of a baby” thing strikes me as the same thing. It’s reveling in its own melodrama.

This post does exactly what she finds repulsive, reflecting what she despises and in doing so, creates her own melodrama.  Instead of trying to top each other in the Pain Olympics by having the worst story possible, this post aims to negate the emotional pain of miscarriage by dismissing it — pointing out all the ways it’s not-as-bad-as.  It’s a mosquito bite, after all.  It’s ghoulish.

I do despise the Pain Olympics because comparative pain is only hurtful.  It’s using your hurt to hurt another person.  It’s called the Pain Olympics because there are winners and losers.  There can’t be two people on that gold platform.  Though the problem with the Pain Olympics is that there is always another person who can knock you off that podium.  Who has it worse.  Who can negate your pain if you want to enter into a contest with the world.

I much prefer the Pain Campfire, where we’re all gathered around in a circle sharing support for each other’s stories with the understanding that we’re not there to shoot each other down but rather to collectively lift each other up.  It may be my kumbaya-ness coming through.

I think we can all agree that there are varying degrees of pain, though I believe the degrees of pain are processed in such a personal way that we can never truly define what is “just as bad.”  This morning I got my period and without even taking a pain killer, I went to a 75 minutes flow yoga class and sweated my ass off.  And THEN I went home and took the Alleve.  Because that’s where my pain was — for me.  My friend gets her period and she cannot walk around the house doing common tasks.  She needs to take the Alleve immediately.  It doesn’t mean that my pain is less and her pain is more.  It means that we both have pain and we both process it differently.  One way is not better or more natural than the other.  I’m not a goddess because I can do yoga through the pain and she is not a wimp because she can’t move.

We are two separate people with two separate pain thresholds who have two separate pains.  We are not two people who share a pain threshold who are experiencing one pain.  Do you see the difference?

I find the Pain Olympics so disheartening because it is about negating the worth of another person’s pain by telling them that you’re going to put their pain (you know, the one you don’t know about because you are not them) in perspective.  It’s about telling them to shut-up; and in doing so, the speaker feels better.  And this is how I saw Schoech’s post.  She isn’t starting a conversation: she’s telling people to shut-up.  And perhaps it makes her feel better; maybe it’s a preemptive band-aid that she is placing over her fear of (G-d forbid) ever losing a child.  Maybe she needs to do this for her own emotional well-being because she is so terrified of losing someone now that they are born and this makes her feel better.  But that doesn’t excuse the fact that her point is to make other people upset or uncomfortable in order to relieve her own emotional discomfort.

I really have to question why seeing someone else processing their emotions is her pet peeve.

Do I believe a miscarriage and neonatal death is the same thing — of course not.  If they were the same thing, they would share the same term.  But just because I see them as apples and oranges doesn’t mean that I don’t also see them as fruit.  They are both loss.  Letting someone experience their emotional pain over a miscarriage doesn’t take away from another person experiencing their emotional pain over a stillbirth which doesn’t take away from someone else experiencing their emotional pain over a neonatal death.  Because what is the trump card — the worst loss that wins you the gold medal?  At what point does the hill start curving downward and we say, “feh, it isn’t as bad” again?  Is the death of a one-year-old worse than the death of a baby?  Does preschooler trump infant?  Does elementary schooler trump preschooler?  Do you see the insanity in this?  Why should someone try to determine the worst pain?  Why do we bother giving attention to someone who is shouting “your pain isn’t bad; this pain is bad”?

I am totally willing to concede that there is a pain continuum in this world, though I believe it is only rankable by the person themselves.  In my world, menstrual pain is somewhere near a 3, hitting my head on something is near a 7, child birth is near a 7, and an HSG is a 10.  In your world, menstrual pain may be an 8, child birth may be a 10, sex may be a 9.  So yes, there is a pain continuum, but it is personal, unique to each experiencer.  And I cannot tell you the order of your pain just as you cannot tell me the order of my pain: whether that be emotional or physical.

Those are my two cents.

And now I can go back to chopping potatoes.