Currently viewing the tag: "on the soapbox"
Happy 16th Vegan Birthday to me at Catskill Animal Sanctuary.
I’ve been vegan so long. And while every year my passion for vegan food (and vegan food reporting) grows stronger, my reason for going and remaining vegan have nothing to do with food at all. It’s about animals.
It was learning the conditions of factory farming so long ago that steered me towards veganism. What others preferred “not to hear about” I preferred to know and to not accept–because it was in my power to do so. This is as true today as then. To celebrate my love for animals (all animals) and my commitment to living aligned with my values, I spent the day at Catskill Animal Sanctuary with fellow vegan and food lover CandyPenny.
Catskill Animal Sanctuary is a bucolic 110 acres in New York’s Hudson Valley. It’s been a home to over 2,000 rescued farm animals since 2001. Though the expansive grounds are peaceful, the horrific stories of abuse and neglect need to remain forefront. Sanctuary Founder, Kathy Stevens, and her staff work tirelessly to be the voice of these animals. They provide medical care, legal care, and rehabilitation to the gentle, innocent souls of the farm–who, because of profit and consumer demand, were born to be abused and slaughtered.
We started our tour at these magical mushrooms. They stood tall and proud against the green ground with the scattered foliage. After consulting this interesting website, it seems to be the Shaggy Mane mushroom. Unfortunately only several remained after bulldozing toddler feet.
Here are Jangles and Peggy Sue, two rescues pigs enjoying their time now that they are safe. Nadine is in the background. There are over 100 million pigs killed each year for pork products. These wonderful animal individuals are 3 who survived. [learn more about how life is for most pigs]
Peggy Sue let us give her a belly rub.
What a gorgeous sanctuary for these pigs.
People eat so much chicken. This “healthy alternative” is a living, sentient being. 7 billion chickens are bred and slaughtered every year for food. Conditions for chickens used for food are absolutely despicable. The demand for chicken has risen tremendously; the average person eats 87 pounds of chicken a year [source]. And that is why conditions are absolutely despicable. The rescue chickens at the farm are franken-chickens. Unnaturally fattened up from being pumped with drugs. They’re now in need of daily medical care and missing feathers.
I really didn’t mean this post to be soapbox-y. But it angers me that so many don’t care what they contribute to with their dietary choices. And seeing these beautifully unique survivors finally at peace and thriving, I’m filled with a lot of emotion. Catskill Animal Sanctuary does such important work.
Each animal on the farm can feel pain, can comunicate, and can develop strong bonds. Each is a unique being. I’m always amazed when others are amazed when they experience an animal’s personality and unique traits. Why do we only extend some animals our appreciation and love (our beloved cats and dogs)? We can learn a thing or two from getting to know a turkey.
I’ve learned that chivalry is not dead. In the bird world at least. I learned that a lot of male birds protect their mates fiercely. Geese congregate to yell at their predators (in this case humans) while their mates swim safely yards behind them. Our tour guide Rebecca let us know that they have been known to protect their mates passionately, sacrificing their own safety to protect her. Roosters test food in bowls but then spit it out; they don’t eat a bite before the hens get what they need. And this turkey couple above. A cautious male turkey, feathers puffed and making warning noises, revolves around his mate. He was so nervous. And with good reason… come November, 45 million are slaughtered to be holiday centerpieces. [learn more about how life is for most turkeys]
Rebecca explained that a male turkey’s gorgeous neck and head can change color as his moods change. Fascinating!
I was so happy to be able to see some baby cows. These calves were huddled together in the back of a pen. Their beautiful black eyes looked cautiously as the tour group entered slowly. Some tour-goers were more concerned about not stepping in their doo-doo than taking in the sweet, calm energy of these calves. Knowing the heartbreaking cruelty of veal production, it was hard to care about some sh*t on my shoes. Calves are ripped from their mothers at birth and starved in narrow pens to minimize movement to keep their flesh soft and tender for people to eat. I want to live in a world where people care about these babies more than their shoes… which are probably made from the skin of the babies’ mothers.
Close siblings.
This beautiful cow may live out its natural life. 42 million cows, however, suffer horrid conditions on beef and dairy factory farms. It was my learning about how cow moms are inseminated and kept pregnant repeatedly, hooked to painful milking devices and given drugs to increase milk production, and slaughtered when their bodies give out after these vicious conditions and abuse. That is why I went vegan. As a young woman deciding what kind of woman I wanted to be. Others can have their cheese (that you “can’t give up”) and all of the drugs, pain, and torture that remain in it.
Meet Emmet. Emmet had free range access to the grounds on our visit. He was rescued from a crystal meth facility. The meth heads were using chickens to hide the stench of their illegal activity.
Also on the farm are horses. There is something about horses, isn’t there? Iconic strength and majesty. There is something different about horses’ suffering that gets to me. Maybe it’s their role in history, in the development of our United States. Maybe its their bodies, pinnacles of utility yet sleek and gorgeous.
These special horses were rescued from a mentally ill hoarder. She received a slap on her wrist for her abuse.
There were other animals who are usually out and about that remained in their pens. Rebecca thought this might be Hurricane Sandy-related.
This is the handsome Buddy, one of two blind horses on the farm. I don’t really know what to say about seeing an animal like Buddy. It was a bit overwhelming to me and I’ve welled up many times since thinking about him. I plan to read Kathy’s book Where The Blind Horse Sings to learn more about his life at the farm.
Through the years, folks have asked about why I don’t wear wool. Like most animal related products consumers use, there is indeed suffering involved. But most have a naive image of a gray-beared man gently shearing a massive sheep who “baaa”s lovingly (just as they think their milk comes from a healthy cows grazing on an expanse of grass by an Old McDonald fairy tale farmer). This site depicts the reality of wool production. Sheep are mistreated and abused. And there are tons of fabrics as warm, as stylish and as durable as wool that come from plants. And lest I hear a ridiculous argument that I am abusing plants as a vegetarian, they don’t feel pain, contrary to ridiculous (!) reporting on the New York Times.
A pretty lamb. This shirt says it perfectly: What Kind of an A**hole Eats a Lamb?
Here is another animal duo with a strong bond, parents to a little pony (below). It was amazing to see these two spring to action, protecting their baby from a loud-mouthed obnoxious human. CP and I suffered the ignorant commentary from this human during the entire tour. Her concern was having her wild toddler pet every animal as if the peaceful sanctuary for abused animals were a carnival petting zoo. She even declared during the tour that she “didn’t like animals.” (It was her toddler who stomped the mushrooms as well.) Anyway, these horses read her well and trotted between her rough hands and the pony as the tour came to an end.
Here is the sweet baby pony.
CandyPenny feeding the pony some greens.
“Hello there! Thanks for coming.”
The tour was coming to an end and Ozzie wanted to say goodbye. This potbellied pig was rescued from another animal hoarder. I found a bit about the court case here.
Last but not least, Jailbird, a spectacularly sweet best buddy to Emmet. Watch a bit about their story here.
It was a wonderful day at the farm. Having the opportunity to meet so many unique creatures with happy endings was inspiring and seeing the work of the passionate staff, humbling. I look forward to returning to the farm again and visiting my new friends. Please visit Catskill Animal Sanctuary to learn more about how to support their work.
Thank you for reading my thoughts and reflections on my visit. I hope you let at least a little of what you learned shape your actions in some way. I know soapboxing is not the most effective means of initiating change but 1) my veganism is a teenager so you know how that goes and 2) it’s my party and I cry if I want to! Happy Vegan Birthday to me!
Check out my slideshow of lessons learned after my 15th year (2011)…
I enjoy flipping through an old magazine looking at their advertisements. From my teenage years I was fascinated with exploring subliminal advertising in old liquor ads. I remember clearly seeing the “S E X” spelled out in a pile of ice cubes, the women–open-mouthed–holding many-a phallic object, and the far-fetched, hyper-idealized circumstances contained in the ads. Later, as I moved into an exploration of feminism, I criticized the place of women in these old ads: their simplification and objectification, how the ads promoted misogynist views and strengthened the “male-dominant paradigm” ["Raaar!!"] I know I am not alone in believing old advertising to be sociologically fascinating. And years of progress has helped many find amusement in ads like this [and take a look at these]. Unfortunately, not everyone extends such critical thinking on today’s advertisements. And they are just as ludicrous.
The blatant lies ought to be outlawed. Especially when they contribute to health problems. Like the old deceptive and misleading cigarette advertisements that touted cigarettes as healthy, with health claims from actual doctors. Now, with ad budgets bigger, companies can fund their own studies. But most don’t even need to. They’re, after all, a “trusted” brand. This is certainly true for processed food advertisements. With so many health problems related to eating a diet of processed food, “Big Food” is kind of the new “Big Tobacco.” And with brand loyalty, nostalgic associations, and easy convenience on their side, these big food companies thrive–at the price of their customers’ health.
This is, of course, big business. The Big Food companies pretty much own all the inside aisles of the supermarket. Though the variety of packages and brand names perpetrate real choice, it just isn’t so. With money to be had, Big Food has taken to buying up small, health-minded start-ups, hiding behind their established images of “all natural” and “eco-friendly” while they cut corners and contradict the product’s image (This is a great resource for creating a better grocery list.) It is, after all–like most everything where profit reigns, a nice image to hide all the ugliness. All of this rials me up quite a bit. ["Raaar!!" again]
That is why I was so interested to see this article in the NYTimes this morning. It seems lawsuits against food companies for deceptive labeling has begun. Although some frivolous (a lawsuit against General Mills by a consumer disappointed to learn crunch berries were not an actual fuit) to merited (a suit against Pam cooking spray for not disclosing the specific propellants contained in their product: petroleum gas, propane and butane.) Whether this trend is an example of lawyers following the buck or not, it is time giant food corporations begin to take some responsibility in misleading the public regarding the healthfulness of their products. It is downright sickening what these companies are allowed to pitch. And even more sickening when you consider the health problems and lifestyle illnesses that plague this country. There ought to be a law! But that wouldn’t be good for big business now would it.
Here are a list of lawsuits I’d like to see pending. And so I don’t have to purge all these rants to The Electrician constantly, I’ll keep growing this list:
Hamburger Helper [General Mills]: ”Sometimes it’s hard to cook a home cooked meal every night,” their advertisements say. Luckily, you have Hamburger Helper on your side. With a package of pink slime ground round and Hamburger Helper‘s packet of hydrolyzed, chemical flavorings, almighty ever-versatile corn syrup, hydrogenated genetically engineered soybean, and their nutritionally-void pasta, you can have an amazing “home-cooked meal.” Are you joking?
Lean Cuisine [Nestlé]: “Be culinary chic.” Yeah, sure. Culinary should never be associated with unpackaging a block of frozen processed food–hydrogenated genetically engineered soybean, high fructose corn syrup, and a long list of preservatives (see a trend here?), poking holes in cellophane and microwaving it. I hate this brand most especially as they target my peers and profit on their attempt in trying to eat healthfully, however misguided.
Getting into the swing of my cleanse, I spent Day 3 embracing it. I set the hammock up in the backyard to peruse the newspaper and then headed to the nail salon for a low-cost massage. My achey neck and shoulders certainly needed it. After juice #4, I began to break cleanse. I felt ready. And I also wanted to introduce solid good gradually and not be so restricted over the weekend.
So was it worth it? Definitely. I feel clean and fresh. That’s the only way I can describe it. The detox was for the benefit of my internal organs. Of course I can’t see the difference in my organs, but I really do feel it. I feel light and efficient, like I had a tune-up. Other benefits: I can tell that I did lose a few pounds. Although my activity level was minimal, I barely sweat. The end of the day low-grade musk was none existant. My oily skin and hair, which barely goes a few hours before greasing up, was not at all oily. I feel good. I can say that a dozen more times.
I am, however, a bit worried about transitioning fully back to solid foods. Saturday is, of course, bagel day. My weekendly toasted everything bagel with Earth Balance and Bonne Maman four fruits is one of my favorite parts of the week. I’ve had a lot of time to think about what I wanted to eat after this cleanse and I’ve had a lot of cravings during my cleanse. Carbohydrates, mostly.
The poor carbohydrate, always associated the refined flour, sweetener-pumped industrialized food product mega-processed food corporations dare to call “bread.” My general rule about bread is if it’s sold in the everyday supermarket, it’s crap, like most of what’s in there. Even the supermarket’s bakery pumps their bread with chemicals and sugars. That stuff should get a bad wrap, even more so the ones with catch-word of the day health claims printed on the bag: “Low Fat!” means a bunch of fake stuff added and some unnatural processing. “All-natural!” means absolutely nothing. “Whole Grains!” means, if they are in the everyday supermarket, that those are genetically engineered whole grains that have a host of harmful associations and, for the most part, remain untested and unlabeled. Sorry, I can rant on and on about how advertising pedals lies and products that are killing everybody… Back to carbs, I like my carbs like I like my movies, complex. Complex carbohydrates are the good guys.
I didn’t mean to veer off on that carb tangent. Nutritional ignorance is very harmful and yet advertising doesn’t allow us to know what is behind the products they make. They paint bogus images of farmers and pastures. But it’s mostly test tubes and dirty assembly lines. I will eat my bagel. Because it will be stale by the end of the day and that is normal and natural. Because it’s sweetened with molasses and that is normal and natural. My diet is mindful and healthful, with sprinklings of decadence… and that’s where the Earth Balance comes in.
No more juice!
My trip to the west coast was a gluttonous one. At some point during the trip, I realized a juice fast would be the only thing that could restore balance to my body after the West Coast Eating Extravaganza. I ordered a 3-day supply of HOHM juice from American Yogini, a retreat space on the North Fork of Long Island that specializing in raw cleanses. The juice would be Fedex-ed and ready upon my return. Today is the first day. No food, no coffee, just juice.
Juice 1: SECURITY [beets, celery, apple, lime, ginger]
Juice 2: CREATIVITY [carrot, orange, celery, yam, apple, lemon, ginger]
Juice 3: CONFIDENCE [pineapple, celery, cilantro, lemon, ginger]
Juice 4: LOVE [romaine, celery, green apple, lime, ginger]
Juice 5: COMPASSION [collards, kale, lime, green apple, celery, ginger]
Juice 6: COMFORT [almond mylk-almonds water, raw honey, vanilla]
Day 1 Reflections: The cleanse started easy. Cravings for solid food became strong as the progressed but it was bearable. But then came some irritating aches and pains. Then came some feverish bouts and some strong nausea, along with stronger aches and pains–and all-around general malaise. Eek, what was happening here? Several things really.
One is likely caffeine withdrawal. Headaches are the most common symptom of turning off, suddenly, the caffeine fix. I am not a huge coffee drinker but it seems I am certainly addicted.
Number two, I needed a lot more water. With so many toxins being released, I need to drink more water to flush them from my system. The process is called a cleanse for a reason. As I am detoxing, the toxins flood the blood causing these aches and pains. The stricter the cleanse, the stronger these symptoms occur. It seems as if my symptoms indicate a strong and fast detox… and if they become unbearable, which they did, I should slow the cleanse by nibbling on some cooked–veggies, grains, nothing processed. The point is to maintain the cleanse-a nibble on something to soothe these detox headaches and pains is better than giving up the cleanse completely out of growing physical discomfort, which I was ready to do.
I also need to understand what I am ingesting and what it is doing to my body. The juice portions are “one-size-fits-most.” As a petite woman I may not require the entire bottle of juice as a serving. It may be too much. The fruit and vegetable combinations pack a powerful punch, especially without the body multi-tasking with digestion. They help purify the blood, detoxify the liver, and draw toxins from the G.I. tract. I need to adjust how much I ingest as a full bottle may quicken my detox too much, bringing on adverse symptoms.
I need to help my body detox better by drinking more water, having a vigorous shower (as many toxins leave the body through the skin), mild yoga, and, most importantly, listening to my body. If I need to nibble on something to slow the cleanse down, I can’t feel like I am failing. (Or that I wasted a huge chunk of money on this juice!)
All-in-all, the discomforts of a cleanse are indicative of the need for the cleanse. Our bodies adapt to our environment, even if that means operating imbalanced and toxic. The longterm toxicity of our lifestyle choices are related to a whole assortment of cancers and heart disease–the deadly duo responsible for most of the deaths in this country. There will be no miracle pill to end the death toll of these conditions. No quick fix. Eat better and you’ll live better and longer. Of course, I’m no doctor. But then again doctors thrive on treatment (not prevention) so…
For further reading on detox side effects: read this article. It is a bit of a crazy rant but thought-provoking at moments… then crazy again.
Here’s to an easier day 2.
One of the most important ingredients in a great chocolate chip cookie is salt. Sure, many know that real vanilla extract blows the artificial stuff out of the water, that a high quality oils, sweeteners, chocolate make for a better end product, yes. But many don’t give much thought to the salt that goes into almost every recipe. Sometimes, a salt is just not worth its salt.
In an ideal world, we would all pay a bit more for the things we put into our body… and a little bit less for what we put on the outside of our bodies. “You get what you pay for” is most definitely true when it comes to food and yet many find the deep sales of the processed food and fast food big wigs appealing. $3.99 for 6 pieces of chicken, side of fries and a soft drink and $100 for a pair of shoes? To me, that is very odd… I spend a lot of money on food.
So let’s talk about this salt. The 9 0z. jar costs $14.95. Gathered from salt marshes in France’s Île de Ré only 3 months out of the year, when the sun is at its peak strength, these little crystalline rocks are very intense. They have an ocean bite, like licking your lips after a day at the beach. Gorgeous in their pure, singular taste. I knew for sure I’d have to make chocolate chip cookies. And they were delectable.
I’ve been called a snob many times in my life. But I’ll get back to that.
As a budding adult, in weird‘s last true gasp, I found transitional identities that touched each of my developing ideals. Being straightedge was more than a penchant for guys with shaved heads, it was a declaration. Just like punk, indierock, Riot Grrrl–they all had a stance, a declared point of view. Their battle cries were my own as I wrestled with what the world was and who I was as a young adult in that world. My tastes were born of thought–critical thought–and an obsessive dissection of feeling. The offshoot, predominantly my taste in music, was the most important part of my growing up. To feel at home in a song, to feel confusion captured, mitigated and delivered back to me, soothingly, through the grainy threads of an uneven vinyl disc…that was everything. I spent hours in record stores, seeking the musical accompaniment for the marked chaos of my late teens. The reward was discord, validation, the expansion of thought and of feeling: growth. And you needed skill and time and instinct for that reward. (Which is why the internet generation suffers from a severe lack of “cool,” for lack of a better word. Google search surface-level savants, they are!) So… if you listened to crap, to me, it meant you didn’t think enough or your thoughts were simple enough to be appeased by mass-produced, trite pop music… I know, I know. I’ve been called a snob before. Because I connected one’s cerebral functioning and emotional depth with his/her taste in music. It was generalization, admitedly. But it was corroborated often enough to hold water.
Now I know very well that musical taste is, in fact, telling, I also know that so are a million other things–the combinations of which are endlessly fascinating in another being. Although I am more open and adaptable than my teenage self, I must admit that my experiences have given way to more specific anecdotal observations, though more tongue-in-cheek: “I’ve never disliked anyone who liked Leonard Cohen.” (It’s true.) “Plastic surgery kills credibility.” (It does.) “Personality microcosm: The style in which ones drives an automobile.” (Mostly true.) These observations are lighter. However, still, embedded in each is a little bit of declaration. I am still analytical, after all. And as an introvert, I think a lot more than I find opportunity to express. (Hence, this blog)
This takes me to “You are what you eat,” which I believe to be very true. It is here where my passion for good food, my disdain for the industrial food system, and my frustration in what others find to be acceptable sources of nourishment join forces to rial me up considerably, just as they did when I was 15, almost 20 years ago, when I went vegetarian. So I’ve been called a snob again… And, in a way, I see the connection. Like my teenage self, I think about things thoroughly and adapt my choices to align with my values. And also like my teenage self, I adamantly disagree with the mass majority. It matters what you eat. For your health, the health of the environment, the health of your family; for the billions of abused and mistreated animals, for the billions of slaughtered animals; for sustainable and fair business practices, for real and safe food choices, to fight nutritionally void processed food pushed onto with deceptive labeling and advertising–it matters what you eat. I embrace this inarguable fact. I think I deserve better food. So I guess I am a snob. But you deserve better food, too. We should all be snobs about what we put in our bodies.
Nothing would supplement this post more appropriately than the rest of my farmers market goodies. Golden beets. Yes, they are “Earthy” but why is that fantastic? I feel like Scarlett O’Hara eating that little carrot from the ground when I eat a beet, a pivotal turning point in the film. Sure, I am romanticizing it a bit but I do feel a bit of triumph.
Beet, with your tentacles long and your distributary roots many, I kind of love you.
With huge sugar-snap peas, blanched and coated lightly, you get two veggies in one: the firm container and the innards, a row of peas perfectly untouched by man. With my beets, a quick whip of organic potatoes, and a protein piece on the most gloriously bitter arugula, a well-balanced meal. Diversity, goodness, pure sustenance- I am what I eat!
With two pints of local berries to utilize, one can flirt with decadence freely. I adapted the Natural Gourmet Institue‘s recipe for vanilla blueberry cupcakes to make these little baby pancake cupcakes, trying out my Babycakes small appliance for the first time since my mom bought it for for Christmas a while ago. These little babies have the reminiscent bite of Entemann’s Little Bites blueberry muffins. Must be the sweetness factor: there’s cane sugar, maple syrup and agave nectar that’s in the recipe. Triple sweet but cut with organic whole wheat-I am what I eat!
I used the rest of the batter in the traditional cupcake tin. Gorgeous.
Rainer cherries were born in Washington, named for the mighty Mount Rainier. I find it kind of neat that 1/3 of Rainer cherries are eaten by birds (Thanks, wiki).
I, however, used them in scones, cherry-blueberry-almond scones, though I probably wouldn’t bake with them again. They are sweet and subdued, way less tart than Bing cherries, traditionally in cherry pies.
I have long been fascinated by men. Sure, as a woman, aren’t we all? They’re are from Mars, right? A whole other type of human being. Biologically speaking, of course we know there are those different parts but it’s more than that. The Y chromosome has its function. Make a male… male. But the aftermath? There’s my fascination. Men,now. What was once black and white is now a milky grey. With the once-bolded borders of gender roles dissipated, how is masculinity evolving in a culture that has degraded and simplified it (Thank you, mass media outlets) while empowering women with more choice, utility, and adaptability. What will happen to the man?
As a teacher, I see it in the classroom. Resilient, precocious young ladies code-shifting with ease; communicating effectively; taking information, interpreting it, and applying it with flexibility. And isn’t this what life becomes in the end? Fundamentally, our life is a progression of applying knowledge (gained in any number of ways but most potently through direct experience) to new situations and communicating purposefully. Speaking in generalities, most if not all tasks in life can be broken down to this process. Of course new situations multiply in complexity as we grow older, as do the millions of other peripheral variables, in-born and environmental, that either help or hinder growth of or access to knowledge. So knowledge, or knowing, is the raw material–our utilization of it–or lack thereof in some cases, is behind all we do.
But the knowing has to be allowed to move through us openly so it may allow us to feel. Romantic idealism aside, our lives, really, exist inside our brains–our ability to translate stimuli into something our brain can use personally. Life is feeling… And feeling is something that women have always been more comfortable with. How this came to be may be within the distinct power of the male throughout history–his action–or, conversely, the historical inward existence of women who’ve only found free expression in more modern times with the popular feminist movement. (We’ve endured different battles, and for different durations.) Or maybe it’s within the very strands of DNA, our chromosomes, that which give us our outward sexual characteristics determining a host of related traits. Some of these traits have evolved as more adaptable than others. Or more adapted to the times, I should say. Ironically, they say the Y chromosome is losing genes, degenerating–deteriorating even. I can’t help but compare this to men’s existence in modern day. Where the kill is in the grocery store, institutional monogamy curbs their instincts, and they are flooded with feelings for which they’ve not yet found a use. A man’s function, which is his forte, fogs in the years of shifting gender dynamics. So where will they end up, our beloved men?
If they’re lucky they end up matched with one in need of their kind of strength, their unique abilities, in tacit celebration of finding their most perfect use. If they’re unlucky, they’ll be in limbo, finding superficial identity in a variety of host bodies, victims of suggestion. Media, marketing, women, different men: each pressure the man to find an identity that makes sense for the times and to assimilate appropriately and neatly. Such crash courses in identity are manufacturing a fickle breed of men, impatient and unstable–lost within a world of emotions they’ve just now been allowed to pronounce as their own. I mean this in the most unpatronizing way: poor men.
“Men are such jerks.” Well, yes, it seems that way sometimes. But not everyone responds to adversity in a dignified way. Women are jerks too, in different ways. But often what these jerks validate in each other, together, is the perpetuation of a culture that celebrates “jerkness.” Is it their fault though? Or is it these times wreaking havoc? Times that simplify, package and exploit what it is to be a man/a woman in order to make a profit, dissolving the human experience by mass marketing it, turning life into a series of Cliff Notes study guides. Gosh, this all sounds very dismal but, well, isn’t it?
There is a light at the tunnel though. Women are beginning to miss men, real men–or fictionalized, nostalgic views of men at least. Maybe they’ll make a comeback. “Men are back.” What a tagline. I think I heard that in a car commercial. Let’s hope ridiculous advertising dictates life this one time.
Author’s note: I was happy to learn that there is such thing as the Masculist movement… but than disappointed to learn it seems more of a direct response to feminism, like Al Bundy and Jefferson Darcy’s No Ma’am. Oh boy.
Like its name implies, Long Island is looong. Heading east from my starting point in Freeport, it’s almost 100 miles to Montauk Point (a.k.a. The End). With a year-round Hamptons local as my guide, I spent the day on this long stretch of road, searching for vegan eats but finding a stroll down memory lane… intersecting with an onslaught of beachside development homogenizing a once charming escape from the concrete jungle.
With weekend warriors still crawling slowly back west, most spots were crowded with undesirables… you know, affluent snobs, bad drivers and the like. It takes a charming farm stand to remember why you’re out there in the first place: the smell of local strawberries; the uneven, bulbous parts of an organic Heirloom tomato; fruit and vegetables without little stickers on a waxed coating.
An internet search for vegan eats on the East End was unfruitful. The few listings I had found had closed. One menu I did manage to peruse beforehand was Provisions in Sag Harbor, which seemed to have a bit for two vegans to work with. We stopped at the busy market and cafe hybrid for lunch and left a bit uninspired.
Despite the collection of seasonings and fixings available in the inefficient lay-out of the cafe, my food was quite bland. My tofu scramble wrap was seasoned with turmeric for color and nothing for taste. It was very 90′s vegan to me: healthful and animal-free, sure, but not exactly delicious. The sausage links, which counterperson claimed were vegan, were surely of the packaged variety. Lightlife sausage contain egg and profit ConAgra. Morningstar, which the sausage resemble the most, contain egg. My presumption: the sausage is likely not vegan. Ew.
My $17 wrap, sausage and packaged pie seemed to be a tremendous waste of money, like the $9 smoothie my friend purchased, until I tasted said packaged pie. The Hail Merry Miracle Tart in Persian Lime was ridiculously good! It was like a soft, smooth Larabar with a delicate texture and tongue-tingling taste. This raw treat’s ingredient list read like erotic literature to my ears.
Dear cold-pressed coconut oil, I love you.
Our next stop was Joni’s in Montauk, a charming sandwich, salad and smoothie stop for hungry surfer locals and newbie resort goers. Again, the menu was 90′s style vegetarian: bared bones basics and very reliant on dairy. But these menu holes were filled with personality and the unique energy of founder Joni.
We split the Thai Me Up!–marinated tofu with shredded veggies wrapped in rice paper with a side of peanut dipping sauce. They were cool and crisp, hitting the spot. I can do without all this plastic packaging however.
Also on the menu, fresh coconut for a delicious, refreshing sip of wonder.
Naturally Good Foods and Cafe has been open in Montauk since 1985 and it is likely that their menu of food hasn’t changed since. The cafe offers more early vegetarian-ish options: rice and beans, vegetable wraps, cheese and tuna filled sandwiches. They do offer bagels with soy butter and jelly as well as the tofu scramble wrap that seems to be the veg-menu staple out East.
What is forefront on these Eastern Long Island menus is a focus on fresh vegetables, which surrounding farms supply them with, and not necessarily food craft (how pretentious that sounds!) or attention to taste. There is something to be said for a simple menu but not so much when other elements aren’t aligned (packaged foods added, fresh foods wrapped in packaged wraps, etc.)
My next trip east will include a trip to one of the many farm stands and a trip to my friend’s kitchen to have my way with the fresh produce. Then I’ll only have myself to complain about.
Living in the shiny apple of the Tri-state area, I don’t get to New Jersey very often. But in the search of sun and sustenance not-so far from home, I was surprised at how plenty the Jersey Shore was with vegan options. It was time to return to the Jersey Shore.
Before the words “Jersey Shore” conjured up a shudder, thanks to a television reality program, it brought to mind the summers my family spent there. A Swing Ride that suspended you right off the boardwalk and over the salty ocean, the rotating cylinder in a fun house, ketchup and mustard color. It was a summer weekend destination, one of the few. This trip would add to my positive associations with New York’s neighboring state–in the form of delicious food.
Good Karma Cafe in Red Bank, New Jersey was our first destination. With a hectic start and empty bellies, CandyPenny and I saved ourselves for lunch-proper at noon at this all-vegan (I love those words) cafe in Red Bank, a borough of Monmouth County.
The cafe has a wide array of vegan items on its menu, including live foods, hearty sandwiches and Asian-inspired entrees. Vegetables are on the forefront of this menu, as they should be, but their accompanying tempeh, seitan and housemade cheese are wonderful partners of well-done deliciousness. We started with their Queso & Nacho Chips, a generous portion of blue corn tortilla chips with a warm, scrumptious bowl of their nutritional yeast-packed cheese.
Inside the pool of nooch is a small dollop of their cashew sour cream, also housemade, and pico de gallo.
There are certain opportunities one must never pass up. Ordering a Reuben when it’s offered is one such opportunity. The Reuben appeals to all that draws me to sandwiches: it’s hearty-almost always a two-hand sandwich, it’s sweet (dressed with the sweet tang of Thousand Islands dressing, one of Karma Cafe’s many great dressing choices), it’s sour with a ton of that pickled good stuff and it’s always on the most flavorful breads. Mine is served with a side salad and the zing of carrot-ginger.
Good Karma was a great first stop. Their food is flavorful and thoughtfully prepared. Housemade items speak volumes for an eatery’s passion for food. It rubs me the wrong way to be served something I know came straight from a package. In the wake and spread of convenient vegan groceries, from cheeses to dressings to flavor-sealed tempeh and sausages, I’d prefer the skill of a chef (or line cook) in determining their plates. Ok, New Jersey. What else you got?
but, this time, I was a little scared to. The NY Time’s article on how it’s the new “anti-Hamptons”–the boardwalk being the “new Bedford Avenue”–seemed to promise a mob of hipsters… and local backlash of the influx threatened an old fashioned culture clash, ripe with all the associated generalizations. Diehipster.com‘s rant on how the Rockaway locals hate the new swarm of hipsters had a comment strand that clumped vegetarians with the dreaded H-word. As a vegetarian excited about checking out the new concessions at the beach, as a seemingly young and definitely tattooed girl traveling with a man with a beard who is prone to Slacker-like verbal pontifications, I had cinematic visions of an encounter with violence as a group of locals mistake that fact that they just noticed me with the idea that I am part of the new mass of beach-goers.
But I was pleasantly relieved to have a great day at the beach. There were locals and there were hipsters; there were families of all types. Everyone enjoying the gorgeous day, everyone considerate of their space and noise level and everyone, all walks, enjoying the tasty new concessions. Plenty of choices, plenty of tastes. Not much to complain about at all.
Just a taste of the new Rockaway concessions.
Rockaway Taco is fresh, flavorful Mexican-inspired food. Their boardwalk location offers an abridged menu of delicious finger foods but, sadly, no tofu taco. {For more info and pictures of that tofu taco, check out the post I did on them last summer and their mothership location on Beach 95th.} I opted for the bean tostada with guacamole. So darn good.
First, Babycakes was on the L.E.S… then it branched to Los Angeles… then Disney World in Orlando, FL… then Rockaway Beach. And now it’s also available in the Legends Suite at Yankees Stadium. This Babycakes location has a variety of rotating sweet treats. On my visit I saw: chocolate-covered frozen Mounds-like treats, waffles, frozen brownies, mini-donuts and ice cream. I went for the 3 mini-donuts for $3.00.
Ode to the Elephants makes the dream a reality: Thai on the beach on this hemisphere. Vegan offerings are slim but they’ve got mango and sticky rice. Oh, how I love thee. I gobbled up this $6 with lightening speed. It was one of the best I’ve had in the States because of that drizzle of super-sweet coconut cream draped on top.
What a great addition to the beach. If there is an upside to gentrification, it’s a variety of healthier and delicious food options all can enjoy. Extended latent adolescence marked by Neon green Ray Ban acts of rebellion and a craving for attention or not, I’m going to enjoy the good eats in Rockaway. Lord knows the hipsters have filled up Williamsburg with a ton of meat-heavy “New American” restaurants with intense one-word names that have nothing for me. But let’s clear up the confusion, hip-types at Rockaway is not a new thing, contrary to the NY Times reporting. In fact, the NY Times reporting something is a sure-fire indication that said-tidbit is not new. Remember the Ramones song? That came out in 1977. The onslaught of superficial image-obsessed young people goes hand-in-hand with the degrading values reinforced by the Idiocracy of popular culture. There’s putrid run-off rearing everywhere. It’s unfortunate that real New Yorkers who have been kept safe by the mighty Empire, the shiny red apple, face this truth now too. And I sound like my Dad.
I don’t find myself above 14th street on the east side very often. Besides the senior I visit, there is no reason to be. I also dislike the 4/5/6 train. I dislike the screech of it entering stations; I dislike its path… how it’s always at an arctic temperature of -12 degrees. I try to avoid it, even taking snail-like crosstown buses to reach more plentiful and comfortable subway lines. But on a gorgeous summer day I decided I’d try the East River Ferry. From the midtown terminal at the FDR, I hopped on a ferry at 4:29 and arrived awed and sufficiently windblown in North Williamsburg at 4:45. That’s right: 15 minutes from midtown east in Manhattan to my home across the East River. I found my new favorite way of getting around New York City.
The views were magnificent. Spy the U.N. building and the Queensboro Bridge (which is apparently now the Ed Koch Queensboro Bridge, named after the Mayor of New York City during the entirety of my childhood). There were only about 7 or 8 passengers who made the voyage across the river with me after I stepped off the free NY Waterways bus–a couple of savvy commuters, a family, some tourists, some hipsters.
The northbound East River Ferry first stops in Long Island City, where those high-rises are peeking out. It’s such a quick ride. No reason to head to the hot and sticky tunnels with the masses when you can travel by boat. Given the development of the waterfront areas in in Queens and Brooklyn, it won’t be long before all those fresh-faced high-risers get their Applebee’s and Olive Gardens just like back home. So jump on the boat before it’s too late!
I love being near the water, on the water and in the water. I could never live inland. People say you’re either Beatles or Elvis, crunchy peanut butter or creamy, but you’re also either pool or beach. Natural water, unpredictable, enveloping, furious, infused with life… or concrete and chemicals. Easy choice.
Good bye, East Side. I’m heading across the river.
My Empire state.
The Williamsburg Bridge.
Second stop is Greenpoint. Notice the crane there too. Uh-oh.
My vessels drops me to an unfamiliar part of Brooklyn: the Williamsburg waterfront. The ferry continues to South Williamsburg, then D.U.M.B.O. and ont Wall Street, back in Manhattan. The Friday Loop, however, continues to Brooklyn’s lower harbor in the gorgeous Brooklyn Bridge Park.
Look at it! It’s unrecognizable. Insert token story of how different the Williamsburg used to be in 1993 or 1994 when speaker used to cut school to thrift shop at Domesy’s.
Ah New York, I feel like this post is all over the place. What started as an excited report of the ferry grew rant-like. I’m enthused still with you, still, but worried too. You see New York, I’m getting more resistant to change–because like the rest of the world–your change is for quicker, simpler, trashier and profit-tier. Those shiny, new highrises look awkward on you. You’re old, rooted in rebellion, strife, seediness, an energy unmatched. Now, not so much. It used to be that you could avoid Times Square and, in essence, avoid homogeneity and its take-over. But it’s creeped in. And it is wearing neon green Ray-Bans.
I wrote this ode in August of 2009. I’m “reprinting” it today as I am struck by the realization that I’ve grown to need Radiolab… for support, for inspiration, for a connection–in a world where the homogenized, trite and shrill voice of mainstream culture succeeds in alienating me.
In my elementary, middle and high school education I excelled more in the language arts and humanities. I wrote my way out of atrocious grades, learning early that one writing assignment could compensate for a term’s worth of lacklusterness. As a tight-lipped introverted wallflower extraordinaire or, later, the queen of truancy, the voice I expressed through writing had always been my saving grace. It still is now in many ways at Columbia, my job and my personal life.
But alas, I did very poorly in high school, barely graduating because of gym deficiencies, way too many absences and horrid grades in my science and math classes. In my senior year I was taking college level fine art and 10th grade math. In science, I was even further behind, much to the frustration of my 2-year chemistry teacher, Ms. Riew. But I pulled through, spending my junior and senior years with the underclassmen in my math and science classes and, finally, passing the state regents exams.
English, history, psychology, sociology: these disciplines are conveyed through language and, in many ways, story telling. But math and science were foreign languages to me, languages expressed in technical terms and enigmatic mathematical code, languages I could not master because I could not experience them (or didn’t realize I was). Math and science instruction during that time was not the media-rich, inquiry-based active learning that happens now in good science classrooms. It was not connected to me in a way that was clear and discernible. Combine that with the egocentricity of adolescence, and I became a science/math drop-out.
As years passed I left the confines of viewing the world through me, myself and I and began to see the patterns of human behavior as symptoms of much larger forces, inspired by the mysterious simplicity and routines within nature and biology. This mind frame seemed to evolve purposefully as a sort of coping mechanism. It helped me through the ebb and flow of my life as I had the habit of taking myself and my failures very seriously. So science became everyday as my natural curiosity hunted for reason, logic and consequence under the complex and seemingly random. I wondered all the time and found great pleasure in deconstructing that which I had taken for granted: my breath, my feelings, my relationships with other life. The me in these inquiries was just a humble beginning in which to enter the expansive and far more interesting realms of biology, neuroscience, ecology, biochemistry, etc. *Nerd alert*: There seemed to be something romantic about being so helpless to these giant forces.
Yadda yadda yadda… so Radiolab, a podcast put out by WNYC, has perfected science narrative. Combining the mystery and romance of science phenomenon with language and story telling, Radiolab delivers science in its most penetrating state: not watered down, not dry, but infused with the human experience: passion, curiosity, humor, emotion. Each episode is an exploration of a single topic (sleep, stress, time, choice, love, laughter, etc) and includes commentary from leaders in the field, amongst other inspiring and fascinating anecdotes that affirm and illuminate while simultaneously shrinking us to our natural state: not-so simple machines in the grand schemes of science and nature.
Vegan Reporting By Location
