Noms, Beautiful Noms

So, it turns out the one deployment bucket list item I really stuck to was - no surprise - my commitment to cooking and eating delicious food. (Well, maybe the commitment was more about cooking than eating, but let's allow some leniency here - this is just a blog after all.) Sure, I outsourced some of my dessert-ing, but I made a lot of my own dishes, too.

So, let's take a walk down culinary memory lane, with recipe credits and cooking tips where they're due.

First, an incredibly memorable vegetarian mango curry from Supannee House of Thai in Point Loma. Phenomenal smooth and tangy combination that I was happy not to have altered by meat.

Next, a tortilla soup straight out of the 100 Days of Real Food playbook. I added whole wheat toast on the side but otherwise stuck to the recipe pretty well. They're not pictured here, but don't skimp on those delicious garnishes!

Now, if you've ever tried to go gluten-free, like I was doing with Kaia FIT 4S Ranch, then you'll know that pizza withdrawal comes on swiftly and fiercely. So I resolved to try my hand at a cauliflower crust. I can't say it tasted anything like a flour crust (and it would have been a hell of a lot easier with a food processor), but I was happy with the result! Just make sure to really squeeze the moisture out before adding egg and cheese, and keep that bad boy in the oven until the edges of the crust are really brown, otherwise you'll find a soggy mess in the middle. I followed the crust recipe from A Beautiful Mess (a site which I subsequently followed via every possible social medium), but went rogue on the sauce and toppings.

And now a dessert interlude, with a chocolate cupcake from Sprinkles (anonymously donated to my nonprofit by a kind, sweet-toothed soul), cookies 'n' cream ice cream from Amy's Ice Creams in Austin, and a grilled octopus salad (absolutely fabulous in its own right) and divine flourless chocolate cupcake from the Tender Greens at Liberty Station. If heaven doesn't have these desserts in stock, I won't be staying long.

Next, perhaps the easiest but most "surprisingly like the traditional" recipe I made on my real food diet: three-ingredient pancakes. Check out this wickedly simple recipe from Simply, Taralynn. I added a few chopped walnuts into the mix. And topped with a pinch of unsweetened, shredded coconut and flourish of honey. These suckers can be challenging to flip (and you can see that I burned the first one a bit), but practice makes perfect! Happy brunching.

This healthy Mexican casserole from Pinch of Yum rocked my world last week. I made several modifications, though: doubled the jalapeños (seeded), reduced the cheese and number of corn tortillas by half, used black beans instead of refried, and used a tablespoon or two of olive oil to "pan roast" my veggies to save my pan. Enjoyed red enchilada sauce from Hatch, which doesn't include all the fake ingredients. Notice the gratuitous use of fresh cilantro. Yum!

This chickpea and butternut squash curry was loosely based on this Pinterest-found recipe from Tasty Yummies, but I took many liberties in order to clean out my fridge. Most notably, I used 1 million (approx.) mini red, yellow, and orange peppers (seeded), a little frozen kale, and quinoa instead of rice. Included a little step-by-step photo mix-up here.

And finally, you have my dinner from tonight. An absolutely glorious, glorious, glorious healthy veggie pot pie from Green Lemonade. A few admissions are necessary before you try this at home: I used a pre-made Immaculate brand pie crust for the top. I don't have a food processor, so I opted for a make-in-the-microwave (but no weird ingredients or chemicals) bean soup from Sprouts in lieu of white bean puree (though I added tons of fresh rosemary to the soup before pouring it in the pie pan), and I excluded the potatoes and upped the volume of veggies. In fact, I almost doubled the veggies and only had a few forkfuls left over after filling one pie pan, so be generous with your veggie portions in this recipe. Turned out totally amazing.

Hungry yet? Share your kitchen triumphs with me on Pinterest! I move recipes from my boards "Real Food" and "Get in my belly." to the cleverly titled board "Things I actually made and liked" once I've tried them myself.

837 Roads

Photo credit Adam Fagan / flickr.com

I think the old adage is, "the only certainty is change." Well, for me, the only certainty is the what I'll call the Frantic Fifth Month.

Sometime between the four- and five-month mark at the last two (now three) jobs I've had, something weird (but now totally predictable) has switched on inside me. I start feeling career anxiety, and I mean really bad career anxiety. And it's actually not because I don't like what I've chosen to do and need to "locate the nearest exit." In fact, it's always exactly the opposite. Invariably, I find that I love what I've chosen to do and I want to do it at a higher level, but I worry that I will never ever get there. And I'm paralyzed by the fear of leaving behind all the other options.

At the D.C. think tank where I performed research for book authors, I fell in love with journalism and the book-writing process. I worked with some of the smartest, most resourceful people I'd ever met. I saw them craft arguments, find stories, and dig up research no one else knew they cared about until that author argued it, wrote it, found it and made it fascinating. I started at that job in August 2011. By November, I just had to write the next Great American Investigative Non-Fiction Whatever. Or find my way onto the Pulitzer Prize track (which does not exist, as far as I know). Or become a White House Correspondent. Or just cover the metro beat at the Post. Something. Anything both radical and richly literary. Instead, I moved to San Diego.

Then, at the small public health non-profit, where I earned a coordinating role in a local community-based obesity prevention project, I finally got a chance to see the real world applications of the organizing and anti-racism theories I'd learned over the previous year. I saw the hard work required to affect real health change in a community and the perils of parachute program management. I saw my privilege and how it affected authentic engagement in a community of people who didn't usually look or think exactly like i did. I quickly decided I'd never amount to anything if I didn't earn a PhD and join up with a scrappy liberal arts college or inner-city non-profit to do some real community-based participatory research. Some time between the hypothetical town hall meetings, library stacks sessions pouring over "the literature," and the recording of octogenarians' oral histories, I'd need to define the exact physiological pathway that causes people who experience (and work hard to overcome) racism to end up with hypertension and chronic diseases that lower their life expectancies by 20 years. I'd take my college mentor's life work to the next level. Only that kind of humble contribution would be worthwhile.

Now that I work in non-profit marketing, I've come to love using both parts of my brain - the behavioral economist and the artist. I love thinking about what compels people to act and then writing or designing something beautiful that elicits that response. I get to play at work - the very best kind of work. But four months and one too many Mad Men episodes into this job, and I'm feeling queasy thinking I'll never be the Creative Director at Y&R. Last night, I spent two hours looking at senior copywriters' portfolios online, wishing I'd designed the Tropicana ad campaign recently plastered underground in New York.

My ambitions - and the anxiety around them - get the best of me. And then (here's the kicker), they're coupled with crippling indecision. The desire to learn quickly and move out of entry level work has led me to take a fellowship with two six-month job placements and three full-time jobs in the last four years. I have no desire to make any more job moves any time soon--and the strength of my resume probably depends on it--but the breadth of career interests I've discovered in those four years scares the hell out of me.

How will I ever choose what to do with my life?

The following is the shortlist of things I'd probably be perfectly happy doing for the rest of my life, in no particular order:

• Ad copywriter
• Newspaper/magazine journalist and book author
• Book or magazine editor
• Civil rights lawyer
• High school English or government teacher
• Social policy or behavioral economics researcher
• College professor on any of the same topics
• Community organizer
• Senior staffer for an elected official
• Elected official
• Psychologist
• Non-profit lobbyist
• Organic farmer
• Sole owner and operator of a handmade greeting card company that sells at farmers markets, craft shows, boutique shops, bookstores, cofeeshops, and Etsy (if I'm being specific)
• Any conceivable position at the White House

So there you have it. Decision paralysis combined with an all-consuming urge to move up, learn new things, feel recognized for my work, and develop deep expertise.

At least 837 roads diverged in a yellow wood. And I, I had a panic attack at my desk.

Dance is my language

Since I can remember thinking thoughts like this, I've known that expressing myself with total fidelity would involve not a single word. My story, my song, my portrait, my compassion, even my apology would be a dance. A swirling, muscled parade across a wide stage. An epic stretch from the fingers on my left hand through the toes on my right foot. Joy would be pirouette in attitude. Fear a open-mouthed back bend. Sadness a deep bend in the knees until no one could tell where I ended and the vast floor began.

Every once in a while, I come across a song that seems a perfect setting for one of these imaginary episodic dances. It's almost painful to listen to while sitting still.

The Report Is Positive

Today, perhaps more than any day since Jimmy deployed, I feel good - accomplished, energetic, optimistic. Jimmy and I had amassed a pretty serious to-do list before he left, and I've finally checked off many things on that list. The house is relatively clean after a weeklong battle with at least eight - count them, eight - loads of laundry. And despite the dishes in the sink, the Valentines sitting desperately incomplete on the breakfast bar, and the BoA bills I need to pay this month - Christmas catching up with me - I'm feeling a rare sense of compassion for myself. As if the unfinished things are not a reflection of an unfinished person. Kindness feels good.

This Thursday will mark one month since Jimmy deployed, and not only have I not totally crumbled in his absence, I've been happily chipping away at my "List of 10 Things." Check it out:

1. Run. Swim. Dance. Every week.

Resting in the corral after summiting Cowles Mountain

On April 12th, I'll be one runner in the pink, orange, and green blur of the 5k Neon Run in San Diego. I'll also be sinking into the driver's seat around 4:35 am four days a week for the next five weeks to join the lovely ladies of Kaia FIT 4S Ranch. I sincerely look forward to kicking my own butt.

La Jolla Shores

2. Let no day be spent totally indoors.

I've been on two early morning hikes with friends Heather and Hans as they train to traverse the Grand Canyon, rim-to-rim-to-rim, this May. The trails up Cowles Mountain and Fortuna Mountain now bear my footprints. This Saturday, I also spent three hours wandering around sunny La Jolla, taking in the lazy sea lions, well-dressed shoppers, and historic storefronts (many complete with Girl Scouts and towers of  boxed cookies).

3. Read the books I've purchased but scarcely cracked.

I'm currently hiking through the pages of Wild and unknowingly aiding the Manhattan Project with The Girls of Atomic City.

Early Valentine's Day treats

4. Eat decadently. But make sure it's homecooked.

I count this sweet potato and black bean chili and the adorably boxed sweets (pictured right) among my culinary accomplishments this month.

5. Learn something new. Try something weird.

I'm enrolled in my first three-hour photography class on March 2nd. Stay tuned for some beginner shots of Balboa Park!

6. Get more curious about God.

I picked up a Rob Bell book, "Love Wins," at a Saturday morning book exchange down the hill from my apartment complex. The Unitarian congregation in Hillcrest is my next planned stop.

7. Get out of town.

I'm looking forward to my trip to Austin in late May to see my amazing little sister graduate from college. Also hoping to make it out to D.C. in early June when my office closes for Shavuot. I can't wait to ride the Metro until the train slides up into the sunlight, shuffle between produce and craft booths at Eastern Market, sit in the aged pews at All Souls Unitarian Church, stuff myself with Jose Andres nosh, buy a book with a radical title at Busboys & Poets, sip a pinot at Tryst, get a haircut from my favorite barber in Dupont Circle, and join the throngs of tourists armed with smartphones, hoping for a glimpse of Bo or Sunny lying out on the White House lawn.

Friday afternoon, 5 minutes until close

8. Keep my job in proper perspective.

No solid evidence (except the photo at right) to support this, but I consider this done and done. I love my new job but understand - and seek to allocate my time in ways that demonstrate - that the other things on this list are what make me whole. Plus, becoming a better writer, photographer, and citizen of the world count as professional development in the world of non-profit marketing.

9. Find a few people who think the strange mix of things I like is fun.

I'm hoping my return to Kaia FIT will result in some rich new friendships. Meanwhile, I've been reconnecting with friends who understand and inspire me. When I really think about it, my cup runneth over.

10. Stop planning, and do.

I submit to you my future participation in a 5 am boot camp, photography class, and 5k run as evidence of my progress in this area. The home cooking, serious laundry accomplishments, and trips to the book exchange also top the list of time well spent this month.

A List of 10 Things I'd Like to Do

In the wee hours of January 13, I dropped off my boyfriend at Camp Pendleton, and (after several hours, a few dimly lit photos - including the selfie to the left - and many tears on my part) he headed off to Afghanistan in a bus - then a plane, then a second plane, and then a third. And I went back home to take a nap and begin my next year flying solo.

Before Jimmy's deployment, I did a lot of searching online about this strange phase I've now entered. I think my search terms were things like "coping with deployment," "what to expect first few weeks of deployment," and many variations of "gifts for deploying boyfriend." (You can see I'm rather verbose - and gift-obsessed - even in my Google search bar.) I landed on some sites that alleviated my anxiety and others that did not. What I did feel was a very confusing mix of emotion as I started to see in action the military culture that says every military spouse is doing her duty, too, by staying stateside with a big smile on her face. A patriotic military wife cares for children, sends decorative packages at regular intervals, and daily tears strips off paper chains or moves glass pebbles from one jar to another to count down the days until her man is back home.

All at once, I wanted to latch onto these palliative methods of marking time - I love Jimmy and I knew I was going to deeply miss him, maybe these habits would soothe me - while at the same time I wanted to swiftly and forcefully reject them. Am I not a strong woman with agency, interests, and an adventurous spirit? I will be thinking of and missing my serviceman, but I don't need no stinkin' paper chain.

For me, the most confusing of these military wife rituals was the creation of what I often saw called the "deployment bucket list." Significant others of deployed members of the military list all the things they hope to accomplish while their loved ones are away and strike through them as they're finished. I wasn't sure how to feel about the "bucket list" because I had an immediate, overwhelming urge to create my own - as I do when the prospect of creating any list presents itself - but I also disliked the term "bucket list." What is it that we women can't do while our men are around? And is this just another superficial way to distract ourselves? We must become the leading ladies in our own lives, I thought to myself, quoting a throwaway line in that classic Cameron Diaz film The Holiday.

But I've succumbed to my love for lists and also realized that while writing a "bucket list" isn't right for me, taking a moment to pause, assess my new life in San Diego, and make a concerted effort to increase my joy here and form habits that will make me a better person - that's something I can get on board with. So, with no further ado, a List of Things I'd Like to Do:

1. Run. Swim. Dance. Every week.
I've now run a 10k. I've always loved to swim - and there's a heated lap pool 100 feet from my front door. And I received 12 prepaid modern dance classes as a Christmas present. Running, swimming, and dancing make me happy and healthy. There is no reason I shouldn't do them all at least once every single week.

2. Let no day be spent totally indoors.
I'm a hopeless introvert, but I must make sure I never spend a single day totally indoors. (I have a dog to walk, of course, but walking the dog around the block doesn't cut it.) San Diego offers beautiful weather and beautiful scenery. I need to soak in the sunshine everyday.

3. Read the books I've purchased but scarcely cracked.
I have the following books to read (this list is way too long): Quiet, And the Mountains Echoed, Five Days at Memorial, Memoirs of a Geisha, Traveling Mercies, Ghost Wars, The Girls of Atomic City, Everything is Illuminated, Bowling Alone, The Heart of the Matter, God of the Oppressed (to be fair, I'm halfway through that one), Rabbit-Proof Fence, The Cost of Discipleship, Slavery By Another Name (another 50%er), Game of Thrones, What is the What (how did I graduate from college without reading that one?), Lies My Teacher Told Me (the author is a little self-indulgent, but I need to give it another try), The Poisonwood Bible, and several books that will be make me better at my job.

4. Eat decadently. But make sure it's homecooked.
I love to cook, but sometimes, in just the right light, my stove looks like a metallic monster with flaming hair, lunging for my sweet, sweet leisure time. Who cares? I need to get my ass off the couch and cook something delicious and healthy. Subway or Chipotle is good enough when I work until 9 and the laundry isn't finished, and the dog isn't fed and walked, and I foolishly left even more work to do at home. But mostly, I need to make the time to thoughtfully, intentionally nourish myself.

5. Learn something new. Try something weird.
The "learn something new" will probably be "figure out how to use my DSLR camera." Jimmy got me a fabulous camera, complete with a huge, long-range lens and a camera bag, for Christmas. Now I must master the thing. The "try something weird," though, I haven't quite figured out. I got some sushi-making supplies for Christmas, but rolling some rice and nori isn't quite what I'm talking about. I want to take a risk for once - a risk for me and my comfort zone. Maybe go parasailing. Or join Toastmasters (ha, yeah right). Or build a piece of furniture not prefabricated by Ikea. Or participate in a protest about something I care about.

6. Get more curious about God.
I've been really struggling with the Jesus question for a while now. Hell, let's be real: I don't think Jesus was divine. A right nice fellow with a penchant for revolutionary troublemaking? Sure. But I'm not so sure he was the flesh and blood Son of God. Which is a problem for me, seeing as how I'm Christian. But I do believe in God. I have experiences in nature, with people, when I'm totally alone, that convince me there is a high-order mystery no one has solved yet. I want to find a group of people who want to talk about that in a serious way.

7. Get out of town.
Austin? Seattle? Appalachia? Phoenix? Dear ol' District of Columbia? Here I come.

8. Keep my job in proper perspective.
I have a history of forgetting that I'm just an ant in the giant, teeming ant farm of the universe. The ting of a triangle in the epic opera of history. My job should (usually) make me happy, and I hope to use my brain most days. But succeeding or failing at work does not define me. I won't have this job forever. And my particular job - in the grand scheme of what is happening at any given moment - is just not that big of a deal. So I'll go to work, do my best, take some risks, and be kind to my coworkers. And when it's all over, I'll come home as close to "on time" as I can get and kick back with a glass of wine. Because my job doesn't come with emergencies - I have it good.

9. Find a few people who think the strange mix of things I like is fun.
For years, I've watched other people's lives on Facebook, convinced that I'm just not that fun. I don't love wild parties, getting hammered, rushing sororities, skydiving, or moving to some remote part of Asia with no job, no map, and no plan. That's not me. But I do love making and consuming art, engaging in (some forms of) exercise, watching good movies, reading excellent writing, spending time in the Great Outdoors, spending time with kids, and making lists like this one. Rather than surrounding myself with the kinds of people who like wild parties et al, I want to find a handful of old souls who like the things I like, who think I'm fun. Maybe by doing what I really like doing, I'll find people who make me feel at home.

10. Stop planning, and do.
And with that...

To be clear, I have the deepest respect for military spouses of both genders. What I take issue with in this post is not military spouses themselves but rather the reduction of these people to just one of the many difficult things they do - wait.

2013 by the pixels

Anne and I inflict our decorating enthusiasm on a gingerbread tree

Three generations of McLellan women

Back in San Diego, Jimmy and I take in "The Del"

In which Jimmy and I devour (fabulous) fried scallops in Catalina

My wonderful parents in the dock cafe at Lake Tahoe

A tree in Tahoe teaches us humility

My team

Jimmy and Lucy make their way in Mammoth Lakes

Lucy and I in the tall grass, by the cool water

Career anxiety

Asteroids by Dave Makes

places to hide

let me ball it up

a tiny orb

my pebble in David’s slingshot

send it to sleep among the asteroids

mute and grey

let’s starch and iron it

flat, white

a cotton dress

tuck it in my quiet closet

whisper with the wool

and silky shawls

help me build an all-consuming blaze

that will take it, yellow and blue-silver

Swoosh.

sweep it away with tired embers

smoky ash

close it, solemn

as a heavy tome

one line:

It is finished.

slide it spine-side-out in line

lean into the mirror just to watch it

fold itself in crows feet

become my eager smile

ring in laughter

melt away

CML

7-2-13

"Taken" and the Real Global Market for Persons

I saw Taken for the first time this afternoon. Like most people who saw this film, I was incredibly disturbed. I'm also embarrassed to report that it took seeing this film to get me to commit time to researching the real global market for people. The video below was one of the better issue primers I found on human trafficking. It also offers actionable suggestions for those of us who want to become involved but who probably will not commit our entire careers to anti-trafficking work.

One of the most striking facts Sorvino shares is that the trafficking of human beings is the second most lucrative illicit activity in the world, second only to narcotics trafficking. The United States government, however, spends more money in one month on the war against drugs than it has ever spent to end the trafficking of persons.

Like most worthy pursuits, stamping out human trafficking and supporting trafficking survivors takes a lot of time and money, both which are in woefully short supply.



Mira Sorvino; "Using Your Gifts to End Slavery" from Not For Sale on Vimeo.

D.C. for Christmas

I've been missing D.C. a lot lately and so have begun a time-sucking search for paraphernalia that will feed my nostalgia. Some of my favorite (and now highly coveted) knick knacks include:

D.C. Map Earrings from the Urban Gridded Collection at Aminimal

D.C.-shaped cutting board and cookie cutters at Hill's Kitchen

Customizable D.C. pillow by ilovecalifornia on Etsy.com

D.C. monument-shaped chocolates by Chocolate Chocolate

Before the Cliff: Mini pies and cinnamon ice cream

Black & Blue (berry) Mini Pie

Well, I've been in San Diego for exactly three weeks now. As predicted, the daytime temperature rarely strays below a breezy 75 degrees. My proximity to the coastline (about two miles) and at least a hundred great hiking trails are great sources of happiness. I'm still working remotely for my D.C. employer, exploring ways that business and philanthropy in the United States and Mexico can bolster the non-profit sector across the border. (Paying attention to Mexican non-profits would be a good start, I've learned.) And I'm doing some ad hoc work for my soon-to-be San Diego employer, a community health group. Through those experiences, I'm re-entering the world of food and physical activity policy, writ large, a huge excitement for me. And I'm interacting with the community again, which makes this whole move a bit sweeter.

In other news, I'm working on becoming a big sister through Big Brothers Big Sisters. I've joined an area women's book club, appropriately called "Hip Chicks Book Club," whose next read is the first book in Game of Thrones. There's an amazing YMCA down the street from my apartment, which I plan on joining as soon as their New Years joining fee waiver goes into effect. I'm planning a container garden from my partial-shade balcony to be seeded early next year. And I've bought the supplies necessary to paint a foolproof forest scene, using this handy YouTube instructional video. Plus, I'm forcing my boyfriend to partake fully in Christmas festivities, including but not limited to tree adorning, stocking hanging, gingerbread house constructing, cookie decorating, and Christmas music jamming. We'll see if he endures...

I'm hoping to start work full-time with the San Diego folks in early January. In preparation for the big job transition, I've been invited to their holiday party tonight. It's a potluck, and I signed myself up to bring a pie. After much Internet research (and a new ice cream maker), I've decided to make mini apple and berry pies using a standard muffin tin, and a creamy cinnamon ice cream. I sort of crowd-sourced my pie recipes, but you can find more information on making these adorable desserts at Dollhouse Bake Shoppe and Zoom Yummy. The cinnamon ice cream recipe I stole wholesale from this rave-reviewed one on AllRecipes.com. As the commenters suggested, I used just 3/4 c. sugar, rather than a whole cup, but otherwise followed the instructions exactly. Most of my produce is from Sprouts, my new hangout and a welcome throw-back to my time in Phoenix, where Sprouts was also king. Fun fact: produce is ridiculously cheap in Southern California.

I feel a little ironic, baking pies and ice cream for the staff of a childhood obesity prevention group. But hey, if we're going off the fiscal cliff in the next couple of weeks--Wile. E. Coyote-style--I'd like one of my last meals to be a miniaturized dessert. (Read a smart column on the ubiquitous Cliff conversation by my current boss here.) And I know the end of the world is predicted for the 21st, but doesn't anyone else find the date 12/12/12 a little fantastic? This is the last time this century that we'll have a matching date, month, and year. (The only cooler date was last year's 11/11/11, when all the digits were the same.)

The only conclusion I can draw is that we should all eat pie.

Cash Cows? What Writing for Slate Taught Me About Making Milk

Holstein cows grazing by F.d.W. / flickr.com

"If being a dairy farmer were like riding a roller coaster, 2009 was the loop-de-loop. 

"This summer’s drought was the gut-wrenching vertical drop."

In the wake of this summer's drought, how are dairy farmers faring? You probably never asked yourself that question because it's an unobvious one to us non-farmers. 

Before starting research for this series of articles on Slate I might have guessed that the worst-off farmers were the corn farmers. There's a drought, their crop is destroyed, they lose money, right? Not so. In fact, dairy farmers and cattle ranchers are in much worse shape than the princes to King Corn. The cheap corn and soy that dairy producers rely on is suddenly much more expensive, and the prices they receive for their milk are hardly rising. They're watching their life's savings flow steadily out of their bank accounts, retirement accounts, college savings accounts. Read more from Slate HERE...

There's a lot to this whole debate that I didn't explore in the article. One issue is the labyrinthine milk pricing system in this country. In attempt to understand it, I read the USDA's 20+ page primer on the issue. A half-hour later I was no smarter and battling a serious headache.

I figured an ag journalist would do a better job explaining the issue to a laywoman like me. I decided to talk to Pete Hardin, who edits and writes probably 80 percent of the content in a fantastic trade publication The Milkweed. When we got on the phone, I told him simply: "I want to understand how milk prices are set in this country." There was a pause when I was sure we'd been disconnected, then laughter. He had been sitting in his car, parked in his garage, trying to dig up some old papers and stats for me. He was laughing so heartily I imagined him doubled over his steering wheel, wondering who this supremely naiver writer was.

Finally, he took a deep breath in and said seriously: "If you don't have to, I wouldn't touch that issue." Even though he writes about it ad nauseum, he said it's highly politically charged and--to be honest--pretty boring. Unless the piece is really about milk prices, it'd be better not to give the issue short shrift.

But I got into it a little bit, and I think you should, too. The people who make our milk are getting short changed by ineffective, cobbled-together policies that don't respond readily to market pressures. It's not just that dairy farming is hard or unprofitable. It's actually impoverishing farmers across the country. Those hard-to-understand federal and state milk prices make it easier for monopolistic practices to rule the day. Big diary is on the way. Small family dairy farms are becoming a thing of the past.

And the few young people who have tried to enter the business--and it's incredibly costly and risky to do so--are being driven out. In the dairy sector, perhaps more than any other, we're losing our new farmers. The average age of American farmers is 57. This summer's drought will likely erase any progress we've made in the last five years enticing young people to the biz.

Family Farm Defenders and the National Family Farm Coalition are good sources of information. The Rodale Institute, which focuses on small-scale, organic production, is a great organization, too.

Take some time in the midst of the election shenanigans to think more deeply about your milk, cheese, yogurt, ice cream, and coffee creamer. My new dairy farmer friend Chris Kraft pleaded with me: "Think behind the shelf."  The people who make our milk need us readers to dare to take on the complex, even the boring. It's often the dense stuff, the weedy policies, the will-not-be-sound-bited issues that matter the most.

A Magazine Doing It Right

When I was a senior in college and my campus minister was retiring from her job as my pastor, she reflected on her experience with Duke kids. They seem so tough, capable, even cold, like they've got everything together. They don't need help from anyone. But when you touch them, they just melt.

I was reminded today that this is not just true of Duke students; it's true of people. This brief blog post is a shout-out to Los Angeles-based event series and online publication Zócalo Public Square*. This magazine never ceases to amaze me by capturing people as they're melting. Their editorial staff makes intimate personal experience available to the masses--to the readers, sure, but also to the writers who end up sharing their stories. Many of them wouldn't call themselves writers, but Zócalo gives them the space to become one. A recent piece by their deputy managing editor, Jennifer Lee, who I've met in person a couple of times, moved me to my core. Give it a read and tell me what you think!


*Full disclosure: My boss is their editorial director, and I've written a piece for them.

My SNAP Experience: The Myth of "This Isn't So Bad!"

Safety net by heber F / flickr.com

One year ago, around the same time in September (Hunger Action Month), I was slouched over my desk in my downtown Washington, D.C., cubicle, grumbling to every coworker within earshot. It was Friday of the 2011 SNAP Experience, and despite my best efforts, I’d seriously underestimated my appetite and overestimated my willpower. I was looking at a weekend of toast, spaghetti (but no sauce), and those waxy Red Delicious apples bred not for their stellar taste but for their uniform aesthetic.

But this year, my colleagues weren’t party to much whining. I’d put much more effort into buying food that would fill me up and last the whole week. On my last day of the 2012 SNAP Experience, I had toast and apple juice for breakfast, a banana and a peanut butter sandwich for lunch, and a pollock filet and fresh green beans for dinner. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. I’d been successful in keeping my commitment to eat only what I’d purchased, too. I hadn’t turned down any tempting banquet invites, but I’d declined plenty of after-work drink and dinner opportunities to stick to my budget. It seemed I’d exercised unprecedented restraint. Feeling a little smug, I’d thought to myself, “this isn’t so bad!”

But I’m really no superwoman of self-control. This week was not easy – staying within my $33 food budget (the average weekly SNAP benefit in D.C.) had proven challenging – but it seemed do-able because I’d had the game-changing advantage of a flexible non-food budget.

As the week wore on, I realized just how much energy it takes to resist dietary urges. The free Nutrigrain cereal bars at work and the smell of warm Quiznos on my walk home threatened my resolve. Homemade guacamole nearly broke me. At the same time, I enjoyed virtually no flexibility to choose among the foods I’d purchased for the week. So strictly portioned were my meals that I ate the same thing, in the same quantity, for breakfast and lunch every day for seven days. For dinner, I had my choice of fish and green beans (two days) or spaghetti and salad (five days).

By mid-week, I felt deeply tired from denying all those food cravings, and I desperately wanted to splurge, to feel renewed control over my spending and my choices. On Tuesday, I did finally open my wallet, just not for food. As luck would have it, my sister’s 21st birthday was Thursday. Due at least in part to my weakened powers of self-control, my sister received a Dooney & Bourke purse, a Calvin Klein scarf, and a glittery pair of earrings for her birthday. As much as I love her, I’d certainly spent more on her gift than I originally planned. And I’m convinced that extravagant assertion of my financial autonomy is what made sticking to my SNAP budget relatively easier.

In some ways, my experience did mirror that of a family who relies on SNAP. No matter who you are, research affirms that we spend a lot of time debating whether to eat or abstain. In their fascinating book Willpower, authors Roy Baumeister and John Tierney describe a self-control experiment carried out in Germany in 2010. Two hundred Germans wore beepers that went off seven times a day. Each time their beepers vibrated, the subjects reported any desires they were currently experiencing or experienced recently. Sifting through more than 10,000 momentary reports, researchers concluded that people spend one-fourth of their waking hours resisting their desires. The most popular desire will be obvious to anyone who participated in ACAA’s SNAP Experience. The urge to eat was more popular than any of the other commonly reported desires, including the desire to sleep, the desire for leisure, and the impulse for sexual activity.

But unlike in my imperfect poverty simulation, SNAP users are living in or near poverty, and are forced to restrict spending in all areas.  Behavioral psychology researchers help explain [PDF] how making budgetary decisions in a context of poverty is particularly taxing:

“Imagine packing for a trip, using either a small or large suitcase. If you have a large suitcase, it is an easy task to pack everything important with room to spare. You may even choose not to completely fill the suitcase. With a small suitcase, however, the task becomes much more complex. If not all important items will fit, you must consider trade-offs, such as what to take out if one more item is added. The suitcase can represent any resource, such as money. In that case, someone with ample resources can easily purchase all needed items with money left over. They may consider the wisdom and value of a particular small purchase, but are not likely to explicitly consider what other item must be given up in its place. In contrast, someone with limited funds must spend a lot of time and mental energy thinking about what to purchase, as each item chosen means some other item or items is foregone. In other words, having fewer resources makes decision-making much more complex. Complex problems draw on limited cognitive resources, which in turn means that there are fewer resources available for self-control.”

The SNAP Experience, then, is like trying to pack a large-sized suitcase with a too-small compartment for food but plenty of room for everything else. Participants like me were making difficult food shopping and consumption decisions (if I buy this meat, I can’t afford those vegetables; I can eat either these eggs or that banana), but they maintained the option to splurge in other areas, like birthday gifts, when their self-control reserves got too low or they wanted to make a spontaneous purchase just to remember what it felt like.

People living in poverty and receiving SNAP benefits also deal with the too-tiny food compartment (their low SNAP benefit level), and they can also pack away food in the remaining space (they could hypothetically spend money out-of-pocket to supplement their SNAP benefit). But their suitcase is so small that spending more on food means there’s less money left for rent, utilities, child care, transportation, health care, and a host of other necessities. The endless task of considering those much more complex trade-offs is exhausting. Difficult budgetary decisions tire people out, and—as we know after our own SNAP Experience—choosing among cheap and often unappetizing foods is a little dehumanizing, too. The Dooney & Bourke release valve isn’t really an option, and those families that do splurge anyway feel the damning financial effects almost immediately.

All this is to say that my SNAP Experience wasn’t a true experience of poverty—not by a long shot. I knew that when the going got tough in the grocery department, I could find other ways to exert choice. I could rent a movie from RedBox, buy a new blouse, take a taxi when the bus refused to show up, or even take a couple days off from work for an impromptu weekend getaway. (I didn’t, but it sounds pretty good, right?) I may have been stuck with peanut butter sandwiches, but my consumer autonomy remained firmly intact.

This is no indictment of the SNAP Experience. Every poverty simulation is imperfect because it’s exactly that—pretend. It’s impossible to experience poverty unless you’re really in it for the long haul. But after my third SNAP Experience I have learned two important lessons: First, everyone, no matter her income, wants to feel financially autonomous. Second, the psychological effect of poverty makes sound decision-making incredibly difficult.

Caring for each other as friends, neighbors, and direct services providers requires that we all appreciate the messiness and frustration of poverty. It’s not as easy as cutting the fat or tightening the belt. Heroic personal responsibility won’t make high-stakes financial trade-offs any easier. As voters in a representative democracy, we must also work to identify leaders and spokespeople who truly get it. A debate on SNAP benefit levels is about hunger and health, sure, but it’s also about how we hope people with limited resources will participate in the economy and how we can ease the financial and mental strain of poverty to enable people to make the best decisions possible. SNAP could be a tool for this kind of empowerment, but $33 per week in D.C. won’t get the job done.
Together, let’s elevate the conversation about this important program and work to weave a social safety net that doesn’t just catch us when we fall, but makes it easier to make the long climb back up.

Awesome video interlude

This video from the New York Times makes my point about say-nothing convention speeches almost too well. Just watch.

The SNAP Experience

This week, I'm participating in the third-annual Arizona Community Action Association SNAP Experience. (See their blog HERE.) This means I'll be consuming only the food I was able to buy with the average weekly SNAP (a.k.a. "food stamps") benefit in Washington, D.C. -- $33. (That's right! SNAP participants in D.C. receive, on average, less than $33 per person, per week for food.) The point of this exercise is to raise awareness around (1) how little the program provides, (2) how difficult it is to buy healthy foods on such a limited budget, and (3) how important the program is to families and the communities they live in.

After a stressful trip to Giant in Columbia Heights and a $10 taxi ride home (the store is far from my house, and my haul was too heavy to carry on the bus), here's what I have to choose from this week:

1 half-gallon skim milk - $1.69
1 box cereal - $1.00
1 jug 100% apple juice - $2.00
1 loaf wheat bread - $2.00
1 jar peanut butter - $2.99
4 yogurt cups - $2.29
7 bananas - $2.35
2 jars pasta sauce - $3.00
1 box whole wheat linguine - $1.49
2 frozen cod filets - $3.49
1 lb. green beans $1.93
2 bags romaine lettuce - $2.99
4 tomatos - $1.99
1 single-serving frozen pizza - $0.88 (splurge #1)
1 box sugar-free Popsicles - $1.49 (splurge #2)

TOTAL - $31.34

Look out for a status update later this week!

Party in the U.S.A.

2012 Democratic National Convention by stevebott / flickr.com

Wait...are the Olympics back on TV? For the last two weeks, TV and online media have been dominated by panoramic sweeps of packed arenas, hero-worship of American sweethearts, personal tales of trial and triumph, and unending news commentary about missteps and upsets, all to the soundtrack of the standing ovation. No doubt about it. If you hibernated from early August to early September, you'd think we're still in London.

It's not new, but political conventions are feeling strangely like rallies for America, writ large, and not earnest attempts to talk about the things politicians claim to care and know most about--policy issues. David Brooks wrote in the New York Times that he was disappointed that Obama's acceptance speech didn't contain much substance. I agree, and by my own estimation, neither did any of the others at either convention. Even FLOTUS Michelle Obama's speech, which was expertly delivered and moving, didn't touch on her own biggest policy priority--growing healthier kids.

The question is not are convention speeches substantive, but why aren't the substantive.

There are lots of reasons, but I think the most important is politicians' estimation of their audience. Convention speeches aren't substantive because lots of people watch them. The Republican National Convention attracted 30.3 million viewers on its final night. Nielsen hasn't posted the viewership for the final night of the Democratic convention, but I'd guess it will be even higher, as the Democrats attracted more viewers on nights one and two than the GOP in their first two nights. I haven't found a good estimate of how many Republicans watched the Democratic convention and vice versa, but in 2008, half of convention viewers watched both. If that holds true for 2012, that means about 15 million people watched the Democrats, 15 million watched the Republicans, and 30 million tuned into both. In all, 60 million Americans are engaged at some level with the conventions, which is about 20 percent of the American population. Put simply, there is no other opportunity in a candidate's campaign to address a larger or more diverse crowd.

The message, then, has to speak relatively well to all viewers, and especially well to those who agree (read: likely voters for party X) or might agree (read: independents) if given a little inspiration. Nothing works better for energizing a base and bringing over a few stragglers than touting Americans' enterprising spirit, the importance of maintaining/restoring the American Dream, and the debt we owe to veterans. Flag-waving, "God bless America"-ing, and multi-colored confetti don't hurt either. Extensive plans to reform tax law, campaign finance, or entitlement spending, to name a few looming issues, don't play well for a national audience.

The problem is that my party affiliation is not my religion. I am perhaps inspired, but not swayed, by tent revivals and promises of on-the-spot miracles. Voters yearn for speeches that educate them on the issues, honestly lay out policy differences between the camps, and assume that they read or watch a little news. My voting is not faith-based--it's an intellectual calculus--and I don't think I'm alone. Fictional President Bartlet on The West Wing asked several times throughout the series when politicans began assuming voters were so stupid. I wonder the same thing now. I wish the conventions catered better to our collective decision-making process, and less to our supposed interest in shiny things.

According to the American National Election Study, 10% to 29% of voters make up their minds during the conventions. This is a actually a pretty impressive proportion of people. Let's give them all a chance to base their decisions on the issues, and not on hair-dos and high-flying rhetoric. I think we're all smarter than that.

To party leadership, network execs, and electeds across the country: Please leave the fireworks and all-consuming patriotism for July 4th. Here's to convention speeches worthy of a thoughtful, discerning America.

Can the Clean Plate Club Save the World?

Clean plates by iampease / flickr.com

The first line in a recent Washington Post article begins this way:

"Americans throw away up to 40 percent of their food every year, cramming landfills with at least $165 billion worth of produce and meats..."

That's outrageous! That's like buying lunch every day of the workweek and then tossing two of those lunches in the trash. If you did this every week, all year round, you'd buy 260 lunches and throw 104 of them away. If you spent even $5 on those lunches, you'd burn $520, on top of the labor and environmental costs of choking America's landfills.

But the author doesn't stop there. She goes on to lament that all this food waste happens, "at a time when hundreds of millions of people suffer from chronic hunger globally."

Now I get the rhetorical appeal of this point, but I have to admit I'm rolling my eyes.

It sounds a bit like your mom pleading with you to finish your now-cold fish sticks and overcooked green peas because, hey, don't you know there are kids starving in Africa? My unvoiced response to that line of argument was always, "and will you be the one to lovingly Saran wrap my half-masticated microwave dinner and UPS it to Niger?"

As an adult, my rebuttal now has less to do with logistics, and more to do with upsetting local markets, preventing local problem-solving, and choking--not American landfills, but now--foreign countries with food its inhabitants are unused to cooking and eating. (To be clear: in cases of natural disaster or acute famine, feeding desparately undernourished people clearly warrants those costs to the local ecnomy and culture. But in cases of chronic famine, I would argue, it's less clear cut.)

Rather, authors who write about domestic food waste should talk about domestic hunger. What if your mom instead admonished you: "Hey! Eat those fish sticks and peas. There are kids in your class at school who won't have supper tonight." This argument stands up much better to five- (or twenty-five-) year-old scrutiny.

First, it's probably true. In 2010, the latest year for which national government data is available, 14.5 percent of American households didn't have enough food at all times for an active, healthy life. In government jargon, one in seven housoeholds was food insecure. (The Food Research and Action Center, which measures whether a family can afford enough food, said it was closer to one in six people. [PDF])

Though children are less likely to suffer from food insecurity than their parents (parents are often kind enough to shield their kids from hunger by eating less and giving their kids more), there were still 16 million hungry kids in the United States in 2010. Many of them receive free and reduced-price meals in schools, but schools rarely provides snacks and dinners. Backpack programs and food pantries can help, but the 2010 statistics reflect food insecurity even with those vital resources taken into account.

Second, this line of reasoning makes much more sense. The implication of "finish what's in front of you, or else..." is that the "or else" could both (1) realistically take place and (2) actually help. In fact, you could easily cook a big lasagna and donate it to a local food pantry. Kitchens have different rules, but it's worth a call to your local soup kitchen or food pantry to see what's most useful to them. (From experience working in a kitchen, I can assure you that your uneaten birthday cake is less helpful than a big bag of apples, but most kitchens will take and use well what you bring them.)

And, again, this might actually help your neighbors. Unlike donating food en masse in a foreign country with its own agricultural market, your hungry neighbors depend on domestically-grown food. And though food pantries, which annually give away thousands of boxes or bags of nonperishables, can admittedly make more out of your money than your canned goods, it's still worthwhile to give your unused (but still usable) food to these important community organizations. And now, it's not just an empty threat but an actionable step.

In fact, what if we reconfigured those handy iPhone calorie counting apps, into number-crunching food waste motivators? Rather than counting what you put on your plate, why not regularly calculate the cost of what you push off it into the garbage disposal? The Green Egg Shopper is an early attempt at this, but it doesn't do enough.

The very real hunger in Niger has little to do with your kid's greens, and it's disingenous to claim it does. A family serious about finishing the fish sticks for social justice reasons would calculate what it wastes and give at least as much in money, food, or labor to the local pantry or soup kitchen.

Let's stop threatning to do something about hunger and create a Clean Plate Club that really works.

Quinoa Salad

I've made a protein-packed quinoa salad for a few recent pot-luck dinners. Even people who can't pronounce quinoa and are a bit skeptical of its rice-meets-couscous-like texture really enjoyed it. (And of course my tofu-pressing, kale-munching, vegan-cupcake-eating friends loved it, too). The basic idea is to cook the quinoa in vegetable broth (throw the raisins in halfway through to plumpen them up) and let it cool. On the side, mix together everything else. Combine and serve! Beware: this recipe makes a ton I would recommend halving the recipe.



12 ounces (2 cups, or 340 g) prewashed dry quinoa
5 cups (1.2 l) water or low-sodium vegetable broth
1 packed cup (165 g) raisins
1/4 cup (60 ml) apple cider vinegar
1/4 cup (60 ml) fresh lemon juice
1/2 cup (120 ml) olive oil
1 1/2 teaspoons red pepper flakes, adjust to taste
1/4 cup chopped fresh green onions
2 large cloves garlic, peeled and minced
Pinch sea salt, adjust to taste
Cracked black pepper, adjust to taste, optional
Heaping 1/3 cup (50 g) salted roasted pepitas
4 large carrots, peeled and finely grated
One 15-ounce (425-g) can of red beans, drained and rinsed
One 15-ounce (425-g) can of black beans, drained and rinsed

Recipe and photo credit to Have Cake Will Travel.

The Mirage of Clean Politics

By Sean MacEntee / flickr.com

There's a new Facebook group on the loose, "100 Percent FED Up". Recent posts include a photo of FLOTUS in the arms of U.S. Olympic wrestler Elena Pirozhkova and the sarcastic caption, "OUR FIRST LADY REPRESENTING OUR GREAT NATION WITH CLASS AND INTEGRITY AT THE 2012 OLYMPICS!" Another is a meme admonishing food stamp recipients for owning iPhones. Still another questions the existence of Obama's birth certificate. (Are people STILL doing that?) And my favorite: side-by-side photos of Joe Biden and Herman Cain. Under Joe Biden's photo (labeled "Democrats" and--tongue-in-cheek--"Not Racist"), a caption reads: "Think Black people are incapable of achieving anything without the help of white people." Under Herman Cain's photo (labeled "Republicans" and "Racist"), the caption reads: "Think Black people can achieve anything they set their minds to without help from anyone." None of these is smart, or useful, or kind. Just to prove I'm equal opportunity, I will say that Change.org has also been guilty of some of the same counterproductivity, to coin a term.

Indeed, I am fed up, but not in the way this pseudo-political group implies. I am tired of political ads that are blatantly misleading. I am tired of personal attacks, which by definition reveal nothing useful about the leadership abilities or policy positions of their victims. They are wrought in back rooms by spin doctors and wielded haphazardly, as weapons. I am tired of the barrage of fundraising e-mails--even from a candidate I support--with pithy, curious subject lines. At least once a day they beg for my donation to add to an (at least partially) ill-used war chest. I am tired of watching my candidate wrestle in the proverbial muck, wasting his time and sullying his character. I am tired of disingenuous promises. I am tired of opportunistic photo ops. I am tired of all-too-transparent pandering. I am tired of oversimplification, of quotes stripped of their context, of slogans without the details. I am especially tired of mudslinging at the expense of marginalized groups--the LGBTQ community, people of color, and low-income moms, to name a few.

Is this really how we elect a president?

To be clear: I applaud get out the vote efforts that seek to engage underrepresented people. I am happy that some portion of my campaign donation goes to pay hardworking field organizers (and many of them are unpaid), thoughtful policy advisers, and the under-recognized staff who turn the gears, pour the coffee, advance the gigs, etc. I am even okay with the use of my donation to power an informative website, or print a campaign flyer, or stamp a button. I understand that campaigns are expensive, and I appreciate that being out-raised imperils your chances of success. What I hope we can eliminate in my lifetime is the resource-intensive part of this process that ashames and frustrates me--the part where we call each other dirty names.

It's time to clean up our elections. In 2016, the candidate who sticks to positive ads, sets achievable goals, and puts out substantive policy positions gets my vote. Period.