JLoeats.com

10 tragic moments in food propaganda

first off — HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. thank you writer Shah, for pointing out how ridiculous food propaganda can be. Mixing politics with food is like trying to open a fresh 5lb paper bag of flour and having it explode – everywhere. Poof!

Though, it says a lot when such food companies are so terrified of losing sales that any negative association to current events is perceived to be too real to consume. It’s called marketing. i wonder what would happen if all the “chicken of the sea” cans turn into “oil of the sea” cans now, if there are even any fish left. or maybe they should just call it mint chocolate depression. HAHA, awww. too real, too real, bring it back.

My theater days had taught me that comedy is a way of observing the world and pointing out the ridiculous truths that everybody else thinks but doesn’t want to be martyred for saying out loud. And when you can point fingers at something or someone who is brave enough to put themselves out there as an example of the situation to laugh at it out loud, then we’re accepting it as nonsense as a cultural whole.

This article represents how I really feel about everything I’ve learned thus far about the American food systems and politics in general.  Though important to point out significant historical events that are swept under the rug in order to learn from them through a cultural lens, it is also important to laugh at all the ridiculous forces that influence the way food products are marketed and sold to a overly excessive consumer market, in a way that places the blame on someone or something put out there for all to see.  By bringing it up in discussion, I only hope to stir up enough attention to find relatable feelings about everyone’s current food situation, and I package my thoughts with academia in order to claim credibility.  Thank goodness for push button publishing. ;)

So this is all good.  I was finally able to laugh at myself last night about how heart breaking it feels to get my foodie perceptions of the world shattered to a million pieces in the last two semesters of my food studies (I use this word ‘foodie’ very carefully).   It takes a lot of strength to get up everyday and go to class to learn about everything that is wrong with our food systems and subsequently how it is destroying our perceptions of the world, and what it would take change it all, consumer’s choice of course.  We would have to scrap everything and start from scratch basically, returning to old school methods of how to organize ourselves as a species.  Yet, there is no such thing as “the good ole days” other than the time period of their lives when people refer to when they were most ignorant about the realities of their own world.   Which stirs up great unrest because I am a problem solver, a situation handler, and a perpetual thinker.  Yet who am I to change politics and the way of the world or to solve hunger?  Those are not my life goals, and never have been.  I live to eat and to share my joy of food with people.  I live to inspire others about gaining access to better than what they already have.  (This mentality is a product of my generation ;) – eighties kids always shop for better because they’ve only seen the world get worse and worse in terms of politics within their own lifetime, and those who thrive are the ones who don’t settle for anything less than their present situation)  But I also love to learn and teach. I am addicted to learning and self discovery in a way that teaches me to thrive.  Thriving to me means more than just survival, for me it means fighting for a quality of life. It’s also tough being resourceful when you are constantly told that there are no resources left where you study and where words like that either inspire creativity or stunt it.  Hence I look elsewhere because I am not bound by birthright to the country in which I study, and now I see that as the greatest blessing in disguise.   Perhaps this is what perpetuates my nonsensical feelings of not belonging to any one place.  My life is split between three places, and two countries. My heart is where the love is, and the love is where the food is.

Claiming my ‘foodie’ identity became a journey where I was enraptured by the idea of discovering where my food comes from; ignited by my culinary life while working in the kitchen. That became my point of access. As a restaurant worker the only time you get to try haute cuisine is if you go into a kitchen, prove that you’re worthy by working for free and keeping up with the pace, and maybe you’ll get to sneak a few bites in here or there.  You’re expected to be an expert at food because those who have access to buying the ‘best’ out there with capital power in such a private society actually knows more than you about good food. but because you live and work around food all day and see the ugly realities of its carbon based nature, through food safety measures, the glamour of it all is claiming your access to good food like a badge of honour; that you’ve ‘made it’ in the darwinian sense of survival. that you will always be around food and make it your life to survive off of it. that you are better off than those struggling to scrounge up for a meal daily. I may have just found my thesis. :)

Home is where the food is, and is where my brain has space and the freedom to breathe.

Thank you for the soulfood.

xoxo J xoxo