The Lost Art of Feeding Kids - Minestrone

The Lost Art of Feeding Kids: What Italy Taught Me About Why Kids Need Real Food

By Jeannie Marshall

240 pages, Beacon Press, 2014

When I spotted Jeannie Marshall’s The Lost Artof Feeding Kids, I felt that not only did I need to read it, I needed to go against my usual pattern of letting a new book gather dust on my bookshelf for months or even years before getting around to it. Because I have a kid I need to feed, and although I believed I was doing a decent job at it, it couldn’t hurt to get more information, or at least validation. I’ve said it before: I detest parenting books. The idea of a manual for raising your child irks me. But I have seen so many picky toddlers, so many little (and not so little) ones who seem to subsist on junk food and empty calories, that I made an exception for this one. It’s not really a parenting book anyway, more like a manifesto.

So, what did I learn? I am indeed doing a decent job at feeding my toddler. But according to this book, I could be doing better.

Marshall’s main insight in her well-written, generally engaging book, is that food cultures are essential to people’s health. Food cultures are generated in much the same way as cultures in general: from prolonged habitation of geographical areas. Food cultures, Marshall writes, are inherently local, because for the longest time people could not travel much or import much food, and thus had to make do with what was close at hand. Over time, through observation, trial and error, people discovered which combinations of ingredients, or which way of growing and preparing certain foods kept them in good health. People knew nothing about nutrients or calories, but they knew from experience what worked, and passed this knowledge along to the following generations. Marshall demonstrates that whenever a food culture is disrupted, either through a forced change in agriculture or the forced importation of non-local or (especially) processed food, its people’s health suffers in unpredictable ways.

Marshall spends many pages lamenting the power of the processed food industry, in particular the manner in which it targets young children and influences them into craving their products. This, of course, is not new information, and neither are the alarming numbers she gives on childhood obesity and all its corollary illnesses. What is original about this book is how it consistently ties these problems back to the disappearance of food cultures and the knowledge they contain.

Marshall correctly points out that the realization of the obesity problem, particularly in North America, has enhanced the scientific discourse surrounding the way we eat: we no longer eat food, we consume calories and nutriments. When we look at a peach, we no longer see a delicious, sweet, juicy treat, we see fibre and vitamins. This outlook is better than complete ignorance about nutrition, but it secures us in the false knowledge that a diet of vitamin-enhanced processed foods can keep us healthy. In reality, Marshall writes, nothing can replace eating real, whole foods: they contain nutrients that combine in ways we haven’t figured out yet, but which add up to a level of well-being that a processed food diet cannot reproduce. In other words, Marshall is most likely horrified by Soylent.

While I agree with most of Marshall’s points, and find the concept of food cultures very interesting, the book does not give all the solutions to the problems it so well outlines (nor should we expect it to). To return to my own personal perspective, I thought my family was eating quite well, and didn’t expect to feel personally concerned by some of these problems. We cook for ourselves practically every night, which according to Marshall’s bleak portrayal of North American kitchens is an accomplishment in itself. But here is what a typical weekly menu at our place looks like:

Monday: veal Milanese, salad

Tuesday: mackerel filets in a butter and mustard sauce, zucchini

Wednesday: black-bean quesadillas

Thursday: Vietnamese lemongrass chicken, snap peas

Friday: homemade burgers, salad

Saturday: Thai shrimp curry, rice

Sunday: gazpacho, cheese tartines

It’s not too bad, I think. We try to have vegetarian meals two or three times a week, we try to limit the red meat and the fried stuff, and when we do have something crispy, we fry it ourselves. But you’ll notice that there is absolutely no regional coherence to our menu: our recipes are Italian, French, Mexican, Thai, Vietnamese, Spanish, and others not featured here. I used to think that was an unequivocally good thing. I want my son to be able to appreciate different cuisines, and this ethnic diversity in our kitchen means that we don’t have to eat the same thing over and over. In fact, I have often wondered what it must have been like for housewives before “ethnic” cuisines broke through their regional borders: I would have a hard time sticking to just French or Italian recipes for even a week.

Yet this culinary diversity that I love so much is, if Marshall is right, a factor in the destruction of wholesome food cultures: by not following local culinary traditions, I am taking part in making them forgotten. I’m tempted to argue that food cultures have never been static, and can recover from change. Think of the tomato that we so associate with Italian cooking: it only started growing in Europe in the sixteenth century, after it was brought back from South America. But then, it was well-suited to the Italian climate and could be cultivated there, which enabled it to become a part of the Italian food culture. Today, rather than attempt to grow non-native plants and fruit, we are more likely to fly them in from across the world, to the detriment of local food cultures.

                                    

All the same, I think the benefits of immigration and culinary cross-pollination are not to be belittled: discovering new people, traditions and cuisines can turn us into better, more open-minded people – not to mention more content, because eating a variety of delicious things generally makes people happier. And I believe that learning new ways to combine flavours can ultimately improve our relationship with food. I also don’t think our use of fish sauce and cumin is primarily responsible in the decline of food cultures. As mentioned, Marshall correctly points out the two main culprits: the processed food industry and the breakdown in cross-generational passing down of culinary information. Of course, both are related.

The problem is evident even where infants are concerned. When I had my son, my mother was adamant that I should give him sugar water to help him thrive, because that was what was recommended by doctors when I was born. My reaction was: Why would I give sugar to a perfectly healthy baby? Similarly, my mother-in-law kept insisting that I give my son a bottle every now and then, instead of breastfeeding, arguing that her doctor had advised it when she had given birth. I, for my part, had been reading up on breastfeeding, and knew that even the occasional bottle can screw up the process in the early days. Both of these women’s hearts were in the right place: they wanted to help. But the scientific discourse they had absorbed had trumped common sense and what generations before them knew from experience: that a healthy infant really doesn’t need anything other than breastmilk.

As it turned out, however, breastfeeding was complicated in our case. I ended up having to give my son formula supplements after all, to help him gain weight, and had to see a lactation consultant, who gave me many tips and recommendations over several weeks. One day, as I left her office, I asked her why breastfeeding seemed so complicated, even though it had kept infants alive for millennia before formula was invented. Her answer was that, because women were told for a few decades that formula was not only convenient, but better for babies, some knowledge about breastfeeding was lost between generations, and we were only beginning to get it back.

I think what we went through is quite representative, on a smaller scale, of what Marshall analyses regarding food cultures. The advent of processed baby formula and its “scientifically proven” advantages, coupled with its convenience, led to the breakdown in transgenerational communication. Similarly, the convenience of processed, so-called “healthy” food led to less cooking, and thereby less teaching of how to cook.

But how do we get out of this mess? Can we rebuild lost food cultures? Sadly, I don’t think this is possible at this point, at least not in North America, and the book seems to agree with me (although the author believes European food cultures are still salvageable). Although Marshall deplores the scientific discourse surrounding food today, I think it is, for now at least, one of the most viable ways for us to recreate healthy eating patterns in adults (children are a different matter). Marshall is correct when she underlines how the processed food industry plays on health trends by promoting packaged snacks as healthy and nutritious, even though these snacks are often filled with sugar and additives that our bodies do not need. But in the absence of coherent culinary traditions and elders to pass them down, I think we have to turn to science to regain our understanding of how we should eat. I am not talking about taking multi-vitamins or following the gluten-free trend; but I think many of us need to be reminded of what a reasonable caloric intake is, how much sodium is too much, and how to avoid hidden sugars. Food guides are not perfect, but they can still provide a frame of reference.

Just as I had to get my breastfeeding knowledge from a professional lactation consultant, many of us can benefit from the advice and recommendations of nutritionists – because there is often no one else around to pass older wisdom on. Marshall reminds us of the guidelines provided by the likes of Michael Pollan: eat food (meaning: real food), not too much, mostly plants. But as shows like Jamie Oliver’s Food Revolution have sadly demonstrated, even that can be overwhelming for someone who has been eating processed food their whole lives.

But even though we cannot rebuild food cultures as they were, we can give our children a fresh start. We can do this by cooking for them, giving them real food from the start, teaching them that food doesn’t come from a jar, but is prepared from ingredients. We can do this by not giving them “kid food” or preparing separate meals for them for fear that they won’t like it, but by sharing our meals with them, so they can grow up to appreciate a variety of real food. This can help them grow up not necessarily with a food culture, but at least with a knowledge of what a good, balanced diet is. As Marshall writes, we need to make cooking a habit again, something we do for the same reasons we brush our teeth and do our laundry: because it improves our quality of life and our well-being.

This book brought to my mind an excerpt I read in the Best Food Writing 2012 anthology. Entitled “How To Live Well,” it was taken from Tamar Adler’s An Everlasting Meal, which I have not read. It was basically an ode to the bean, and I remember being struck by how beautifully written it was. There was a recipe for minestrone, and the assertion that if you have all the necessary ingredients for minestrone, it means you are cooking steadily and well -  in other words, you’re on the right track according to Marshall.

Vegetable soups are a favourite of mine in general, but the hearty chunkiness of minestrone makes it extra comforting. I flipped through the chapter in Il Cucchiaio d’Argento devoted to this Italian soup, only to find endless variations, none of which conformed exactly to what I wanted to make. In the end, I loosely followed Adler’s recipe (which is pretty loose to begin with), making adjustments for whatever was in my fridge. So here is my improvised, completely inauthentic, but still healthy and Michael Pollan-worthy version of minestrone. I will probably never be able to settle for a single food culture, but I will continue to eat real food – and so will my son.

Minestrone

Inspired from Tamar Adler’s An Everlasting Meal

Serves 6

2 cups dried cannellini beans

Salt

4 tbsp olive oil

One large onion, diced

3 garlic cloves, minced

3 celery ribs, diced

3 medium carrots, sliced

3 small tomatoes, chopped

One handful flat-leaf parsley, chopped

One cup (240 ml) raw cabbage, chopped

One large zucchini, quartered and sliced

One cup (240 ml) green beans, trimmed and cut into 1-inch (2,5 cm) pieces

One parmesan rind

8 cups (2 litres) bean water (if insufficient, supplement with vegetable or chicken stock, or water)

Freshly ground pepper

short pasta (orechiette, cavatelli, ditali, etc.)

Soak the beans in cold water overnight. In a large pot, cover the beans with water (they should be submerged by about an inch), bring to a boil and gently simmer until beans are tender, about one hour. Salt halfway through the cooking process. Reserve the bean water.

In a large pot, heat olive oil over low-medium heat and cook the onion, garlic, celery and carrot until half-tender. Throw in the tomatoes, parsley, cabbage, zucchini and parmesan rind. Pour in the bean water and any other liquids, and stir to combine.

Bring to a simmer and cook until everything is tender and the flavours have blended (Adler’s lovely phrasing: “until everything has agreed to become minestrone”), about 45 minutes. Adjust seasoning and remove the parmesan rind. Just before eating, cook an appropriate quantity of pasta for the number of servings in salted water (you don’t want soggy pasta in your leftovers). Add the pasta to the soup you are serving, and serve immediately.