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David's visit today reminded me of the Seeds of Resistance in Ozeki's All Over Creation. He was a comforting reminder that that sort of humble activism actually exists. What I found most interesting about Food Not Bombs was the fact that it pretty much lacked any central organization. It was certainly started by people, but those people don't necessarily run the organization. It's run independently by all those involved.
At times, it was difficult to listen and not feel guilty. I worked in the grocery department at a grocery store this past summer, and I remember hundreds of items still perfectly edible that we just threw away in the dumpster behind the store. People wouldn't buy these items, my boss claimed, because the expiration date was past, that day, or even in the next few days. This was especially true at this type of store (labeled "gourmet") because of the wealthy patrons who believed they deserved the freshest foods. It wasn't economical for the store to keep these items. At the same time, these foods could have been delivered to homeless shelters in the local area to feed the hungry.
I enjoyed our cooking activity thoroughly today. I enjoy cooking more and more each time I do it. The farro soup was delicious and healthy. In addition, by the end of the class, almost all of the soup had been eaten. There was little or no waste, and all of the waste could be transformed into rich compost. I was also quite full after two bowls of the soup and had no need for the lunch provided in Lander. Maybe the solution to our problems with eating at the dorms lies in soup. Each floor of Lander could make a big pot of soup every night to feed everyone. Nutritious, self-sufficient, aiding in the health of our relationships and community, and, above all, tasty.
The title of this entry is my friend's rather astute observation of my lutefisk's appearance as I thawed it in a bowl of water prior to cooking. But, honestly, what is that thing? How could anyone ever eat that? How could it come to represent almost all of the peoples of Scandinavia? I began my quest to find out.
The first step: find a Scandinavian specialty foods store. Fortunately, when I first proposed to the class that I was to write my paper on lutefisk, I was sitting next to Ben, a local of Norwegian ancestry who just happened to know of the store where his grandfather snacked on Scandinavian goodies. He gave me the address, and today, after class, I boarded a bus to Ballard in search of the famed lye-soaked fish. It wasn't a difficult journey, save accidentally boarding the wrong bus, and I eventually made it to Olsen's Scandinavian Foods and back to the dorm with a new frozen fishy friend.
I waited until this evening to cook the fish. Frozen in a friend's refrigerator, I thawed it for about an hour in a bowl of water in the Kitchenette. I received some very confused and often disgusted looks from passerbys and told the story of what exactly lutefisk is countless times.
After thawing the fish, I moved it to a skillet filled with a thin layer of boiling water. I cooked one side of the fish until it looked finished, and then flipped it over to cook the other side. Ideally, the fish would become opaque after being subjected to this particular method.
Either I didn't cook it for long enough, or the woman's definition of opaque differed from the norm, because when that fish went onto the plate, it did not look finished.
I added some salt, pepper, and butter to make the fish a bit more tolerable.
Alas, upon trying my first bite, I discovered that the fish tasted just plain fishy. It wasn't absolutely terrible (which makes me wonder if I cooked it correctly), but it was gross enough to have to take a swig of water 
afterwards.
It was not a hit with my fellow dorm-mates, especially after I stunk up the kitchenette in an second attempt to cook the fish a bit more.
I found the whole experience enjoyable, despite spending hours traveling through Seattle and standing around the kitchen for a very disappointingly bland piece of fish. My cooking brought everyone out from their room and into the central part of the floor near the elevator. I saw first hand how food can bring together people and provide community, no matter how repulsive and unpleasant it may be. A meal doesn't have to taste good to have value. If it brings people together, especially in a humorous way, it's worth. I felt like Michael Pollan, cooking a meal that has the potential for disaster, but also realizing what one can learn and experience from a meal, good or bad.
I feel much more connected to my Scandinavian roots having cooked the food that so often stands for Scandinavian culture.
Yu Huang's discussion today on aquaculture in Southeastern China really made me think about the sacrifices we need to make as a species. When I asked her what the effect of monocultural fish farming had on the local economy in these regions and she replied that it has been positive for the economy, I found a debate raging in my head. A type of farming that is detrimental to the environment and possibly human health has provided economic relief to poor, developing regions of China. The questions is, would farms exercising polycultural practices still provide the same economic relief to these people? If such farming could support the areas as much as do monocultures, we should do our best to convert these farms in polycultures. Otherwise, there is a definite question as to what the course of action should be. It's a difficult choice, one requiring an enormous amount of thought as well as a bundle of sacrifices. Many of these people rely on the farming for support and to take them away would put their wellbeing at stake. On the other hand, monocultures are not sustainable and do an incredible amount of damage to the environment. What's better in the long run? Are there alternatives to fish farming to provide wealth for the local people? What would we be sacrificing if we chose either path?
In other news, today I saw my first guerrilla garden along the Burke-Gilman trail. I don't understand why the entire path isn't lined with these plots. They're small, they provide food (locally), and they aren't intrusive. I think I may start digging.
We often look at the simplification of certain aspects of life as signs of progress towards a better future. We have made enormous leaps in scientific knowledge in recent decades, so why shouldn't we use what we've learned to our advantage and simplify a complex and confusing world?
What I've learned in the past year, from certain events in my life to all sorts of relationships I've had with people, is that leading a life that has been simplified much too much results in boredom and inactivity. Lives rich in emotion, be it sadness or joy, are not only interesting but also fertile ground for creating complex relationships with people. Reading The Omnivore's Dilemma has presented me an agricultural parallel to the issue of complexity versus simplicity that has dominated my thoughts over the course of the year. Pollan argues that farms rich in biodiversity, as opposed to farms which practice monoculture, help maintain a healthier planet. Pollan argues for a more complex form of agriculture that requires thought and intuition. Such a form of agriculture may require more work and involvement, but it also provides for a more interesting way of life. Monoculture, he argues, is single-minded and is contributing to a much too simplified world.
Living a life void of emotion or activity, similarly, doesn't provide for an interesting, stimulating, or productive environment for the person involved. The person never develops and learns, as a field farmed through monoculture only deteriorates in quality.
I spent all day today reading and thinking in a cafe. I've decided that it's important for me to get to know the earth better and that it would be interesting to try out an agricultural career later in life. For now, I'll do my best to continue learning about the issues and how I can contribute to a healthier, more diverse and more interesting world.
I realized today that at the end of EFS if we haven't spent all of the money on the account, we won't be getting any of the remaining money back. For some reason, I still have about $100 more than all of my friends. We all started out with the same amount of money, yet somehow I still have over $250, while they all have about $150. I think, perhaps, it's a result of my dislike for eating much of a breakfast. I've only eaten breakfast in the Lander cafe a few times since I've been here, so the money that my friends have spent in the morning still remains in my account.
In order to make up for this surplus of money, I've begun an attempt to spend it all on items in the convenience store next to the cafe in Lander. I have a dilemma, however. When I enter the store, all I see is corn. After reading the first section of The Omnivore's Dilemma, all I can see when I look at processed food is a version of corn in one way or another. There are fruits and organic choices, but selection is limited. Plus, I'm trying to avoid gaining the infamous Freshman Fifteen, so finding healthy, organic food is a definite challenge.
I find the whole situation a bit ridiculous. I don't consider myself a huge consumer and usually try to do everything in moderation. Right now, I feel forced to consume. It's uncomfortable and feels wasteful. Pollan touches on this topic of over-consuming in his book, and I feel as if I'm being forced to become part of the problem in American society. We shouldn't be punished for practicing responsible consumption.
I often have days that revolve around a certain topic or theme, such as music or family. Today was concerned with all things food. Everything I ate today felt as if it carried with it an enormous significance. The burdens that came along with these foods resulted from a number of factors: personal preparation of the food, others' reactions to the food, or a variation upon a certain food to which I felt unaccustomed. Food was the driving force of my day, and, in the process, provided for memorable experiences which I won't soon forget.
My day truly began in the kitchen of the HUB. Our lentil soup-making has been the most enjoyable experience I've had in the class thus far. The only soup I've ever made has come from a can; finally making a soup from scratch gave me a deep sense of satisfaction you just can't get from an aluminum can. Lentil soup was especially significant to me, as it is often made by my sister when she's home from college. It reminded me of sitting in the kitchen with her, eating the soup until we couldn't possibly eat anymore.
Patiently waiting for the water to boil, dicing the vegetables, watching the soup simmer and thicken with every added ingredient - everything had a concrete sense of deliberate purpose and meaning. You had to muster concentration and self-control for each aspect of the process. What resulted was a hearty, delicious, and nutritious meal of which everyone in the class could be proud.
The pizza we made in the cob ovens in the afternoon generated similar feelings. I found the situation incredibly humbling with everyone silently and patiently idling by the picnic table with his or her pizza clutched securely in both hands, as if it were a prized stuffed animal and they children. I wouldn't expect much more out of a place like Seattle, a modest city compared to the conceited behemoth of Los Angeles from which I hail. It was a wonderful experience. Not only was my pizza tasty and satisfying, but the whole scene seemed to emanate a wonderful sense of community and togetherness. It seems we stood there smiling and saying little, happy just to be in each other's company.
Aside from self-prepared meals, there were two instances throughout the day where I ate food made by another person. The first occurred right after eating the soup. Still hungry, I purchased a slice of pizza from the pizza joint in the HUB. I felt slightly guilty, especially when the professor accusingly (yet politely) exclaimed something along the lines of "Eating food prepared by another's hands!" Caught in the act...how embarrassing. The second instance happened in the evening at the University Village. I purchased a "peanut butter & stuff" sandwich (the stuff being cranberry sauce, apple slices, and bananas) at a sandwich shop. It was quite good and was an interesting variation on a common snack. If you haven't noticed already, peanut butter is a staple of my diet. I felt a little better about this sandwich as opposed to the pizza due to its nutritional value as well as the fact that it probably wasn't in any way made of corn.
Though quite happy in this new environment, surrounded by peers and given the opportunity to dip my toes in waters with new horizons and lower concentrations of dependence and security, I often found myself thinking inwardly of personal issues: those dealt with exhaustively in the past, though not entirely out of mind. So when my high school friend Adam (recently relocated to Bellingham, Washington, from Los Angeles) called me up on Tuesday to ask if I'd be interested in a two-day adventure to Eastern Washington in order to see the Dave Matthews Band in concert, I realized that not only was I being given the chance to see an amazing show, I was also being given the opportunity for a temporary respite from University life, during which I could examine my new situation from an outside perspective. I eagerly accepted his invitation, and by Thursday afternoon, I was driving eastward through the Cascades with Adam and his sister Jamie.
All of Thursday consisted of driving down randomly chosen highways and country roads, looking for a campsite. We eventually settled on a site in Alta Lake State Park, about 200 miles east of Seattle and 100 miles north of our eventual destination at the Gorge Amphitheatre in George, Washington ("the only city in the nation named after the full name of a president"). How we ended up at the campsite, I have no idea, but if you're ever driving through Eastern Washington looking for a campsite, settle on the first one that you find.
On Friday, we continued on our journey to the concert and reached our destination in the late afternoon. The show was amazing, the venue beautiful.
But as much as I would like to spend time on the intricate details of the trip and the concert, since this is a food blog, I'm going to use the rest of the post to relate to you my interaction with food throughout the trip. We subsisted mainly on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, bananas, apples, Raisinettes, and tortilla chips. Healthy? Generally not. Organic? Not at all (Though the peanut butter was labeled "Natural," whatever that means). Quick and easy? Well, it has to be on a trip like that. Simple, tasty, most likely as a result of genetic engineering.
One of the most interesting aspects of the trip, for me at least, was the abundance of monoculture in the area around the venue. Fields upon fields of corn, green leafy vegetables, and other assorted produce. It was amazing to see what we've been discussing in class in real life. Monoculture is very real and incredibly prevalent. Though the pictures are slightly blurry and are literally only a snapshot of the bigger picture, you can see for yourself what monoculture actually looks like. Those huge metallic, spider-like machines featured in All Over Creation sat on every single field spraying water and (most likely) pesticides on the plants.
Everything about the trip was eye-opening and wondrous. I'm glad I was able to partake in such an endeavor through Washington so soon after my arrival. 
