Preserving the self

One of things my abuse experience did to me was put me at odds with the world. I always have to have a plan b, and preferably a plan c and d… and maybe e.

One of the ways this has played out in my life has been my relationship to food. First, I grew up in the 70s and 80s, which meant (in my family) alternating years between eating McDonalds and TV dinners (feminist no-cook household) and carob and toasted chickpeas (hippie household) and having my mum always on some diet, often involving the “cottage cheese platter.” There was also the time that somewhere in the financial dance among my parents we ate white rice, plain, 3 meals a day, for 3 weeks. At least I remember it as 3 weeks.

So I have a very love-hate dysfunctional relationship with food anyway, in terms not only of eating, but also of foraging. Most years I manage to just have about a 2-3 month store of food but some years the pantries groan and bulge. You don’t have to be a fiction writer to get the symbolism here about nourishment, poverty of spirit, lack of trust, and so on.

I think generally I’ve turned this – food thing - into a positive, overall. I budget and meal plan pretty well. I’m also into food as a kind of hobby: I’m not a gourmet chef or anything but I improve every year, and I also try to take the time to learn how to cook for our family in a way that generally improves our relationship to our bodies and our community rather than takes away from it. (This includes the occasional hot dog too, I must say, esp. if it is at a fundraiser.)

With all the recessionary talk and peak oil and the 100 Mile Diet and the Omnivore’s Dilemma, though, I’ve got a new wrinkle to it. This year I’ve been struggling for the first time with a wicked embarrassment of riches from our CSA share. Harvest time means the food gets picked and you have a shitload of it! Who knew!!?

I need to get a big freezer but I haven’t, in part because I know it will be full pretty quick – not to Hoarders levels, but a not-that-distant cousin.

However, I’ve also been convinced that any attempt to preserve this lush, local bounty of the earth will result in certain death from botulism. And no, I’m not talking about low-acid preservation, just jams and jellies and pickles. I bought jars and grippers and a lid magnet, all with good intentions, but for the most part what hasn’t been eaten or been given away has been turned into compost.

However then entered the beets. 10 lbs of them. In case you hadn’t heard, beets are really, really good for you. (Yes, it’s a suspicious source, but read the link anyway!) And I love pickled beets.

So today I took the plunge and pickled and canned 5 lbs of them. I still don’t know if, 4 months down the road, I will have the cojones to actually trust them and eat them. They may simply become a part of the embarrassment that is my pantry at the moment.

Today is also Thanksgiving, which we are celebrating with a prime rib roast due to a miscommunication about free range turkeys, roast brussel sprouts, a mixture of roast sweet and fingerling potatoes (with a bit of diced onion), and – pickled beets. And pumpkin pie.

May abundance come your way!