Preserving food and the family

One of the things I admire most about my Pawpaw is that he knows how to can and preserve foods. Perhaps it seems silly to admire someone for that, but how many people do you know under the age of 60 that know how to do that? Can you? If you can, teach me! Ever since I can remember, I have eaten bread and butter pickles, fig preserves, strawberry jam and preserves, canned pears, mayhaw and quince jelly, and all of it handmade and canned by my Pawpaw. He has an extensive and flourishing personal garden where he harvests beans, cucumbers, and squash, as well as a few fruit trees from which he gets the fruit to make jellies and preserves.

            I love to watch him make pickles. He slices the cucumbers into fat chips and soaks them on one side of the sink before he cans them. I know that he takes many more steps than that to make the pickles, but I do not know all of them. From what I can tell, it is not a quick process; I imagine if it were, I would stand still long enough to watch and learn the whole process. But I do know of the outcome, sweet and vinegar-y pickles that are a perfect match for a grilled cheese sandwich on a chilly day.

            In the church cookbook printed last year, many of my family’s canning and preserving recipes were included. I am a few states removed from my hometown, and I always hesitate to try one of my favorite recipes, because I’m not sure if the end result will be the same as when my Pawpaw makes it. There is something about Pawpaw’s house and the vegetables and fruits that come from his garden that he grew that add to the taste. It might ruin my taste for canned goods and preserves altogether if I mess up something he can make so well. So I am hoping I will get the chance to learn from him how to can and preserve things; I would hate for those family recipes to disappear because no one knows how to do it! Perhaps that will be my New Year’s resolution—I am going to learn to can!

Christmas Candy

Although I am not very fond of the holidays, I do love getting the opportunity and the excuse to make Christmas candy. My younger sister showed me how to make Oreo Truffles a few years ago, and ever since I have made them for friends and family as Christmas gifts because I am a broke college kid. Oreo Truffles are one of the easiest candies to make, and they always look elegant and seem as though you put a lot of time and effort in to making them, so you will get lots of compliments for spending less than $10 for ingredients and having fun getting you hands dirty.

Oreo Truffles

1 (16 oz) package of Oreo cookies

1 (8 oz) package of cream cheese, softened

2 (8 oz) packages of semi-sweet chocolate chips

Crush a few of the cookies into fine crumbs and set aside. Crush all of the remaining cookies to fine crumbs with your bare hands by the sweat of your brow (put the cookies in a plastic baggie, please, the crumbs will stick to the bottom of your feet later if you spill them on the floor!). Place your crushed essence d’Oreo in a bowl and add the softened cream cheese—if you want to taste some of the cream cheese, like me (I love cream cheese), it’s ok, nibble it! You’re making the candy, you have a right to test the products and make sure it’s safe for everyone else to eat! Mix the crushed cookies and the cream cheese together until they are blended—you’re going to have to crank your elbow a little, work those cookies into that cheese! Then roll the cookie mixture into as many balls as you can, about an inch in diameter. I always make the perfect balls when I listen to my favorite song; something about singing and dancing in the kitchen while I make this candy allows me to roll the perfect ball between my palms. Now comes the messy part—melt one package of the chocolate chips in a microwave-safe bowl, and get a spoon. BEWARE! The bowl and the melted chocolate will be HOT when it comes out of the microwave (I figured I should warn you because I always burn my fingers, even though I’ve done this a hundred times). Drop a ball into the melted chocolate, one by one, and roll the ball around with the spoon to cover it in chocolate, then spoon it out and set it on a cookie sheet covered in wax paper. This takes concentration—I always focus the best with my tongue stuck out between my lips (family trait). When all the balls are covered in chocolate, sprinkle the tops with the crushed cookies you set aside earlier. Then put the tray in the refrigerator and let the candy chill for about an hour. You’ll have between 30 and 40 Oreo Truffles soon!

"Vegaphobia"

As I researched for my Women’s Studies final project, I discovered an article that discussed something called “vegaphobia.” Matthew Cole and Karen Morgan’s article “Vegaphobia: derogatory discourses of veganism and the reproduction of specieism in UK national newspapers” discussed the negative ways in which vegans and veganism is portrayed in English newspapers and the implications of that negative perception. Cole and Morgan first define veganism as the “opposition to violent and exploitative human-nonhuman relations,” or in other words, rejection of the exploitative and harmful use of animals and animal products by people (135). They then connect animal cruelty—what veganism rallies against—to “specieism…a form of prejudice against nonhuman animals” (135). Cole and Morgan assert that specieism is akin to racism and sexism in that it discriminates against and takes advantage of a group (nonhuman animals in this case). The connection between vegaphobia and specieism is made by Cole and Morgan’s thesis: “Just as anti-feminist discourse perpetuates and legitimates patriarchal social relations, so, we argue, does anti-vegan discourse perpetuate and legitimate specieist social relations” (135).

            Cole and Morgan argue that “veganism is understood by most vegans…as an aspect of anti-specieist practice,” so when veganism is vilified or marginalized, specieism is reinforced (135). The authors discuss the way veganism is institutionalized as deviance when discourses constantly reaffirm stereotypes and when “the dominant practices of meat-eating are used to set the discursive parameters” of society’s perceptions (136). Cole and Morgan defined negative articles relating to veganism as “those which deployed one or more derogatory discourses, usually featuring one, or a combination, from a routinized set of anti-vegan stereotypes” such as “ridiculing veganism; characterizing veganism as asceticism; describing veganism as difficult or impossible to sustain; describing veganism as a fad; characterizing vegans as oversensitive; and characterizing vegans as hostile” (139); these negative discourses of veganism ultimately reduce vegans and veganism to a marginal, trivial status, and negate the importance of the lifestyle/diet and its anti-animal cruelty basis, which perpetuates specieism, or violence and discrimination against nonhuman animals. Cole and Morgan point out that in all the newspaper discourses they researched, “the absence of animal rights philosophy as a basis for veganism [was] a consistent theme,” thus allowing the negative discourse of ridiculing veganism to occur (140). If veganism appears “self-evidently ridiculous” and petty, the importance of the lifestyle choice is lost, trivialized, and not taken seriously. Characterizing veganism as asceticism, or extreme self-denial or abstinence from food, “clears veganism of any associations with pleasurable eating experiences,” thus the notion that vegan food is tasteless and disgusting perpetuates. Which, by the way, is totally untrue—vegan food products have come a long way since they were first produced, and are now just as tasty as “regular-people food.” There’s a reason why the last two winners of Cupcake Wars have been vegan bakers with their vegan cupcakes….

            Other negative discourses of veganism Cole and Morgan discovered were the practices of describing veganism as impossible to sustain, or as a fad. Describing veganism as impossible to sustain, they argue, “reassures omnivorous readers that veganism is doomed to failure, and that they should not feel guilty for not attempting it,” therefore vegan food and diet is made “other” (143). ‘The food is so hard to find, or too difficult to make, anyway, so why bother trying to eat vegan?’ To describe veganism as a fad, as a temporary occurrence, is to discredit veganism and vegans as hypocritical. ‘It is only a matter of time before vegans can no longer resist eating meat, and if they do eat meat after vehemently speaking out against meat, then that makes vegans hypocrites; at least I’m not a hypocrite, I say I like meat and I eat meat.’ Cole and Morgan associate the trivialization of veganism by attributing it to faddism with women in that “faddism is frequently associated with women’s subculture as a trivialization strategy” (144). The authors also associate women with the characterization of vegans as oversensitive; here sexism is combined with sentiment, making the argument that women are more inclined to empathize and feel compassionately towards animals because of a “shared experience of (patriarchal) oppression” (145). The “gendered stereotypes of women as ‘over-emotional’ or irrational” is connected to vegans perceived as “sentimental ‘animal lover[s]’ unable to cope with the harsh realities of nature,” thus again trivializing vegans and veganism (145).

            Cole and Morgan conclude that negative discourses of vegans and veganism serve to not only marginalize or trivialize it, but to allow meat-eaters to “avoid confronting the ethics of exploiting, imprisoning, and killing” animals, as well as to allow the negative discourses to normalize the exploitation of animals (149). As a whole, I agree with Cole and Morgan’s conclusions about the negative discourses’ affect on the perception of vegans and veganism, however I think the argument that characterizing it as impossible to sustain may have some weaknesses. I know my own experience trying to go vegan was confusing, frustrating, and ultimately unsuccessful. I felt as though I did not know enough to even begin, and I found it difficult to find foods I could eat. Every time I read a label, I would see some ingredient that was an animal by-product, or one that might be an animal by-product. It seems as though if you are not intimately familiar with all the forms of animal products, then you are not adequately equipped to choose the right foods and make the best choices that align with one’s anti-animal cruelty/exploitation beliefs. I was always in fear that I would make a mistake in feeling confident I had a product that had caused no harm to an animal or that had no animal products in it, but what if I was just unaware of it? Perhaps it is not correct to characterize veganism as impossible to sustain, but those who say it is difficult to sustain may have a point.

Works Cited

Cole, Matthew and  Karen Morgan. “Vegaphobic: derogatory discourses of veganism and the reproduction of specieism in UK national newspapers.” The British Journal of Sociology 62:1 (2011): 134-153. PsycINFO. Web. 5 Dec 2011.

I Skinny Bitch'd it for a week and a half, and that was enough for me!

Since Skinny Bitch is one reason of the myriad that I chose to become a vegetarian, I thought I might try to take it a step further and actually do the vegan thing, as the authors of Skinny Bitch promote. I thought doing the four week meal plan in the back of the book would give me some good first-hand experience for my semester project about the eating practices of vegans. I decided I was only going to eat vegan—going 100% vegan would take a little more preparation than I have time for. Avoiding all and every product that contains a trace of animal product is so much bigger than I can wrap my head around at the moment…(are you aware of all the things that contain something from an animal??)

            Anyway, so I spent over $100 at Earth Fare as I prepared to hop on the Skinny Bitch diet for four weeks. I picked up a Vegan pizza, vegan butter, fake turkey, fake bacon, fake hamburgers, sesame oil, whole grain muffins. Needless to say the cashier had to pry my debit card from my hand to swipe it. I was not only unhappy about the amount of money, but I don’t like to eat frozen foods, and a lot of the vegan stuff was from the freezer section. I made a club sandwich with the Tofurkey and fake bacon one day—it wasn’t bad, but the fake bacon was a little off-putting when I opened the package and it smelled like Beggin’ Strips for dogs….

            So I Skinny Bitch’d it for 10 days and then I quit. I enjoy cheese way too much. And I kept slipping up on accident because I wasn’t aware something had a cream-based sauce, or I didn’t know there was cheese wrapped up in the sandwich. It was frustrating not only because I wasn’t aware of every single ingredient, but also because where I live there are very few vegetarian options much less vegan options.

            So for the rest of my project, I plan to research the implications of veganism on society, individuals, animals, health, and consumerism, looking to see what it takes to live this kind of lifestyle, where it’s most prevalent, and why people decide to do it. Hopefully I can interview someone who is a practicing vegan to get a better first-hand account, because I must say my attempt was inadequate. I’m a fairly healthy eater anyway with lots of whole grains and vegetables, but like I said, cheese is a staple for me, I can’t do without it!

"Um, yeah, can I get a large french fry...?"

As a twenty-something college student, image is a big deal. Specifically physical image. When I put my jeans on in the morning, I turn around and check in the mirror that I don’t have love handles spilling over the waistband. When I sit in a desk, or anywhere for that matter, I suck in and pull my jeans up so what fat I do have doesn’t bulge over the top of my pants. I buy clothes that give me a certain figure, as close to an hourglass shape as I can get, and it really sucks when I’m bloated, even a little bit, because then it throws the shape all out of whack.

            Besides the fact that you actually need fat in your body to function, it’s absolutely imperative that you walk around as though fat doesn’t exist in your body, and if it does you deny it vehemently and avoid gaining it like the plague. The only place I want fat to fill my body is in my butt so I can achieve the Kim Kardashian booty. Fat is not a good thing, so magazines, television, movies, and the rest of society tells me, unless it gets you a big butt or a nice pair of double d breasts. Seems to me those two areas are the only places fat is acceptable.

            So since fat is the most taboo subject in pop culture today, my eating habits are directly correlated with it. I really hate the assumption that skinny=healthy; as a person who is not overweight or underweight and a vegetarian to boot, I hate feeling bad when I want to eat a Kit Kat bar (my favorite) or a cinnamon roll or pasta smothered in cheese. There is the need to be hyper-vigilant about what I put in my mouth, especially when I’m eating around other people. So I have this whole regiment where I eat Subway—a lot (I think I should get some kind of faithful customer award)—and then sneak french fries from McDonalds or Sonic once in a while and don’t tell anyone about it. What kind of walking contradiction am I that I am such a proponent of healthy eating choices but I slip up so often with my french fries? So, friends of mine, I seriously doubt you know how many french fries I pack away in a week…

            Although I am not a calorie-counter per se, seeing the numbers on the Subway napkin that compares Subway sandwiches with hamburgers from McDonalds and Burger King makes my heart race just a little bit. Especially the calorie count for french fries….

            While I am not recovering from an eating disorder as the author of the blog ED Bites is, the author made an astute comment in relation to calorie counts on menus in the post “Mind F*ck”: good intentions can have very bad effects. The author writes of the panic felt at the little numbers listed beside every choice on the menu, a panic I understand although perhaps in a different way. I feel bad enough that I break down and swing by McDonalds for french fries once in a while without visualizing obsessively each calorie counted as a bubble of fat that might hang over the waist of my jeans. Perhaps it helps some people make better choices, but all I can imagine is the waiter saying, “dang, I can’t believe she saw that sandwich has 2345942370978 calories and she still ordered it…”

Distancing and Food Production

Partly responsible in my choice to become a vegetarian are the issues surrounding genetically-modified foods and products, how they are produced, and how far those foods travel to get into my pots and pans. Since the world is increasingly more globalized and interconnected, food—a staple all people share—comes from all over the place. I eat fish from China, rice from India, blueberries from Canada, and drink red wine from Spain. Sometimes I’ll get oranges from California or orzo pasta from Illinois. Not many things I eat, though, come from my local community, or even Georgia for that matter. I sometimes stop at the roadside produce stand in my town and buy locally grown tomatoes and lima beans, (although I have my suspicions about whether it’s truly local produce) but not often. So I’ve taken into consideration two things I eat often, Nutella and Tilapia fillets, and thought about where these items are produced, who labors to produce them, and especially the concept of “distancing,” defined by Deborah Barndt as “the increasing distance between production and consumption,” as well as “the deepening separation of humans from nature,” and the disconnect between laborers and the “fruits of their labor” (133).

            Nutella is a product I was wholly unfamiliar with until earlier this year when my French professor brought some to class; it was instant love: chocolate + peanut butter = this heavenly thing called Nutella. Although Nutella is more hazelnuts than chocolate, and nothing like peanut butter except that like peanut butter you spread it on bread or crackers, I thought it was the best thing to show up since sliced bread (and you spread it on sliced bread—even better!). I was aware of Nutella commercials on my television, but I had only noticed them in recent years, and I knew Nutella was a product more widely used in Europe. But a quick look at the label on my personal jar of Nutella told me that my Nutella was made in Canada, and distributed by Ferrerro USA, Inc. out of New Jersey. But it is a product more commonly and more widely consumed in Europe and is only now making headway in America. It seems as though Nutella bounces all over the globe before it ends up in my pantry. And after some research, I learned that Nutella was originally created by an Italian man, Pietro Ferrerro, in the 1940s when chocolate was scarce because of World War II, thus he created a product using hazelnuts because they were plentiful in the northwest region of Italy (NutellaUSA.com). This “traditional Italian breakfast item” was brought to America in 1983 and has steadily grown in popularity ever since (NutellaUSA.com). In fact, Ferrerro USA, Inc.’s official website claims that Nutella “rapidly gains distribution and awareness across the US, [and is] destined to become as big a success here as it is in Europe” (Ferrerro U.S.A., Inc.).

In regards to Barndt’s idea of distancing, I think it is very obvious that there is a gap between production and consumption of this product because (1) it’s made in Canada, (2) it’s made of hazelnuts (grown largely in Turkey and Italy [USDA]), (3) it’s distributed by a company based in New Jersey, and (4) it finally makes its way down here to Georgia, where I eat it. I also think Nutella is an example of what Barndt calls “the distancing from natural products and processes inherent in biotechnology, processing, preservation, and packaging” (133); I don’t even know what a hazelnut looks like, or really what it tastes like. The ingredient list on the back of my jar of Nutella reads: sugar, palm oil, hazelnuts, cocoa, soy milk, reduced minerals whey (milk), lecithin as emulsifier (soy), vanillin (an artificial flavor). All of these ingredients are processed to make this gooey spread, plus there are at least three artificial or man-made (non-natural) ingredients included. Also, Nutella is an example of “the deepening separation of humans from nature;” again, don’t ask me what a hazelnut tastes like (Barndt 133). I wouldn’t be able to pick one out of a lineup even with peanuts and pecans.

The other product I eat often that I chose to analyze concerning Barndt’s theory of distancing is Tilapia fillets. The package I get from the freezer section of my local Wal-Mart gives me about six individually sealed frozen fillets, white-fleshed with a pinkish-red color down the middle. I love to cook these fillets in the pan, or broil them, and serve them with asparagus, rice, or a multitude of other sides, and I usually season the fish with garlic powder, onion powder, and roasted garlic & herb seasoning. The side of the package tells me the fish are a product of China, but that the package is distributed by Wal-Mart Stores, Inc. out of Bentonville, Arkansas. And after doing some research, I learned that Tilapia is actually a non-native fish to China; these fish are native to Africa, but thrive “better in tropical climates, so most of it comes from Asia or Latin America” (Einhorn). The U.S. does have some Tilapia fisheries, but Bruce Einhorn claims domestic fish farms “can’t come close to meeting demand.” Tilapia is “ecologically sustainable,” grows quickly, is cheap to produce, and takes on the flavor of ingredients it’s cooked with, thus consumption of Tilapia has raised dramatically in the past few years (Nicholls). Walter Nicholls points out that “in the mid-1980s, the average American had never heard of this firm-fleshed North African native,” and that over 300 million pounds of the fish were consumed in 2006 with the “overwhelming majority of imports [being] frozen fillets from China.”

Here again, there is an obvious distance between production and consumption of this product. Although there are some Tilapia fish farms in the U.S., China is the largest producer of Tilapia from fish farms, who process and ship the frozen fillets over here to the U.S. Then, Wal-Mart packages the frozen fillets into their little red bag and puts them into a truck to be driven all the way over here to Georgia, and then I carefully select my bag from the freezer section. The “distancing of natural products and processes inherent in biotechnology, processing, preservation, and packaging” is also evident here because although fish are a natural product, the Tilapia in my freezer grows up on a fish farm controlled by humans, then when it is killed, it goes to a plant to be cleaned, chemically preserved, and frozen, and is then packaged into its neat little bag (Barndt 133).

In a world this large with billions of people to feed, it is understandable that the distancing of some foods could seem necessary to get as much food to as many people as possible. However, that is not necessarily the case since there are millions around the globe still starving; an interesting point that the documentary The Future of Food makes is that the problem of hunger is an “access problem.” Many of the countries where there are starving people do not have the affluence to purchase all these commodities—“They don’t have the money to buy food or access to land on which to grow it” (McMahon 204). Even if biotechnology has made some products cheaper, there is still the issue of importing it, which involves cost for the distance it has to travel by boat, air, or land. Scholars such as Martha McMahon have pointed out that “local small-scale farming [is said to be] far too inefficient” in the face of globalization and new biotechnologies (204). The food production of small-scale farmers is deemed “less, or is not counted at all because it is produced for family, community, or a local market rather than for the export trade,” thus “concentration, specialization, and reaping the advantages of comparative advantage” are thought to be the best way to produce food for the world (204).  (Think of the hazelnuts harvested largely from Turkey and Italy, and the multitude of Tilapia fish farms in China.) However if we were to “resist globalization,” as McMahon puts it, I don’t think I would be able to enjoy my Nutella or Tilapia or any other imported product such as some fruits, vegetables, or seafood  that make their way to my local grocery store without globalization. I guess I would have to till my 4’x4’ front yard and grow some veggies or set up a fish tank in my living room.

Works Cited

Barndt, Deborah. “On the move for food: Three women behind the tomato’s journey.” Women’s Studies Quarterly 29:1/2 (2001): 131-143. Print.

Einhorn, Bruce. “From China, The Future of Fish.” Bloomberg Businessweek. 21 Oct 2010. Web. 20 Oct 2011. <http://www.businessweek.com/magazine/content/10_44/b4201088229228_page_6.htm>

Ferrerro. Nutella USA: The Original Hazelnut Spread. Web. 20 Oct 2011. <http://www.nutellausa.com/history.htm>.

Ferrerro U.S.A., Inc. Ferrerro USA History. 2011. Web. 20 Oct 2011. <http://www.ferrerousa.com/ferrero-usa/history/?IDT=8928>.

The Future of Food. Dir. Deborah Koons Garcia. Lily Films, 2004. Film.

McMahon, Martha. “Resisting Globalization: Women Organic Farmers and Local Food Systems.” Canadian Women Studies 21:3: 203-206. Print.

Nicholls, Walter. “Two Sides to Every Tilapia.” The Washington Post. 8 Aug 2007. Web. 20 Oct 2011. <http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/08/07/AR2007080700470.html>.

USDA. “World Hazelnut Situation and Outlook.” World Horticultural Trade and U.S. Export Opportunities. March 2004. <http://www.fas.usda.gov/htp/Hort_Circular/2004/3-05-04%20Web%20Art/03-04%20Hazelnut%20Web%20Article.pdf>.

Skinny Bitches' Body Image

Patricia Leavy, Andréa Gnong, and Lauren Sardi Ross introduce in their article “Femininity, Masculinity, and Body Image Issues among College-Age Women” the notion that female and male bodies are associated with the physical body and the mind, respectively, according to Cartesian Dualism’s mind-body dichotomy. In a feminist approach, the mind-body dichotomy separates the mind and the body as two separate entities in which men and masculinity are associated with the mind and women and femininity are associated with the body. Their argument claims that the mind-body dichotomy constructs a “hierarchy between the two categories….Mind, and those things associated with the mind are placed on a higher plane than its oppositional form: body,” and thus “conclude that the current standard of femininity disproportionately associates women’s worth with their bodies” (261). However, Leavy, Gnong and Sardi Ross acknowledge that men’s bodies are at times connected with the body, but in a way that associates their bodies with power and privilege, unlike the female body. The feminist critique of this theory asserts that the superior subject in the mind-body hierarchy is “inherently masculine,” and that the mind-body dichotomy “falsely segregates” the two planes that in turn allows for gender inequality and body image issues among women (262). Leavy, Gnong, and Sardi Ross further develop their thesis by reviewing the ways in which social institutions reinforce the mind-body dichotomy in regards to gender by pointing out the “social rewards for conforming to femininity ideals” that exist as long as “narrow oppositional conceptions of femininity…locate femaleness within the body” (263).

            The aspect of femininity-rewarding social institutions I am interested in at this time is the practice of dieting. Leavy, Gnong, and Sardi Ross emphasize the “significant socio-cultural pressures on women to be thin” through which “women attempt to achieve [the] ideal through self-imposed body-based controls,” like dieting (264). They point out several “primary agents of socialization,” like the media, which would include magazines such as Cosmo and Seventeen as well as diet books such as The South Beach Diet or The Atkins Diet, that they call “femininity how-to manuals” that have an instrumental role in the practice of dieting (265). To conclude results from their suppositions, Leavy, Gnong, and Sardi Ross conducted a series of interviews among college-aged women and some college-age men to gather the nuanced responses in which these socio-cultural pressures manifest themselves. They state that the conversations quickly “shift to a focus on the physical body, flesh, and appearance” when the women were questioned about femininity (271). This emphasizes the connection between women and femininity with the body, as well as anxieties about body image where “in order to succeed, women understand they need to be thin, but not too thin; athletic, but not masculine,” etc (272). An interesting point Leavy, Gnong, and Sardi Ross make is: “Women are taught to use their bodies to get what they want,” which I feel links women and bodies to dieting practices (272). A particular diet-book came to mind when I read this: Skinny Bitch. Leavy, Gnong, and Sardi Ross also assert that “American culture places an emphasis on a woman’s weight over their personal characteristics,” a notion I think is communicated through the pages of Skinny Bitch (274).

            Skinny Bitch touts a vegan-oriented diet/lifestyle, a self described “no-nonsense, tough-love guide for savvy girls who want to stop eating crap and start looking fabulous!” The message clearly promotes food practices (dieting) as a way to control body image in order to receive validation, from the self or otherwise. Quoted in Caroline Heldman’s article “Out-of-BODY imaGe” in Ms magazine, Sarah Murnen makes an interesting statement: “girls are taught to view their bodies as ‘projects’ that need work before they can attract others, whereas boys are likely to learn to view their bodies as tools to use to master the environment” (54). I think Skinny Bitch turns women’s bodies into projects in a way with declarations like, “Are you sick and tired of being fat? Good. If you can’t take one more day of self-loathing, you’re ready to get skinny;” and “This knowledge [in the book] will empower you to become a skinny bitch” (Freedman and Barnouin 10). Statements like these suggest that a certain body image, the body image promoted in society and the media as the standard feminine ideal, is something to be learned through a set of steps, or in other words, a “project” to be completed so as to earn an “A” in society’s classroom. Leavy, Gnong, and Sardi Ross suggest there is a “cost-reward system” at work in obtaining society’s ideal feminine body, an idea exemplified in Skinny Bitch’s opening pages: to avoid “self-loathing” one must become skinny to at once satisfy the self and society at large (274). However, the authors of Skinny Bitch, Rory Freedman and Kim Barnouin, do make a point to declare: “you need to get healthy if you want to get skinny,” and provide several chapters that explain the evils and dangers of simple carbohydrates, refined sugars, dairy products, and meat (11). But again I have reservations about the underlying messages in Skinny Bitch; while promoting the idea that their suggested diet/lifestyle changes will give women better health and confidence, Freedman and Barnouin also write “better sex, great abs, [and] a tight ass” are to be had by making the changes in eating habits they have proposed (117). They also exclaim, “You are worthless to your colleagues, friends, and family if you do not value yourself enough to take excellent care of you” (117). But all these rewards and motivations are concerned with the physical body. It seems as though being healthy and intelligent and confident are not enough, but one has to be healthy, intelligent, confident and skinny. Freedman and Barnouin make an interesting comment, “We are the commanders of our bodies” (126)—but are we (women) really commanding it when so many influences around us are telling us how to command it?

Works Cited

Freedman, Rory and Kim Barnouin. Skinny Bitch. Philadelphia: Running Press, 2005. Print.

Heldman, Caroline. “Out-of-BODY imaGe.” Ms. 18:2 (2008): 52-55. ProQuest Research Library. Web. 27 September 2011.

Leavy, Patricia, Andréa Gnong, and Lauren Sardi Ross. “Femininity, Masculinity, and Body Image Issues among College-Age Women: An In-Depth and Written Interview Study of the Mind-Body Dichotomy.” The Qualitative Report 14:2 (2009): 261-292. JSTOR. Web. 27 September 2011.

Old El Paso's "authentic" Mexican Festive Dinners

In the chapter “Eating the Other: Desire and Resistance” from Black Looks: Race and Representation, bell hooks theorizes the ways in which different races, ethnicities and cultures become commodified to fulfill the desires of white supremacist capitalist patriarchy. hooks explains that the “commodification of Otherness”—described as the claiming of racial, ethnic, or cultural difference as a product to be sold, bought, and consumed—allows for more delightful and satisfying options “than normal ways of doing and feeling,” which refers to white culture (21). hooks argues that this commodification of Otherness expresses a desire in white culture to experience greater pleasure by breaking from the (white) “cultural anhedonia [inability to feel pleasure]” because different races, ethnicities, and cultures appear as just that—different, exotic, exciting, intense, dangerous (26). Commodifying the racial, ethnic, cultural Other becomes an “alternative playground where members of dominating races, genders, sexual practices affirm their power-over” (23) a specific group so as to not only take over and consume, but also to be “transformed via the experience of pleasure” that their difference implies is a possibility (22)—hooks exemplifies this transformation by way of sex, travel, and rap music. This transformation, hooks suggests, is not one of appreciation of difference, but one of claiming the Other in the name of white culture, as a way to absorb otherness into whiteness—“[there is the] assumption that the exploration into the world of difference…will provide a greater, more intense pleasure than any that exists in the ordinary world of one’s familiar racial group,” but upon reentering the familiar world, which remained intact while one roamed in the world of difference, one has been transformed by the experience and holds some part of the Other for oneself that has been taken from the Other (24). hooks’ theory of “eating the Other” arises from her notion of the commodification of Otherness whereby the dominant white culture consumes and absorbs the Other’s difference to “assert power and privilege” (36); the difference and problem between experiencing a culture and consuming a culture as a commodity is when the Other is consumed and forgotten, or absorbed, into the consuming culture. White supremacist capitalist patriarchy can decide and essentialize the difference of the Other for its own consumption.

Although hooks’ idea of commodification and consumption of the Other is not specifically in the context of literally eating and ingesting it, there are examples of this in the mainstream culinary culture that will help to clarify hooks’ complex theory. Think of fast food places in malls that sell Greek food or Japanese food. In the mall I frequent, there is a Greek place in the food court that sells “traditional” Greek fare of gyros, baklava, etc., but it’s not real Greek food. It’s a commercialized version, an “idea” of Greek food that is sold to the American consumer. As far as I can tell, this place is not run by Greek people, nor is the food prepared by Greek people that know how to cook real Greek food. There are usually, white, black, or Latino people who take my order and who throw lettuce and tomatoes on a flimsy piece of pita and wrap it up in tin foil. This Greek place in the mall commodifies the Greek experience and the “idea” of Greek food and Greek culture marketed and consumed in a culturally American (arguably dominantly white) context. It’s a question of authenticity—it’s the Americanized version of Greek we are receiving. In this case, Greek culture and food has been taken over and appropriated to serve an American version of Greek. I argue that for this to be considered Greek cultural appreciation, the ones cooking and serving the food ought to learn from Greek people the authentic Greek way of preparing and serving Greek food.

Another example of eating the Other from the “commercial realm of advertising” is Old El Paso’s 1986 television commercial for its frozen festive dinners (26). Old El Paso foods did not originate in Mexico; the brand was developed in 1938 by General Mills, Inc., an American Company. Perusing the Old El Paso page on General Mills’ website, there is a statement that says, “For nearly a century, Old El Paso has inspired consumers to bring fun and flavorful Mexican food to their dinner tables.” On Old El Paso’s own website, there is a section that tells the story of how a small canning company in New Mexico was bought by a “clever amigo” who eventually established the canned goods into a brand. The figure responsible for establishing the brand is repeatedly referred to as an “amigo,” “compadre,” and “old man El Paso,” but it is clear this person is not really Mexican—the story and brand originate from New Mexico and El Paso, Texas. It is clear that the Old El Paso brand of Mexican food is an Americanized version of Mexican food and culture; likewise, the 1986 television commercial presents much the same image. The woman’s voice singing the jingle claims that Old El Paso’s frozen festive dinners are a “great new change of place,” while a white woman and white man smile and eat Zucchini Medley, Spanish Rice, Chimichangas, Beef Burritos, and Enchiladas. It is suggested by the tagline, “It’s a great new change of place,” that this Mexican food is a way through which American/white culture can experience an Other, a different cultural and ethnic food, that provides “entertainment nightly,” implying pleasure to be had from a cultural food. Then, a male announcer states “Ole El Paso authentic festive dinners are now in your grocer’s freezer” (emphasis added); the question of authenticity arises again. The Mexican food is first of all mass produced and commercially packaged, stripping the food of some of its authenticity; then the commercial suggests the food is offered as “new dishes to enhance the white palate” by filming a white couple eating enchiladas and burritos (39); lastly, by stressing the idea that the consumption of this food is “a great new change of place,” the food, and by extension Mexican culture and identity, is packaged as a site for white pleasure that is effectively absorbed and thereby forgotten by white culture. Seemingly, this Old El Paso commercial is an apt example of hooks’ concern “that the Other will be eaten, consumed, and forgotten” (39).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HCsLoqPVZf4&feature=related

Works Cited

hooks, bell. “Eating the Other: Desire and Resistance.” Black Looks: Race and Representation. Boston: South End. 1992. 21-39. Print.

General Mills, Inc. “Old El Paso.” General Mills.com. General Mills, Inc., 2011. Web. 30 September 2011. <http://www.generalmills.com/Brands/Meals/Old_El_Paso.aspx.>

Old El Paso. Oldelpaso.com. Pet, Inc., 2011. Web. 30 September 2011. <http://www.oldelpaso.com.au/about-us/the-story-of-old-el-paso.aspx.>

Who ever thought a potato could mean so much?

For every Thanksgiving of my childhood, I remember eating the feast at my Mimi and Pawpaw’s house—crumbly stuffing made of cornbread, hard-boiled eggs, onions, and celery covered in thick brown gravy, peppery green beans that mushed just a little when you pressed them with your tongue to the top of your mouth (from the garden, of course), little toasted yeast rolls (the only thing that was not homemade), thick slices of white- or dark-meat turkey also covered in gravy, and my favorite, Pawpaw’s candied yams. Those sweet potatoes were like having an excuse to eat dessert with the meal. Long thick strips of orange sweet potatoes that turned burnt orange-colored and a little brown after simmering for hours in a thick syrup made of sugar and cinnamon. I remember standing beside the stove with the steam buffeting my face as I stared down into the pot watching bubbles slowly push their way to the top through the syrup, sliding past the potatoes that would cook so slow and so long that they would fall apart on the fork for all their tenderness. When Pawpaw would catch my sister Laura and I stirring around the pot of potatoes, he would cry, “Hang on, now! Don’t stir ‘em, they’ll fall apart. You gotta push ‘em down gently, but never stir ‘em.” Pawpaw’s sweet potatoes were a part of special meals I came to expect; they were a real treat and we always had them at Thanksgiving. So, you didn’t mess with the potatoes on the stove unless you didn’t want to have any.

            Since I have been in college, I have traded off going to Mimi and Pawpaw’s house for Thanksgiving so I could spend the holidays with my Mom or my Nana, both of whom I no longer live close to. So there has been a year or two when I have forgone the taste of Pawpaw’s sweet potatoes, but I always felt like it was not really Thanksgiving without them. This past year I visited my Mom in Texas for the holidays, and my boyfriend came with me for the first time. My sister and I decided to take on the cooking since we knew Mom would not want to slave over the stove (she’s a good cook, but she prefers spending time with her flowers), and it was important to me that the meal would be cooked the right way and as impressive as we could make it, partly because I wanted to impress my boyfriend, and partly because it would feel more like Thanksgiving. (I have been to a few Thanksgivings where we sat in front of the TV while eating, and it never felt special—there’s something about formally sitting at the dinner table all together that just makes the meal special and makes it stand apart from any other dinner.) Needless to say, I just about had a nervous breakdown while cooking this meal. Having never planned a meal this big before, Laura and I just kind of started with no plan at all—we readied the pot for the potatoes because we knew that would take the longest besides the turkey. But, we added too much water and brought the sugar to a boil before the potatoes were sliced, so the syrup became too watery and almost boiled off before the potatoes went in. Eventually, we had the potatoes cooking on one eye of the stove, green beans on another eye, a pan of cornbread in the oven and onions and celery sautéing on yet another eye (for the stuffing), and on the fourth eye, a pot of boiling eggs. And then all the sudden, the stove and oven quit working. The pilot light for the gas stove had gone out because too many eyes were heating at full blast. That is when I began to panic because I thought we had ruined it. I almost cried—well, I did cry, to be honest. I walked into a back room and pulled on my hair for a minute and lay down with my eyes closed while I thought of how to fix it. It was embarrassing—I had been talking so highly of how great the meal would be to my boyfriend and everyone else that I could not stand the thought of it being a failure. I finally went back to the kitchen, poured a glass of cabernet sauvignon to the rim, and finished cooking. The meal turned out fantastic for all our mishaps, and everyone was happy.

            Pawpaw’s sweet potatoes are much more than just sugary candied yams to me. They are a part of some of my best childhood memories of spending time with my Pawpaw, Mimi, and Dad when I did not get to see them often. Those tubers are a source of nostalgia and comfort, something I knew would always taste right and would always be there for a special meal. It was important to have them while I spent the holidays with my Mom to share with her, my step-dad, my step-sister, and my boyfriend something that always made me happy and made me feel close to the people I love. I know this is a dish I will serve my family for the rest of my life, not just because of the sentiments attached to them, but because they’re yummy. Those potatoes ought to feel special. I encourage you to try them, I haven’t heard a person yet who has said they did not like them:

Pawpaw’s Candied Yams

1 pound raw sweet potatoes

1 cup sugar

1 heaping teaspoon ground cinnamon

**For every pound of potatoes, use one cup of sugar

Peel and cut potatoes into long strips. Put all the sugar in a large pot and add small amount of water—just enough to melt the sugar. When sugar melts and comes to a boil, add potatoes. Let boil then turn down heat to a simmer. DO NOT PUT A LID ON THE POT. Takes about 1 to 11/2 hours to cook. DON’T STIR—gently push around pot with a wooden spoon.

After reading the personal narratives from Avakian’s Through the Kitchen Window, I have been thinking of different candidates to interview for the personal food narrative writing assignment. I have considered my Pawpaw because he is the primary cook in my grandparents’ household, and I think his narrative would be an unusual one. Where did he learn his skills? Did he always like cooking? When did he begin cooking the family recipes that he cooks now? Another person I thought of interviewing is a woman from work, an African-American lady who talks to me often of the meals her and her family prepare and eat together. I wonder where she learned to cook some of her favorite meals and what the implications are of preparing and eating meals with her mother, daughter, sister and the rest of her family many nights. Are there certain tasks allotted to specific members of her family? Do her mother and sister and herself have specific recipes that only they prepare for the family? The last person I considered talking to is my Nana, she is geographically closer to me than Pawpaw, and I could spend a weekend with her talking about and cooking food. I think she will be an interesting person to interview for this project because we have talked before about the meals she cooked when my Mom was a kid and when she was married, and whether or not she liked it. Even though she is a white middle-class woman, I think her story will be interesting and different because she grew up in the generation when women were expected to cook for their families and like it, and I get the feeling she didn’t love it so much. Nana is more than likely who I will interview for this project.

To Breast Feed, or Not to Breast Feed?

Jill Lepore’s article “Baby Food” from the January 19, 2009 edition of The New Yorker slowly builds an argument after pages of relating the history of breast-feeding, breast pumps, and commercialized baby food. The acceptability of breast-feeding in public is charted through the historical evolution of breast pump machines and what benefits they offer; even before the technology of the breast pump, the question of who should breast-feed (in regards to white women versus black nannies), and whether women who were “so refined, so civilized, so delicate…[should] suckle like a barnyard animal” were discussed by doctors, philosophers, and legislators (Lepore). Ultimately, Lepore argues that promoting breast-feeding by promoting pumping negates the “social and emotional benefits” that come from a mother holding her child to breast-feed when a baby is fed its mother’s pumped, frozen breast milk—“something you plug into a wall socket is a far cry from a whisper and a kiss.” Lepore asserts that non-bathroom lactation rooms in workplaces seemingly meant to support/promote breast-feeding are a “paltry substitute for maternity leave” and “feel cold-blooded;” she emphasizes that although pumps can be convenient, they should not replace the closeness of mother and child during breast-feeding, if mothers choose to breast-feed at all.

            Meanwhile, Amy Bentley charts the evolution of commercialized solid baby food that she claims largely “displaced” breast-feeding. In Bentley’s article “Feeding Baby, Teaching Mother: Gerber and the Evolution of Infant Food and Feeding Practices in the United States,” she examines the feeding of babies in pre-industrial America when feeding fruits and vegetables was thought to “contribute little in the way of nourishment helpful to infants” and that a diet of milk only up until around twelve months of age was sufficient (66). In the early Industrial era, canned goods were not readily trusted and were too expensive for most; although doctors and pediatricians “still considered breast-feeding best” during this time, they did advocate artificial formulas and supplements like cereals resulting in more and more women relying on the authority of science and medicine rather than their own parenting abilities (67). Eventually with the discovery of vitamins, feeding babies fruits and vegetables caught on and expanded, but the process of straining fruits and vegetables was difficult and time consuming. So this is where Gerber baby foods come in—“Conditions were such that commercially canned baby food provided mass quantities of pre-prepared strained fruits and vegetables to a public primed to accept them” (74). A major selling point to mothers of Gerber canned baby food was the “products’ ability to impart to women freedom and mobility, a notably modern concept” (78-9); that notion combined with the convenience and time-saving ability of canned baby foods made commercialized baby food more attractive than breast-feeding, thus its “displacement.”

            And here I express my comments and problems with these arguments. First of all, I agree with Lepore that pumping breast milk should not replace the connection that is fostered between mother and child during breast-feeding, but I do not think that the pump makes mutually exclusive “the mother, or her milk, [matter] more to the baby,” as she states. I think pumping is extremely convenient for a woman who want to feed her baby natural breast milk instead of formulas or supplements but might be caught in a situation where it is not the best time to be unbuttoning her blouse and throwing a towel over her baby’s head—such as eating at a restaurant or riding on the subway (the acceptability of public breast-feeding is another matter). Also, Kate Harding criticizes in her response article “Throwing the baby out with the breast pump” one of Lepore’s statements that I also find problematic: “When did ‘women’s rights’ turn into ‘the right to work’?” Screeching halt, please. Seriously? Women’s rights have everything to do with the right to work—it’s a BIG part of the whole equality argument, and the argument that women are innately nurturing providers where men are not. Harding sums it up nicely: “implying that the hard-won right to work outside the home ought to be regarded as a comparatively trivial concern [to mother-child bonding and the need for longer maternity leaves]…is throwing the baby out with the leftover expressed milk.” All of this can be done simultaneously—working outside the home, mother-child bonding, AND pumping when it is needed—these are not mutually exclusive options. Technically, these should not be either/or options anyway, although society makes that difficult sometimes. Contradictive to her own underlying argument, Lepore asserts that the social and emotional benefits that come from breast-feeding can be given by other people who are not breast-feeding the baby as well—meaning men, children, other family members, etc as Harding points out. Bottles are not made to fit only the shape of a woman’s hands, they are just made to hold—by anyone’s hands.

            As for Bentley’s argument, she seems merely to assert that commercialized and mass-produced baby foods (from companies like Gerber) caused the decrease in and displacement of breast-feeding, not whether it is a good or bad thing. But it is notable that Bentley focuses on the effect of ready-made solid foods on mothers especially, their misgivings and distrust of canned foods, their second-guessing of their parenting abilities in the face of medical authority, and their resultant “freedom and mobility” from this new convenience (78). Bentley’s article perhaps unwittingly so adheres to the notion of “biology as destiny”—the idea that since women have the physical/bodily ability to bear children and nurse them, they are therefore innate nurturers and providers and responsible for the raising of children. I cannot deny that women can lactate from their breasts in order to feed children where men usually cannot (why even have breasts if you can’t use them?), but I argue that this ability, or inability, does not make me (as a woman) an innate nurturer or provider and therefore solely obligated to child-rearing. I think the role of child-rearing and all that it entails is learned and assumed, rather than innate in any gender, even though society and politics often tell me I am wrong.

Works Cited

Bentley, Amy. “Feeding Baby, Teaching Mother: Gerber and the Evolution of Infant Food and Feeding Practices in the United States.” Avakian, Arlene Voski and Barbara Haber, eds. From Betty Crocker to Feminist Food Studies: Critical Perspectives on Women and Food. Boston: University of Massachusetts Press, 2005. 62-88.

Harding, Kate. “Throwing the baby out with the breast pump.” Salon.com. 12 Jan 2009. Web. http://www.salon.com/life/broadsheet/2009/01/12/breastfeeding_101

Lepore, Jill. “Baby Food.” The New Yorker. 19 Jan 2009. Web. http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2009/01/19/090119fa_fact_lepore

"Choosy moms choose JIF," and Dove chocolate, and Yoplait yogurt...

Advertisements reflect and perpetuate our needs and wants as well as the things we “do.” If people want shiny new Lexus SUVs or Folgers coffee, advertisements proliferate to reflect the things we demand and to encourage us to buy more. Advertisements are also reflections of the things we “do,” such as gender. “Doing gender” is defined as the process of performing and fulfilling a gender role as constituted by “socially constructed and maintained” expectations and guidelines (Lorber 12). In the case of advertisements, especially those promoting food items, women are often times portrayed in particular roles—usually as a mother or wife who chooses and serves particular foods to her family, or as a woman who chooses certain brands of foods in order to stay slim and attractive. Thus advertisements target certain audiences to encourage sales and consumption by using perspectives that appeal to that particular audience, while also perpetuating the association between the product and its targeted buyers.

            Take, for instance, Dove chocolate. This product is targeted exclusively to women. Commercial advertisements for this product typically involve a woman who is consumed in the indulgence of Dove chocolate after one bite—and the commercials always end with “My moment. My Dove.” And indulgence is the point exactly; we’re supposed to indulge in the guilt-ridden chocolate after a long hard day of being a woman. In a recent commercial, the narrator says, “We’re only human, but we try to be perfect. We pretend that high heels are comfortable, and that waxing just takes getting used to.”

So, since it sucks to wear high heels and wax our legs, we women should eat chocolate. Because we’re “only human.” But humans include men, and I do not see any men in these commercials. Surely there are men out there that like chocolate. But in society, chocolate is a woman’s thing. Another product targeted almost exclusively to women is Yoplait yogurt. The particular commercial I’m including here illustrates the point that women should be weight-obsessed and conscious of the foods we eat because we might get fat. And that’s just terrible. The woman chews her lip while contemplating the punishment for her indulgence—she could “jog in place as [she] eats it,” or she can follow the slice of cheesecake with “celery sticks, [because] they would cancel each other out.”

 In fact, this commercial has recently been pulled off the air by Yoplait because of claims that it promotes eating disorders. But print advertisements by Yoplait encourage a similar “indulgence.”

Here, women-who-crave-midnight-snacks, indulge in Yoplait yogurt because it’s only 100 calories, and therefore guilt-free. Enjoy.

However, targeting women’s weight obsession with guilt-free products is not only a modern occurrence. Although the following advertisement operates under different gender expectations from the mid-20^th century, it is not difficult to make the connection between society’s expectations for a woman’s body with products that allow for a little indulgence while still keeping a woman slim and attractive. Perhaps there were more overt expectations for women to catch and keep a man partly with her attractive figure during this time period, but I do not think it is far-fetched to come to a similar conclusion with the above-mentioned advertisements. After all, someone is looking at the body that is kept thin by Yoplait yogurt.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=113mRmchumY&NR=1

Another aspect of advertising that promotes and perpetuates “doing gender” is the role of being a mother, a mother that provides food for her family. Marjorie DeVault points out that “feeding work has become one of the primary ways that women ‘do’ gender,” by pleasing her children and her husband with choosing and preparing foods that show how much she cares (118). An advertisement I am sure many of us are familiar with is JIF peanut butter. “Choosy moms choose JIF,” right? Granted, not every JIF commercial shows women serving JIF peanut butter sandwiches to her husband and kids, but every commercial has the tagline, “choosing JIF is a simple way to show someone how much you care. Choosy moms choose JIF.” Even if you watch the commercial with the little girl and her dad building a tree house together, you get the same tagline—mom does the grocery shopping, and she chooses JIF, so she cares about us.

And this print advertisement for JIF peanut butter insinuates that although “being a mom doesn’t come with instructions,” choosing JIF means a mom who gives her family this peanut butter is a choosy mom, and a caring mom.

Other advertisements that exemplify this notion occur in mid-20^th century print advertisements from LIFE magazine. As grocery-shopper and provider of meals, advertisements, such as this one for Libby’s pumpkin pie filling, target women and claim to ensure her man’s satisfaction with her pie-making if she uses this product. It is understandable how appealing many advertisements like this were with taglines such as, “it’s so easy now to thrill your pie-guy with a flaky-crusted, melt-in-the-mouth ‘punkin’!” when baking pies and cakes was “universally recognized as a triumph of love as much as a skill” (Shapiro 31).

  

http://books.google.com/books?id=YkoEAAAAMBAJ&lpg=PA35&dq=Life%20magazine%20november%2015%2C%201948&pg=PA8#v=onepage&q=Life%20magazine%20november%2015,%201948&f=false

Although modern-day food advertisements are not necessarily as blatant with depictions of gender roles as advertisements from the mid-20^th century, it is still a valid argument to view “feeding as a ‘gendered activity,’” particularly a womanly one (DeVault 117). Advertisements become effective “resources for the production [and reproduction] of gender” in regards to food selection and production when they aim for specific audiences as Dove chocolate and Yoplait yogurt do (118). Even though I specifically focused on women in this post, it is important to recognize that food-related advertisements do not only target women; there are many male-oriented food advertisements, such as Hillshire Farm meats (Go meat!).

Thus advertisements provide us with resources to understand how people “do gender” with societal roles and expectations that are embedded in the very pictures and commercials that reflect our wants and needs.

Works Cited

DeVault, Marjorie L. Feeding the Family: The Social Organization of Caring as Gendered Work. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991. 95-119.

Lorber, Judith. Gender Inequality: Feminist Theories and Politics. New York: Oxford University Press, 2010.

Shapiro, Laura. “‘I Guarantee’: Betty Crocker and the Woman in the Kitchen.” Avakian, Arlene Voski and Barbara Haber, eds. From Betty Crocker to Feminist Food Studies: Critical Perspectives on Women and Food. Boston: University of Massachusetts Press, 2005. 29-40.

In the words of one man while pointing at a woman, "Me man, you cook."

I like to cook, and I like to eat—not necessarily in that order. And I did not necessarily learn it from my mother, either. Growing up, I have had many people provide meals for me, and they have not all been women. While visiting my Dad and Mimi and Pawpaw for whole summers in my childhood, my Pawpaw did most of the cooking for our family mealtimes. The recipes have come to be known as “Pawpaw’s”—“Pawpaw’s pork chops and gravy,” “Pawpaw’s candied yams,” or “Pawpaw’s chocolate Texas cake.” Mimi can also cook though—she makes some mean steamed broccoli—but the kitchen is well known as Pawpaw’s territory. It is interesting that I most clearly associate homemade meals with my Pawpaw, a man, when Marjorie L. DeVault points out in her chapter on “Feeding as ‘Women’s Work’” that the responsibility of providing meals for others is typically a woman’s job. DeVault notes that “women are recruited into the work of care,” specifically in regards to cooking for and feeding their families, by social expectations that organize the proper labor divide for each gender in the household (96). And although there are obvious exceptions, such as my Pawpaw, I tend to agree that cooking and feeding are tasks typically allocated to women because, in the words of some of DeVault’s subjects, “someone has to do it” (109).

This typical responsibility of women, however, does not have to be such a shouldered burden or an unhappy obligation. One thing DeVault does not acknowledge is the opportunity for control and creative expression that is to be found in cooking. In this day and age when it is so easy and convenient to buy a ninety-nine cents hamburger flipped by a teenager or a frozen bag of T.G.I. Friday’s loaded potato skins from the Wal-mart freezer, it is exciting and ego-boosting to know that I have cooked a meal with my own hands, have made it taste the way I want it to, and have arranged it on the plate the way I like it. Usually when my boyfriend and I are together, I do the cooking, mainly because I like to cook, experiment with new recipes, and present something to him to have him say, “Wow! This corn on the cob is perfect!” It is a matter of pride to have my cooking creation praised and liked—not just by my boyfriend, but anyone (he just tends to be around for most of my experiments and creations). And of course, I cook a lot for him to show him I care about him. DeVault points out the “strong association between ‘mothering’ and the preparation of food” as the foundation for the notion of showing how much a woman cares about others by cooking and serving food to them (104). The practice of mothering that is unique to women (even if they are not mothers yet) becomes a vehicle through which a woman expresses her caring for her children by providing them with cooked food. However, I think this notion is only an offshoot of the overarching expectation of society-instituted gender roles; a woman cooks and provides meals for her children, husband, boyfriend, etc. because it signifies her as “recognizably womanly” (118).

Although cooking and feeding may “seem like [a] ‘natural’ expression of [my] gender,” I refuse to feel obligated to cook and feed anyone just because society tells me it is my “job” or “duty” (118). I like to cook, not because I am expected to, but because I like to control what food I put into my body and because I like to experiment and be creative with food. I will cook because I enjoy it, but I do not have to cook. And it does not make me any less “womanly.” If that were the case, my boyfriend can cook the meal, and I will uncork the wine and watch.

DeVault, Marjorie L. Feeding the Family: The Social Organization of Caring as Gendered Work. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991. 95-119.