I wrote this essay for my Food in American History course. WE were tasked with detailing our own personal food history. I had a lot of fun with this assignment and decided to share. Hope you enjoy 🙂

Nearly every day, I fortuitously kick my metal Power Rangers lunchbox and disrupt class. In many ways, loudis the best word to describe this lunchbox: not only does the bright yellow tin box make inconvenient loud noises, but it’s become my unique identifier across campus.  It catches people’s attention.  Many comment saying how they loved that show, wondering which is my favorite Ranger, and asking if I had it since my childhood.  I hate to break the news that I never watched the Power Rangers and that I bought the lunchbox on Amazon, so I tell them the Red Ranger is my favorite and that, indeed, I’ve had it for a long while.  Truth is, this lunchbox is far more functional than fashionable and its existence, while loud, says an awful lot about my seldom-spoken perspectives on food more generally.  There were several factors influencing my purchase of this lunchbox, but they all relate back to my distaste for unethically raised agriculture, unsustainable food systems, and overly processed foods, as well as a devotion to become my healthiest self.  My lunchbox reflects the importance I place on my food choices and my recognition that what I choose to consume matters to my health and the health of the planet in a real way.  In many ways, the food protected by the five Rangers symbolizes my love for the process of cooking, a pursuit I hold as a spiritual practice.  But that’s a remarkably long way away from frozen chicken nuggets and marshmallow fluff on white bread, so let’s give this story due justice.

I was a picky eater the moment I discovered that some foods taste better than others.  Simple tastes determined my childhood favorites, foods like bread and butter, strawberries and whipped cream, chicken nuggets and honey.  I have memories of being in my high chair, chowing down on cauliflower and broccoli.  Then I was presented chicken nuggets, and vegetables were out of the question.  In no time I became a chicken nugget connoisseur. I implemented the “Dinosaur or Don’t Bother” policy in my household, maintaining that dinosaur-shaped nuggets were the only allowable form.  In a desperate attempt to nourish her stubborn child, my mother let me dip the nuggets in honey (I had outlawed ketchup, too).  Eating out was a spectacle: when the dinner rolls were consumed, I would top off the first course with a sole packet of butter (I was onto this keto thing long before popular culture).  Thanksgiving used to be my least favorite holiday.  I didn’t like turkey, sweet potatoes, or cranberry sauce, but I loved bread.  So I had bread and topped it off with whipped cream because the adults didn’t want me to cause a fuss.  In grade school, the thought of jelly on bread made me sick, so marshmallow fluff and peanut butter was on the menu every day—except every other Friday when they served triangle pizza with cheesy crust.  To avoid harassment, I made sure to start eating lunch meat by middle school.

As my taste buds matured past early childhood, pasta with parmesan cheese became a staple.  At times, it was without a doubt my favorite food.  At eight years old, pasta was the first thing I learned how to cook.  This wheat-filled pasta, as we all know, is great fuel for physical activities and remained central to my life as athletics and “high performance nutrition” became a part of my life.  From chocolate milk after a lift to protein bars and Gatorade after practice, I consumed anything with a “protein” label.  In middle school and high school, my mom packed my lunch in a brown bag with a cold cut sandwich, pretzels, some veggies, fruit, and often a protein bar to be eaten after school.  This diet seemed “healthy” to any outside observer, surely better than the pizza and fries eaten by my friends.  On an unrelated note, I got a stomach ache every day around sixth period.  This trend of simple-tasting, quick-fuel food was the story of my food journey until age sixteen when I got a job at the Craft Ale House, a gastropub with farm-to-table meals.

For two and a half years I was exposed to different foods and culinary styles in the restaurant world.  As a food runner and bar back, I saw more ahi-tuna variations and memorized more charcuterie plate cheeses than I care to remember.  Although I never worked behind the line, I became a part of the mealtime experience.  Fresh cracked pepper, a topped off soda, and extra remoulade went a long way for customers eager to enjoy a night out.  Relishing in the dining itself, I learned, was as important as the food being served. When demanding schedules forced me out of food running, I began dishwashing.  Though torturous work, I developed a knack for scrubbing pots and pans. Knuckles bloodied from steel wool and scolding hot water, I always left work with a sense of accomplishment: with my help, the chefs and cooks were able to prepare elegant meals and memorable dishes.  I played a role in the restaurant experience by being the best dishwasher I could be. And once I perfected my craft, I actually began to enjoy it.  Not to mention, working in the back of house meant I got to try the chef’s creations. From coffee ground-rubbed bison to deep fried, crab-stuffed avocado, my palate was expanding by the shift.  

As my final years of high school engendered a sense of culinary adventure, that hope for never-before tasted dishes on a regular basis was squashed when I entered college.  First year dorms don’t have kitchens, so all freshmen are required to have meal plans. I explored Campion Dining Hall with an open mind and an ambition to make the best of what was offered. Unfortunately, the best of Campion was omelets for breakfast, wraps for lunch, and pasta for dinner.  Rinse and repeat.  I not only got bored of my options but ended up getting sick with sinus infections, colds, and intense seasonal allergies on a regular basis. Date nights with my girlfriend were the only reprieve.  We dove head-first into Asian cuisine including Thai, Vietnamese, and Japanese, as well as brunch, America’s greatest tradition.  While Narberth, Ardmore, and Manayunk yielded many new foods, I wanted a change for my daily nutrition.  I wanted to learn how to cook before entering my sophomore year apartment, fully equipped with a kitchen.  That summer I read a book called How to Eat, Move, and Be Healthy!by Paul Chek, a health coach and therapist I’d known about for some time.  As cliché as it sounds, this book changed my life forever.

Paul Chek transformed my perspective on food.  He explained that human beings aren’t evolutionarily designed to thrive on highly processed foods and how whole foods ought to be the center of our diet. This book introduced me to simple concepts like eating foods that are alive (or raw), how fat isn’t the enemy, and how added sugar is wreaking havoc on the health of our nation.  Paul explained the telltale signs of gluten intolerance: stomach ache, headache, a weakened immune system, etc.  Remember those post-lunch stomach aches in high school? I was gluten intolerant, confirmed it by a period of eliminating gluten and watching my symptoms dissipate.  Also introduced in How to Eat, Move, and Be Healthy!was the concept of metabolic typing, that is, that different people fair better on specific diets.  I learned that I do best on a diet higher in fat and protein and lower in carbohydrates, especially refined sugars. Paul also justified the importance of buying organic produce, grass fed beef, pasture raised chickens, and wild caught fish.  I later learned about the perils of commercial agriculture, from the destruction of ecosystems due to overused chemical fertilizers to the carcinogenic impacts of glyphosate, or RoundUp.  Other concepts like buying and supporting local farmers rounded out Paul’s work.

Thus, the food I choose to purchase, cook, eat, and share with my loved ones matters.  In a very real way, I am voting with my fork and my knife, with the dollars I spend on groceries.  If I purchase feedlot meat and highly-processed, commercial tofu, I am supporting operations that contribute to global climate change, maltreat livestock, destroy our disappearing soils, and put small, local farmers out of business. However, if I instead purchase local, grass-fed beef and edamame grown on an organic farm in my county, I am supporting people who are doing their part to heal the planet and produce healthy, nourishing food.  This is an intentional process, one that has to do with the whole system of food production and consumption.  From the health of soil to the health of the meal on my plate, I’ve come to see eating and cooking as a spiritual practice.  I thought about it like this: the food I eat literally becomes me.  If I am what I eat, then I want to be the healthiest Me possible, because it is only with my health that I can live out my mission on this earth.  The extra price of maintaining this holistic, nutritional approach is the best investment I could ever make because sooner or later, my health will be my number one concern.

That edict is quite a long way from chicken nuggets and whipped cream.  What began as a desire for simple mouth pleasures has become a quest to discover what food is best for me.  As I’ve realized what true nutrition ought to be, I understood that my commercially stocked dining hall couldn’t meet my health standards.  Cooking came out of necessity to get the simplistic, whole foods nutrition I needed without the additives and chemicals of dining hall meals.  So I began sautéing and searing and baking and slow-cooking and calling my mom when I messed up.  I started seasoning with sea salt and pepper, while slowly moving into more complex tastes like rosemary, cayenne, and turmeric.  With chicken and rice as staples, I began to venture into unknown waters.  I experimented with chicken stocks, with cutlets, with vegetable chili, with pork soup dumplings.  Eggs and avocado, eggs and oatmeal, eggs and ground beef, and eggs and kale have all entered the fold.  While my cooking isn’t quite exquisite, I cook almost every day, blending flavors and trying new concoctions.  But every meal I cook begins with the same thing: quality ingredients—organic for sure, local if possible.

I’ve found that many people dislike cooking because they dislike cleaning up. Luckily for me, my dishwashing stint exposed me to the mental anguish of cleaning, showing me that, in the end, scrubbing pots and pans doesn’t have to be painful.  When my mother cooks a meal, she uses every dish in the house and refuses to clean them (rightfully so).  Out of necessity, I brought the art of dishwashing home and have actually begun to enjoy it.  You heard that right, I enjoy cleaning up.  I see it as a meditation.  It’s the most peaceful and orderly moment of my day.  Coupled with the spiritual act of combining ingredients that will become me, dishwashing rounds out the experience of eating I have each day. The dishwasher is helpful, but nothing can outweigh the joy that comes with a clean sink.  I truly believe more people would cook if they didn’t fear cleaning up so much.  It should be cleaning first, then cooking.

And so we’ve arrived back to the metal Power Rangers lunchbox.  In an effort to support sustainable agriculture and local, community farms that produce nourishing whole foods, I lug my lunchbox across campus.  Filled with turmeric-salmon salad, overnight oats, or chicken legs and rice, this trusted tin gives me the freedom cook and emboldens me with the knowledge of where my food comes from.  That, and because my intolerance to gluten rules out sandwiches.  All of this to sustain a healthy body so that I can have a healthy mind so that I can work to create a healthier world.  Now, I by no means follow these principles incredibly well. I still love chocolate, ice cream, and have a weakness for blue corn tortilla chips.  But an ideal is something to strive towards, and strive I do, day in and day out.  

About every other week, you can find me in the dessert section at Whole Foods with my girlfriend (the same one), picking out the perfect cannoli.  I believe life is about balance, not strict adherence to a dietary philosophy.  The goal is to create robust health so that an ice cream cone here or there won’t destroy you.  If I had watched the Power Rangers, I’d make a reference about how the Rangers protected people and fought for the common good.  But I didn’t, so I’ll just go finish cleaning up my dishes.