What Do Egg Labels Really Mean?

Last month, Taco Bell joined a slew of fast food and Big Agra companies who have pledged to begin using "cage free" eggs. These companies have pledged to utilize entirely cage free eggs by specific, self-imposed dates with sci-fi names like 2020 and 2025. Taco Bell, a subsidiary of the Yum Brands megacorp, was a late passenger on the bandwagon, but they may be the first to hop off with an armload of "happy" chickens: Taco Bell will be cage free by the end of 2016. The faux-Mexican food giant will presumably be on the other side of the cage free border when Burger King, McDonald's, and food suppliers Michael's Foods and Sodexo SA arrive in the next few years.

Why is this happening? At great cost and and inconvenience, assuredly soulless corporate colossi are going to install a less-efficient food system. The quick answer: they're doing it because the demand for cruelty-free and humanely-raised food is no longer restricted to people from Portland and Ann Arbor. Documentaries and books about the horror of football chickens are widely available, and things the Foods For Living crowd has known for years have become common knowledge. Now that we'll be seeing these terms bandied about constantly, let's examine what they actually mean, lest "cage free" become the new "natural."

Let's use the magic of prose to transform what "cage free" sounds like into what it is.

"Cage free" conjures a scene where chickens are strolling around the interior of an old red barn. They are pecking at seeds. The smell of a fresh apple pie wafts into the barn from the nearby farmhouse kitchen. Dusty shafts of golden light preside over the whole affair, as dozens of chickens go about their business, moving their chicken heads like they're hearing Parliament for the first time.

The light changes. The golden shafts of Midwestern sun become pale and dry as they are replaced with industrial fluorescent light. Our dozens of chickens flap their wings and hop to and fro at the surprise of a few thousand new neighbors springing to life all around them. The waft of apple pie is replaced by the odoriferous reality of a few thousand chickens in close quarters. Each flap of a wing is a collision with a neighbor, who flaps accordingly, ad infinitum. Before long, chickens are getting testy. This is a prison yard where every inmate has a shank attached to its face. The scene is going from Norman Rockwell to Mad Max, fast.

Now this isn't to say that cage free chickens aren't happier and healthier. It is impossible to imagine that being able to move a foot or so in any direction is actually inferior to the total  confinement which has been the norm. But how much healthier is cage free living?

Janice Swanson, an MSU animal scientist, is trying to answer that question.

According to her study, cage free chickens are more than twice as likely to die. The cause of death is usually chicken-on-chicken violence. That said, life outside the cage creates stronger bones and feathers, and presumably a better quality of life. Until you're stabbed to death.

What about Farm Fresh? What the heck does that mean?

Farm Fresh is a great label, marketing-wise. It means that, at some point, the eggs in question were created on a farm—mind you, a farm is any facility where you might create said eggs. Cool, huh? The "fresh" part means that the eggs weren't allowed to sit around for weeks after they were made, AKA they're "any eggs you'd ever buy." So Farm Fresh refers to eggs that...are...you know, eggs that are not spoiled, and created for profit...OK, it doesn't mean anything.



Do I dare even ask about "All Natural"?

Be my guest. The All Natural label means as much as it ever has. 95% of chickens are raised in battery cages--which remind me of the setup favored by those malevolent AIs in The Matrix. This setup is as All Natural as a farm with 8 chickens on it, legally speaking.

Hormone-free

You can't legally give chickens hormones in the U.S.A., so this is true, if a bit misleading. I'd like to see the label amended to include other undesirable practices that weren't part of the eggs' production. Now, child-labor-free eggs!

Free Range

This means that the chickens are given a 401k with matching contributions by the farmer, up to 5%, two weeks paid vacation, and maternity leave. The only condition is that the maternity leave never ends, and must be taken inside the barn, with access to the outdoors.

Yes, free range chickens must be able to go outside if the "free range" label is used. Moreover, there is no government oversight of free range egg farming, so this doesn't necessarily mean anything in practice.

It's also important to note that the ammonia-clearing industrial fans in the aviaries (chicken barns) create ultra-strong winds in the doorways between the interior and exterior, which the chickens generally avoid.

Fed a vegetarian diet

You may know a lot of vegetarians, but none of them is a chicken. Chickens eat worms and bugs from the soil when they're allowed. Through science, we can ensure they have a vegetarian diet, but this is not All Natural. This does mean, however, that they aren't eating other chicken parts, so there's that.

Pasture-raised 

This may be the only term that approaches what you think it means. Pasture-raised chickens indeed live their lives in pastures, with the refuge of the barn nearby. Theses pastures can be crowded, but they are not necessarily so. These environments allow chickens to just be them, in a way that is certainly the most humane.

So there you have it: the moral arc of the universe, vis-a-vis industrial egg production.

Until next time, read your labels carefully, and be well!

The Great Kombucha Debacle—Again

A few years ago, the Foods For Living staff was drunk almost every day. What was the culprit behind this Dionysian disregard for propriety? Did the Board of Directors start a speakeasy next to the office? Were terrible conditions pushing dozens of employees into the bottle? Quite the opposite, actually.

OK, maybe no one was drunk. But crates of questionably-alcoholic Kombucha had become unsaleable overnight, and the staff reaped the benefits.

GT Dave's Synergy and GT's Kombucha product lines had long been popular at FFL. At that time, Kombucha—a vinegary, fermented tea—had not yet seized the mainstream. Kombucha was available in health food stores and co-ops, and that was about it. GT's Kombucha enjoyed a polarizing reputation, due to its incomparable unique flavor. This flavor was largely a result of fermentation within the drink.

As anyone who has done serious time knows, fermentation produces alcohol. It was always understood that Kombucha contained trace amounts of alcohol. But conventional wisdom said that the amount of alcohol was so small that it didn't need to be listed or considered. Then, in 2010, a consumer protection investigator with the Maine Department of Public Health called that into question.

Randy Trahan was at a Whole Foods in Portland, Maine, when he noticed some leakage on a bottle of the 'booch. Officials performed tests on a few bottles of the stuff at a food science lab, and found that alcohol was present in each, ranging from .5 percent ABV to 2.5 percent ABV. (This is just shy of the 2.8% ABV of MGD.)

An unregulated alcoholic beverage lying in wait, in coolers across the nation? This wouldn't do. The Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau (which sounds like about the most fun-ruining, squarest bureau in the world) got involved, as they do when a beverage's ABV is above .5 percent. Soon after, Whole Foods voluntarily pulled their stock of GT's Kombucha, deciding the risk wasn't worth it. Other retailers followed suit. While customers nationwide went crazy without their favorite elixir, the back rooms of health food stores everywhere devolved into deranged 'booch-fueled bacchanalia. Or rather, people consumed single bottles of the stuff over hours and experienced no detectable effects.

GT Dave, the mastermind behind the GT's brand, personally oversees Kombucha production to this day. He says that he drinks between 1.5 and 2 gallons of Kombucha a day, testing every batch to ensure quality. I can only imagine how much he drank while reformulating his signature brew to reduce the alcohol content.

After much investigation into their brewing process, the folks at GT's discovered that changing the ratio of various probiotics used in production would reduce the alcohol content. GT's rolled out a new product line called "Enlightenment." The resulting product was a bit smoother than the original. While many found it to be deliciously different, there were those that fumed over the brand's new flavor.

Meanwhile, Whole Foods lost nearly $75M in sales due to the Kombucha debacle.

Refusing to compromise the product that made them famous, GT's quickly followed up the Enlightened product with a "Classic" formula. The new labeling clearly identified the product as containing alcohol. As an officially-sanctioned alcoholic drink, the Classic formula is less widely available than its smoother cousin. Is there really a noticeable difference in taste? You can buy one of each at your local Foods For Living, drink them back to back, and be the judge.

But now, in 2015, history is repeating itself. Many brands of Kombucha have successful wrestled some market share for themselves as the drink goes mainstream. But the mean old Bureau of No Fun has been testing again, and it looks like a few Kombucha manufacturers are over that .5% ABV line. This can result in fines, or even reclassification, which means no more selling in some grocery stores, and higher taxes.

Will Kombucha manufacturers be able to change their methods quickly enough for Uncle Sam, or successfully lobby for leniency? Time will tell. But since GT's had its Kombuchapocalypse years ago, they will be just fine.

Be well!

What You May Have Missed in Food News

Another seven revolutions of the earth, another 1/52 of this year behind us. Did anything happen in the world of food? You bet. How about health? Yup. Let's get to it.

Science is funny. You can take something mundane, sprinkle some science on it, and presto—funny. Mystery Science Theater 3000 without the Science? You'd never watch that. Take the science out of a science fair, and all you've got is a fair. I don't like show hogs and I don't trust those rides. Or the people who run them. Where were we? Oh, right. Science.

Hypothesis: the less necessary the application of science, the funnier it is when applied.

For example, a new study from the American Chemical Society has determined how to make the perfect grilled cheese sandwich. This was obviously necessary, since making a successful grilled cheese sandy is very difficult and a worldwide problem(?) Anyhow, the important things to know are:

• the meltability of a cheese is a function of its pH. (pH, you may remember, refers to how acidic  or basic something is.) A cheese in the 5.3-5.5 range will melt perfectly. 
• The sharper cheeses have lower pH, and break apart when heated. While these more acidic cheeses lack meltability, they are delicious. 
• For a perfect grilled cheese, simply use a meltable cheese for your base and add a sharper cheese, to taste. 
• The most meltable cheeses are: gouda, gruyere, and manchego. Also, if you're the sort of person who likes boring food, you could try American. You should probably stop by the Foods For Living deli case and start scoping out your cheese candidates.  

Killing with KINDness

Don't you love when a health food company goes on the war path?

Gee, I'm not sure that's really a thing, you may be thinking. Well, maybe it wasn't...until now.

This saga began last April, when the FDA kindly asked granola bar manufacturer KIND to stop using the term "healthy" on their snacks. (No word on whether Budweiser can continue using the word "beer.")

You can read the letter, in which I imagine the FDA flipping the hood of KIND's bars and pointing to various smoking components and saying "that ain't a good sign," right here. The FDA's contention was that KIND bars are full of fat, and not in a good way.

KIND contends that the fat in their bars comes primarily from nuts, and nut fats are one of the good guys. Not so much, countered the FDA.

"But, like, what does 'healthy' even meeeeean?" keened KIND in a petition last Tuesday. "We can't say whether we're healthy or not if you don't, like, even define 'healthy,' FDA. Your guidelines are like 20 years old. The fats in our nuts are like salmon and avocado fats, and those are apparently fine with you guys.*"

*dramatic recreation

As of press time, the FDA had said squat in return.

Sea-Aged Beer

A Canadian diver named Jon Crouse was combing the briny depth, as is his wont, when he discovered a bottle of beer submerged beneath a few feet of muck (and about 10 feet of water). The bottle was obviously old. Upon investigation, experts are dating sometime in the early 1870s.

The beer came from Canadian Brewery Alexander Keith's—which is still in business. This may be the oldest extant beer in the world.

Stillwell, a local beer retailer, has offered to do an analysis of the beer to determine the components. If they can pin down what's in the beer, and in what proportions, it's possible someone could brew a faithful recreation of an 1870s ale, much the way Dogfish Head did with Midas Touch.

Singing the Praises of Patti's Pies

A thing that can happen in America is: you can be a YouTube star reviewing a pie created by soul superstar Patti Labelle's pie company, Patti's Pies, and gain a lot of traction. Millions of views on YouTube later, you can get a call from Patti herself, thanking you for driving sales of her pies higher than the crescendo of some Patti LaBelle song. You can charm her during this call, and get an invitation to hang out. You can have a great hangout, and have her offer you a spot as co-host on a new cooking show. If you're James Wright Chanel, an LA hairdresser, good singer, and killer pie reviewer, that can happen to you.


Gambling For Friendship

You know how this good-for-nothing generation can't seem to keep its face out of a screen for more than two seconds? What's that? You're 58, or 68, and you're the same way? Oh, well, gosh...er, I meant no offense. I didn't know you even read the blog, mom.

For me, dinner with friends has always been a tad sacred. I like that we're out, together. As my friends continue to start families and desert our friendship their time becomes more precious, a meal out can be a unique opportunity to have a real conversation, some realtime, non-digital laughs, and watch each other eat. I'm lucky (or discerning): my friends don't spend dinner time on their cell phones. But if they did besmirch our time together with Instagram, I might propose what some desperate millennials are doing: "phone stacking."

Phone stacking is simple. At the outset of a meal, you and your dinner companions stack your phones in a pile, face down. You then talk to each other like people did in the early 90s and before. If someone reaches for their phone, they pay for the entire meal. Done. It's like the Thunderdome except more brutal. The fact that this "game" is enough of a trend to make it onto the internet makes me so happy, and I hope you feel the same.

See you next time, and be well!

The Sordid History of Swiss Cheese

300 B.C. Somewhere in what is now Switzerland: three Celts make camp for the night in the dark of a pine forest. One snaps branches from a nearby tree while others empty milk from crude hide bladders into a small wooden bucket. One pine branch becomes a spit to hold the bucket, the other branch a stirring rod. They stir the curds and nod approvingly to one another at the smell. They are making Swiss cheese, long before the birth of Switzerland, or even Julius Caesar, and some 2300 years before the grand opening of Foods For Living.

When Julius Caesar did come to power, Rome was already a monolithic power, but Jules would take the idea of imperialism and run with it in an unprecedented way. By this time, cheese was already a big deal. The "barbarian" tribes of Gaul and their ilk had long been making soft cheeses. Rome was ahead of the game in that regard, using rennet (a complex of enzymes made in the stomach of ruminant animals) to make hard, age-friendly cheeses. As Rome adopted its own cheese-making culture (wealthy Romans often had a dedicated cheese kitchen), it was also stomping through the known world. The cheese traveled with the legions, who in turn ate local cheeses, and much cheese was enjoyed all around, even if things otherwise were less splendid.

Nevertheless, the barbarians could only make the softest of cheeses, if one were to grant these fireside bucket curds the status of cheese at all. Says Roman scholar Pliny the Elder:

"It is a remarkable circumstance that the barbarous nations which subsist on milk for so long have been for so many ages either ignorant of the merits of cheese, or else have totally disregarded it; and yet they understand how to thicken milk and from there form an acrid kind of liquid with a pleasant flavor."

I love that guy.

The Swiss, or rather the people who lived in what's now Switzerland, had been farming the land since at least 5300 B.C. No one knows when exactly they began stirring interesting additions into their milk, but they probably started using rennet sometime in the 14th or 15th centuries. Apparently, it took about fifteen centuries for Roman cheese technology to reach Switzerland—or else a dash of calf stomach was just a hard sell, and they were slow to cave.

By the mid-1500s, Swiss cheese was very much a thing, given as wedding gifts, and revered around Europe. It should be noted this second that "Swiss cheese" is what we call Swiss cheese, but the Swiss, being Swiss, make many cheeses, and do not call them all "Swiss cheese." What we know as "Swiss cheese" is called Emmental in Europe.

In reality, there have been over a thousand varieties of Swiss cheese. But, as Americans, our familiarity with Swiss cheese begins with Emmental and ends with Gruyere. Why?

Enter the world of the Swiss Cheese Illuminati.

At the dawn of World War I, concerns about food supplies became paramount. The Association of Swiss Cheese Export Firms was established by the Swiss government, and given sole authority over who could export Swiss cheese and who could not.  Later, the ASCEF became the Swiss Cheese Union; it had exclusive control over the entire Swiss dairy industry, which was totally fine and caused no problems or controversy. Just kidding. Predictably, many were unhappy with their increasingly draconian stewardship of Swiss cheese.

The Swiss Cheese Union expanded their reach into quality control as well as export rights monitoring. They were determined to bring Swiss cheese back to its pre-war glory, and plug any holes in the country's cheese reputation.

Fast forward to the 1960s, when industrial technology had increased the scale and, accordingly, the export side of the Swiss cheese industry. By this point, there was a labyrinthine web of government control, subsidy, and delegation surrounding the cheese making, milk, and cheese trading industries, all of whom were back in some way by the Cheese Union (which was still a pseudo-government body).

As the Cheese Union strove to keep the industry afloat and maintain quality, rigorous standards were introduced. These standards included shaving down the available variety of cheeses for manufacture into just 14 varieties. Of those 14, only a couple were actually, truly endorsed for graded manufacture and export. You can probably guess which two of the thousand Swiss cheeses those were: yup, Emmental and Gruyere. A third, lesser-known-abroad cheese, Sbrinz, was also endorsed and marketed by the Swiss Cheese Union, but that's it. All the other cheeses would have to find their way from the farmers themselves to customers abroad. In a pre-internet age, that was tough.

Swiss cheese did benefit from the "Starbucks effect," however. The cheese was of uniform quality anywhere you encountered it. There is comfort in consistency.

The Swiss Cheese Union was huge. It had offices in downtown NYC, and it was essentially an arm of the Swiss government. It blanketed American magazines and newspapers with adverts assuring people they could rely upon (and only upon) officially-endorsed Swiss cheese to be amazing. As a result, the Swiss cheese industry boomed, despite being pared abroad into 2 or 3 "endorsed" varieties.

But every super-successful, influential organization eventually has its Wolf of Wall Street moment. The Swiss Cheese Union's came in 1996, when its practice of taking bribes and playing fast and loose with trade laws was finally revealed to the world. If you can read it, you can even take in a Swiss-language scandal story here about the Union selling processed cheese to some Italians (and mislabeling it) while accepting some bribes on the side.

The World Trade Organization got a bee in its bonnet about all this. There was the requisite scandal, and in 1999, the Cheese Union was rendered asunder by the Swiss government.

These days, Swiss cheese makers are back in top, pre-Union form. There are a few hundred varieties of Swiss cheese available these days, all marketed by the cheese makers themselves. Thousands of years of cheese innovation and cross-cultural mashups almost got waylaid for keeps by a state run cartel. (Well, I guess that did happen for about 85 years.) But all's well that ends well. Go eat some weird Swiss cheese and celebrate freedom.

Be well.

This Week's Food and Health News

Granted a brief respite between culturally-obligatory candy consumption holidays, it behooves us to take stock of what's happening in the worlds of food, health, and well-being while we have a breather.

That's right, you don't have to trawl through those divey natural foods websites or those lifeless corporate hubs of Epicurean concerns—because I already have. And I'll let you know what's up, right here, right now, all in the comfort of this blog.

Project PAM

If you want to go backstage, but you're afraid of Brett Michaels's reputation, you're in luck. Founders Brewery, the Jewel of Grand Rapids, wants to take you backstage for about $14.99. The brewery has already played the hits this season, blessing us with the amazing wet-hopped Harvest Ale.Now it's time to get into the deep tracks, the psychedelic jams, and meet the brewers in the shadows of the Backstage Series.

The Founders Backstage Series is an overpriced, hype-heavy series of boutique beers sold in 750 mL bottles. Founders describes the series as a "brewer's playground," but you may want to stay off the monkey bars if you sample the latest Backstage addition, the 10.8% ABV Project PAM. Nothing says "edgy and idiosyncratic" like "PAM," and I assume this bourbon barrel-aged black IPA will be no exception to that rule. Beginning November 20th, you can try Project PAM at the Founders taproom. Soon after, it will be available some of the places that craft beer is sold.

A Metro Airport Pb&J Made the News, Kind Of

Detroit Metro made a list of the nation's best airport eats. Detroit has some fine restaurants, but I'd never thought to check the airport for one. I find it suspect that our home state's contribution to a list of fine-dining and Food Network-branded restaurants is something I could make in the time it takes to write this sentence—a PB&J. That's right, the Detroit culinary scene is finally on the national radar (for a few seconds) for a sandwich sold by Detroit Metro restaurant PB&J. But if you want a taste of the bacon/cinnamon PB&J that put DTW on the map, you might have to venture into the blue beyond to find one—Google lists PB&J as "permanently closed."

Uncle John's E. Coli  

A lot of people in the greater Lansing area go to see their surrogate uncle—John—at his cider mill in the autumn. Unfortunately, some of Uncle John's guests may have been exposed to the e. coli this year. Cider served between Oct. 18 and Oct. 21 at the mill has been found to contain the 'coli. If you have any Uncle John's cider, it's a shame, but you should throw it out.

Algae is in Bloom off the West Coast

Whether it's Climate Change, or just a change in climate, the water off America's west coast has been a "warm blob" for a couple years running. You know who loves that? 1) Surfers 2) Algae. While surfers in large numbers present a minimal hazard to society, algae is more belligerent, infecting marine life in its vicinity. Such is the case of the Dungeness crab. This is terrible news for the fishing industry and people who like eating the crab. The algae involved produces a neurotoxin called domoic acid, and it's not something to trifle with. It's depressing, but experts recommend staying away from fresh sardines, anchovies, from the area until the algae bloom clears up. It's showing signs of slowing down, so you may not have to wait long.

Deaf Drive-Thru at Starbucks

Love or hate it, Starbucks likes to defy expectations. Recent history has seen the coffee giant providing employees with tuition and trying to start conversations about race with customers(!). In a straightforwardly progressive move, one Florida Starbucks has made its drive-thru friendlier for the deaf. Using a video screen and employing someone proficient in American Sign Language, this 'Bucks is leading the charge on an important issue. It will be interesting to see if more drive-thrus follow suit.

Halloween Candy Pranks and Morality

I'm not especially fond of children, so you'd think I would like it when Jimmy Kimmel steals children's candy. Alas, that's not the case. In case you didn't know, JK has a yearly tradition wherein he uses his platform to exhibit videos of parents fooling their kids into thinking their Halloween candy is all gone. Don't get me wrong—I understand why the video is funny. But here's a different take on the ritual, from author Sam Harris.  I'm not the Fun Police. I'm more like the No Fun Police—I love fun, and the people who have it. But ole Sam might make you think differently about this admittedly funny tradition.

That's all for this week. Stay warm, stay dry, run till your lungs burn, start watching for ice, and Be Well.

Fugu

On an average evening in Japan, 3800 restaurants will serve discerning customers pieces of potentially lethal "river pig."

For Westerners, the apex of dangerous eating usually involves eating an expired Snickers. But in the untamed Orient (antiquated patronizing language intentional), culinary brinksmanship is best represented by the fugu.

According to one article I found on the fugu, or blow fish, there are "13 tips you must know before eating [it]." Thirteen things? The maximum amount of things I've historically had to know about even the most alien foods has fallen between one, in the case of couscous (the texture of couscous is repulsive) and perhaps four, in the case of sushi (sushi should be fresh, salmon roe makes good impromptu confetti, don't fill up on soup and salad, Meijer gets an 'A' for effort but not much else when it comes to sushi). I'm not sure I ever want to eat a course that requires a syllabus. But maybe you will. So what do you need to know? I'll tell you what you need to know... and a whole mess of stuff you don't.

 The blow fish, or puffer fish, or fugu, is filled with tetrodotoxin. Several species of fish carry the toxin, and said toxin is in fact named for them. In fact, the toxin also lives in a species of octopus, a type of newt, and a species of flatworm. "Lives, you say?" Yes, yes I do. Tetrodotoxin is a bacterium, living symbiotically in the blow fish and his gang of poisonous friends. As a side note, you know who has developed a resistance to the toxin? You friendly local garter snake.

If you're not a snake, how much blow fish toxin will kill you? Your mileage will vary, but it's far, far more toxic than cyanide. Given the choice, I would sooner eat a plate of couscous than tetrodotoxin.

Ever attracted to the counter-intuitive, humans began messing with the puffer fish sometime before 2000 BC in China. The ancients knew that the fish was toxic, but believed that the right amount of toxin could actually be curative. Why? Because people just love when something is counter-intuitive, I guess.

According to Engelbert Kaempfer's A History of Japan (1727), the Japanese knew the fish was toxic, and even used it for suicide, when they weren't making it a delicacy. In fact, soldiers were not allowed to eat the fugu for many years.

In 1774, Captain James Cook learned what many Easterners already knew. When his men ate some puffer fish and fed the rest to their pigs, the result was a pile of dead pigs. The men survived, despite some difficulty feeling and breathing for a spell.

Despite its toxicity, the people of Japan have eaten the fugu for centuries. Despite being outlawed entirely at times, eat it they did. When the shogunate relaxed regulations, they at it some more. The Meiji era (1867-1912) saw the fish banned entirely, but the tradition carried on. Because it's so delicious? Well, I've never had it, but people say it tastes like chicken, with a "raw fish" kind of texture.

In modern Japan, anyone can eat fugu—except the Emperor. (I wonder if he ever resents his lot in life.) The only stipulation—introduced in 1958— is that fugu must be prepared by specially certified chefs. As a part of their training, these chefs must indeed eat their own fugu preparation. It's nice that the program sort of weeds out the amateurs. Only about a third of prospective chefs pass the course.

Despite the fact that the tetrodotoxin is a potent neurotoxin, some folks enjoy eating the fish with a tad of the good stuff still inside. This apparently adds a tingling sensation about the lips to the dining experience, which is part of the charm for some people. Each year, a handful of people in Japan die from fugu poisoning. There is no antidote.

People are currently hard at work breeding diet-controlled poison-free fugu. This is called "cheating." Even still, this might be the way to go if you're curious about trying a slab of gelatinous poisonous chicken-tasting fish. Or you could eat a chunk of raw chicken breast, which actually checks most of the same boxes.

If you live in the U.S., your restaurant fugu options are all located in New York, Los Angeles, Bethesda, and Seattle. It usually costs a few hundred dollars for a serving.

As long as there are symbols of annihilation, man will thumb his nose at them, that is certain. Beyond the thrill of privilege and the draw of rarity, I think eating the puffer remains popular because we don't like to be told what we can and can't do, as a species. It's humankind's way of asserting its dominance over common sense. The resulting sense of empowerment is delicious. That said, I'm not Japanese, and I have no idea what I'm talking about, really.

That said, Foods For Living is proud to announce that the deli will soon be featuring... all the same stuff, and no blow fish.

Be well.

 

   

Hitting the Brix

Is it consoling or depressing that everything in the universe can be reduced to math? That might rank as #1 among things beyond the purview of the Foods For Living blog. Let's narrow our scope a tad, and talk about fresh produce.

Part of what makes biting into the perfect apple (or peach, or pear) such a joy is the mystery, yes? Will this fruit be a particularly good one? And even all those out-of-season, white, sad tomatoes serve a purpose--their lack of luster throws the juicy, plump, red tomatoes of the world into greater relief. The sheer spectrum of quality in the produce world keeps the experience fresh, even when the fruit isn't. Even identical-looking strawberries may yield vastly different amounts of sweetness. But what if you could forgo all of this mystery, and make your produce adventures more predictable (if less mysterious)? 

Welcome to the world of high-Brix cultivation.

If you Google "high Brix," you'll get acquainted with the late researcher and lecturer Carey Reams. This wouldn't be a problem if the late researcher and lecturer Carey Reams wasn't so totally insane. So before this becomes a hit piece about a charlatan you've never heard of, let's figure out what Brix is. (Then we can take a few parting shots at Carey "Dr. Oz of his generation" Reams).

"Degrees Brix" is a measurement of the sugar present in an aqueous solution. (Refresher: an aqueous solution is any solution in which water is the solvent.) 1 degree Brix is 1 gram of sucrose in 100 grams of solution. So Brix measures the amount of sugar substance in a liquid, for those of us who don't like fancy words. 

Why is Brix thus?

In 1798, in the sleepy little city of Wesel, Germany, a man was born by the name of Adolf Ferdinand Wenceslaus(!) Brix. He was a sharp guy, working for the Ministry of Trade, and ultimately rising to the lofty position of Director of the Royal Prussian Commission for Measurements. 

Brix, along with some of his contemporaries (for which other units measuring the same thing are named), made tables by which one could see how a known quantity of sugar related to a certain specific gravity. This remains useful for brewers who want to know how much sugar is in their wort, for instance. 

Industries that use degrees Brix as a measurement have their own methods, but today, almost anyone can measure degrees Brix using, of all things, a refractometer. 

A refractometer can measure a drop of liquid's sugar and mineral content by the way in which said drop distorts light passing through it. (Technically, it references a refraction index against the degree to which the drop rotates a plane of linearly polarized light.)

What's this mean to the consumer and gardener?

You can purchase a refractometer for $20-$100. You can then carry this device with you at all times like some sucrose-obsessed mad scientist, constantly imposing on grocery store personnel and farmers market merchants for drops of fruit juice to test. 

OK, so maybe that's not the best idea. But you could use such a device in your garden to measure the immeasurable: how "good" a piece of produce is. And this is a great, precise metric if you're serious about horticulture. 

If you're anti-woo, like I am, it's important to understand that everything above reflects legitimate science. Degrees Brix is a standard metric used by many industries. It's confusing and unfortunate that a corner of the Internet has created a relationship between the concept of measuring degrees Brix and the aforementioned "Dr." Carey Reams. 

Reams, like so many before and after him, is the originator of many a compellingly wild pull quote, such as "All disease is the result of a mineral deficiency." He was the brainchild of many a quack theory, and was prosecuted in the 1970s for practicing medicine without a license. Oh, and he was also an advocate for high-Brix produce. But some of his other pet ideas, which I won't lend incidental credibility to by using his ridiculous names for them, lie between dangerous and hilarious. But the Brix thing is legit. 

Given the way that food costumer evolution has trended thus far, it's not unreasonable to imagine an era in which fussy (discerning) shoppers are pricking apples in the supermarket and consulting their pocket refractometers. And that may be a good thing. But if that's too weird for you, measuring Brix levels is still a great way of honing your home gardening skills. And it makes you seem like a scientist. And now that I've armed you with knowledge, you won't fall into the many pits of misinformation surrounding the study of high Brix cultivation online.