Fat is beautiful

My stroll through the electronic press this morning yielded an irresistible link: How To ... Make salad dressings. The Associated Press, in an effort to educate us all, writes that it’s much healthier and tastier to make our own salad dressings. No argument from me on that, but they tell me it’s healthier because (drum roll) I can reduce the fat when I make my own.

Now, I understand as well as anyone the importance of keeping calories under control (remember how I lost weight?), but categorically deeming all fats bad isn’t the answer. You see, we need fats, especially essential fatty acids (there’s a reason they’re called essential!). There is mounting evidence that our obsession with cutting all fats and our economically-driven industrialization of the food chain is throwing our fat intake out of whack, and contributing to things like heart disease. The healthy 1:1 or even 2:1 balance of omega-6 and omega-3 fats has been replaced by a whopping 20:1 or 30:1, largely due to consumption of grain-fed meats and highly-processed foods.

In this light, the AP’s technique of using reduced fat ingredients such as nonfat buttermilk and nonfat sour cream give me pause. Originally, buttermilk was the naturally low-fat product that remained after churning butter; now it’s made by culturing nonfat milk from grain fed cows. Sour cream used to be cream from these same happy cows, with enzymes added to sour it, but the current nonfat version from one commercial dairy has a far more involved ingredients list: Cultured Pasteurized Grade A Skim Milk, Modified Food Starch, Cream, Sugar, Pea Starch, Natural Flavor and Vitamin A Palmitate. In both cases, the traditional product came from a cow that grazed on grass, which contributed to the omega-3 side of the equation; our current grain feeding practices tilt the balance greatly toward the omega 6 side.

And for most bottled dressings, we can’t blame fat alone. A glance at the ingredients list for a “healthy” popular fat-free salad dressing should frighten any thinking person: Water, Vinegar, High Fructose Corn Syrup, Corn Syrup, Salt, Contains less than 2% of Parmesan Cheese, Part-Skim Milk, Cheese Culture, Salt, Enzymes, Garlic, Onion Juice, Whey, Phosphoric Acid, Xanthan Gum, Potassium Sorbate and Calcium Disodium EDTA as preservatives, Yeast Extract, Spice and Red Peppers, Lemon Juice Concentrate, Garlic, Buttermilk, Caramel Color, Sodium Phosphate, Enzymes, Oleoresin Paprika.

Compare this to a traditional homemade salad dressing: one part Dijon mustard, one part vinegar, six parts oil, salt & pepper. I first learned this standing in a Frenchwoman’s modest kitchen. She made this most basic vinaigrette at the bottom of the salad bowl while the freshly-washed lettuce was draining in the spinner. Since all the ingredients are shelf-stable (real Dijon mustard needs no refrigeration), they sat right there on the counter, handy for every meal. I went home and tried it, and was sold; with time, I have learned to vary it with my mood: substituting different oils and vinegars, of course, but also using things like lemon juice and soy sauce or maple syrup, and adding different herbs and spices. Oh, and real, organic cream when the whim strikes me.

Every day is Earth day

When I went to pick up my books and DVDs at the library yesterday, there was a big white easy-up with a banner proclaiming that I could get an Earth Kit. A smiling volunteer pushed a small stickered brown paper bag and a spindly dogwood seedling into my already overflowing arms.

I tucked these parcels, along with my borrowed entertainment into my 1992 Volvo wagon. The weekend library run is usually Darling Husband’s purvey, but he wasn’t going downtown otherwise, so I stopped on my way back from driving Number One Son to orchestra rehearsal (he carpools home).

After I got home, I emptied out the bag, which proclaims, “Change Climate Change!” and “Making small changes today can make big changes tomorrow,” along with a prominent display of the sponsors.

First out of the bag are two compact fluorescent bulbs. I’ve read that we’re at the tipping point on light bulbs, but our family has been using them for at least ten years, and I’ve only had to actually purchase two myself, since the utility company seems to give them out regularly (I had to buy a round globe-type so the lampshade would fit, since the freebies are almost always the spiral type). I’ll replace the burnt-out incandescent in the bathroom, and add the other one to the stockpile. The bulbs come packaged in boxes, and one is in a plastic sleeve inside the box.

There’s a tire gauge in the bag, and an admonition to keep my tires inflated for better mileage. After spending a month in $6-a-gallon Europe, it’s ironic that we should talk about tire pressure instead of our choices about cars and lifestyles. Both of our admittedly older cars—cars chosen for their balance of economy (28 mpg) and safety (four stars)—already have good-quality American-made tire gauges in the glove box. Keeping them tuned so they will last longer and taking the bus when we can is also part of our carbon-footprint reduction plan. I now have one new, Chinese pencil tire gauge—with plastic five valve caps in the bubble package. I somehow doubt the person down the street who just bought a new SUV will be interested, so I’ll add it to the pile of excess stuff slated for Freecycling/charity.

The dogwood tree seedling is very welcome, and it’s Weyerhauser label and plug shape reminds me of the time my father ordered a box of Ponderosa Pine seedlings from the Forestry Service to re-plant trees lost to an invasive beetle. For two years, he hand-watered them through the long, arid summers; fifteen years later, a good number have survived to grow taller than their patron, a legacy to his determination to leave things better than he found them. Our dogwood is tucked in our small Douglas Fir and Western Red Cedar grove, watered in with the same care my father quietly taught by example.

The bag also contains yet another refrigerator magnet from the hospital with reminders of what I can to save the planet, my health and money. There’s also a magnet for ecodeals.org (I find one of these already on the water heater, which is where I’ve been storing these things, since they can’t be recycled), and a small stack of full-color brochures. One of the brochures sounds positively Carter-esque, admonishing us to turn down the thermostat a couple of degrees; most, however, are about where I can buy energy-friendly consumer items.

And here’s where it becomes incongruous to me: none of the prose suggests things such as foregoing purchasing stuff to begin with (and then paying to store it) or eating more vegetarian or locally-sourced meals. And the bag, while full of good ideas, is still a bag of goods that had to be produced. One flyer tells me that 1,000 of these packets were put together for free distribution: that's 5,000 little plastic valve caps shipped here from China, and about 220 pounds of paper packaging and brochures that will end up in the waste stream (let's hope folks recycle them!). In the end, the only items that will actually be used in our household are the two light bulbs and the tree: everything else has been sorted and recycled or discarded.