Fear of fat, fear of sugar

Talking about food - personal, family and cultural eating choices - with friends and family can be nearly as cheeky as openly announcing one’s religious or political beliefs. Why so? My guess is that agriculture, like politics and faith, is necessarily both personal and beyond the individual. Cultivation, farming and orchestrated diets have been with us since we first set down the bows and picked up the hoes 10,000 years ago near the Tigris and Euphrates. In all that time, only in the past 50 years or so has the dialogue changed from how can we get food to how do we deal with all of this food.

Recently, my personal interest in food, agriculture and Epicureanism has driven me to question some of our culture’s commonly held beliefs. Although not in the majority, I’m not alone either. Berkley radicals, Brooklyn-ites and Madison liberal foodies are, knowingly or unknowingly, joining ranks with concerned rural family members, small farmers, the Amish and city folk, dying to get some soil under their finger nails, like me. There’s also the rest of the population who dare to trace our nation’s health crisis from farm, or processing plant, to plate. Like good Christians and Green-washed, born-again Democrats, we’ll make you uncomfortable doing what comes easy: “Did you know the aspartame in Diet Coke makes you want to eat more?” “Light beer like Michelob Ultra won’t make you lose weight!” “Are those tomatoes local?”

Of course, nothing’s worse than someone else telling you what to do. Foodies, however, don’t want your soul or your vote; we just want you to understand that food industrialists are duping us all into eating unhealthy and unnatural foods that are slowing destroying our food pathways, local economies and bodies. That’s all. And any problem we’re having articulating this situation arises from the fact that currently there are no clear or simple alternatives to the current system. Not only are there no clear alternatives, but the slightly hazy one’s have been demonized by Those in Power in order to maintain their power. Make sense? But we’re not the system; we’re just me and you, and your friends and family. So let’s try to shrug off one misconception at a time and understand the forces behind that kind of thinking.

Here’s one that has been bothering me recently: our nation’s fear of fat and sugar. Since humanity humanized, we’ve been seeking nourishment. Here’s the forms it comes in: water, fat & oils, sugars and proteins. I cannot live on protein and water alone, not only would it be unhealthy, but also no fun. Yet the messages we’re receiving are dying to convince us butter, milk, cheese, cane sugar, beet sugar, honey and full flavored beers are killers and must be reduced or avoided all together if you wish to cash in your Medicare.

This is absolute malarkey. First of all, for all of the “unhealthy” foods mentioned above, alternatives have been substituted and touted by their producers. Margarine, soy and skim milk, processed cheese, artificial sweeteners; these foods are no reasonable alternates, neither in healthfulness or flavor. Although cholesterol free, margarine simultaneously increases your body’s cholesterol while its trans-fatty acids rearrange your tissues. (The stuff is one molecule away from plastic) Soy is too highly inadequate nutritionally to be used as a milk replacement, and in fact inhibits the body’s intake of essential nutrients. Skim milk, the once worthless byproduct of cream products, contains practically no nutrients or fat, so you may as well drink water. Processed cheese has the same health benefits as margarine and artificial sweeteners trick the body into processes reserved for simple carbohydrates, increasing feelings of hunger. Light beer just sucks.

And your milk, butter and carbohydrates, all full of natural fat? “Saturated fat does raise blood cholesterol levels, and high blood pressure is associated with an increased risk of heart disease; but the other foods in a balanced diet can compensate for this disadvantage.” Harold McGee said that, and if I were you, I’d listen to him.

Tap some maples

Here in Michigan, March, the last month of winter, has nearly arrived. Over the last couple snowy months, my friends and I have been trekking on snow shoes across northern Michigan, taking note of the vast swaths of mature sugar maples, seemingly dormant but full of promise. The trees may look barren, but are poised for their inevitable mighty return. From Old Mission Peninsula to Saugatuck, we’d stay in a snow covered cabin, family barn or cottage, drink homemade beer and mead and pour last year’s maple syrup over skillet cakes before heading out into the night to make fire and be with the trees. Such behavior is mere rehearsal for my favorite time of the year: maple syruping.

The practice of collecting sap and concentrating its low ratio of sugar into syrup was begun by Native Americans and adopted by American Colonists as an alternative to slave labor cane sugars. Today's store bought syrup is usually made not only from high fructose corn syrup, but also regular corn syrup, and bears little resemblance to its inspiration. True maple syrup has a strong, unified, clean and concentrated sweetness which I cannot remember ever tasting before my first full pan boiled down.

The sugar maple, Acer Saccharun, is abundant throughout the Northeast, from Ohio into Canada. In their book Michigan Trees, Barns and Wagner explain, "the word acer derives from the anchient word ac, meaning "sharp"", which refers to the leaf's pointed lobes. The trees are easiest to identify in the fall, when their broad five lobed and sharp leaves turn brilliant yellows, purples and reds, but identification is also possible after the leaves have fallen. First, look for a vase or spreading shape to the overall tree as opposed to round, oval or columnar. Now look to the bark. Deep fissures and dark grey, plated furrows should tip you off, but be careful not to tap an oak! These trees often reside in strands near each other, so to make sure you're looking at a sugar maple, follow a lower branch with your eyes out to the newest growth. The youngest twigs should be growing parallel to each other outwards from the young branch with a resemblance to a stick figure. When you have identified a few maples at least 6-8 inches in diameter, you are ready to begin.

Food authority Harold McGee has identified four conditions for a good flow of sap: "a severe winter that freezes the roots, snow cover that keep the roots cold in the spring, extreme variations in temperature from day to night, and good exposure to the sun." According to McGee then, this spring should prove a very successful year. As the roots begin to thaw, the stored sugar flows up to the braches, and with a drill bit and a spile, one can collect a little of this sweet water and make some syrup.

In order to do so, a goal and production plan is necessary. You’ll need to decide how many trees to tap. Depending on the weather, I have found each tree tapped will produce 1/2 to 1 gallon on a good flowing day. About 40 gallons of sap are needed to make 1 gallon of syrup. For my humble operation, I decided to tap 40 - 50 trees for a few days, collecting around 150 - 200 gallons, giving me the capacity to make 5 gallons of syrup over a few days of evaporating.
Next you’ll need to gather the necessary equipment. All one needs is a spile for each tree, brace and bit or power drill and a source of heat to evaporate to sap into syrup. I use 5/16" black plastic spiles and run a 5/16" hose into buckets placed on the ground in the snow below the trees. I tap the south side of the trees, a few feet off the ground, using a 5/16" drill bit. Try to drill into the tree at a slight upward angle. Take your time and drill a prudent hole - a sloppy job will leak sap down the side of the maple. Next, gently tap in the spile. You should almost be able to pull the piece out with your cold fingers. Carry a spool of 5/16" tubing and cut lengths that run shy of the bottom to prevent night time hose freezing.

After a few days of the right weather (40 F days and 20 F nights), haul the full buckets to the evaporator. I fill up a keg with a spigot used as a holding tank. I only collect as much sap as I'll need, knowing that I can only evaporate down to 3/4 - 1 gallon of syrup in 12-14 hours of boiling. (My system is not very efficient).

Almost any type of burner can be used as an evaporator. For small operations, a pot on the stove top or wood burner overnight will work great. For larger operations, an evaporating pan will be needed. For my medium size operation, I had a 22" long X 18" wide X 4" deep pan constructed from stainless steel with a spigot welded on one end. I heat it with two inexpensive turkey fryer burners fueled by 20lb propane tanks. Although it’s more effort, heating with wood would greatly reduce the cost of my system. To make syrup from sap, water is evaporated and the sweet maple sugars concentrated. The constant addition of sap should equal the evaporation rate. The sap depth in the pan should remain shallow and constant to increase the rate of evaporation. I set the drip on my keg holding tank and keep an eye on it until the rate is established. Be careful! Scorching a batch is easier than you think!

If you'd like, take a gravity reading of the sap. It could fall anywhere between 1 - 4%. Use the balling scale on a beer and wine hydrometer. Continue to taste the sap as it sweetens into syrup. When the syrup "fans" out from the side of your spoon, it is nearly finished. Watch the heat closely; I usually turn off one of my burners at this time. Check the gravity of the syrup with the syrup hydrometer - if it is close I run the syrup off into gallon glass jugs to be finished more accurately later on a single burner in a smaller pan.
The syrup can be poured through a strainer, straining bag or cloth to collect ash or other substances. I find that within a week or so in the glass jug the syrup falls clear. To finish the syrup, I pour off the leavings in the bottom of the jugs, bring the syrup to the perfect sugar level, pour through a strainer again and funnel into small glass bottles.

To learn more and acquire supplies visit www.sugarbushsupplies.com and www.sicilianosmkt.com.

Brewers and Bakers

The rise in popularity of home beer and wine making is evidence of a much larger trend: the return of food production to the homestead. Farmer and food philosopher Wendell Berry has pointed out our culture’s trend towards consumerism and away from home production. Beginning after WWII, Americans began to purchase more and more of their nutritional needs from large scale food factories. Small family producers (local bakeries, breweries, etc.) and home production methods, accumulated knowledge and skill severely declined. Food evolved from basic need to commodity - taste and nutrition to branding and packaging. Beyond an economic analysis, this detachment from our food has left us blind to basic health needs and risks. Our dependence on other’s cooking, baking, brewing, and canning has left most Americans in poor shape health wise – not to mention taste wise!

Stemming the consumer tide, Americans began to ask for more from their food and drink. One could only take so much Wonderbread, but healthier and tastier products were few and far between. Phone calls about pickling and baking were placed to grandmas and great aunts while home brewers organized and changed federal laws, only to start their own uncompromised breweries. Berry’s aspiration for increased home production is certainly being worked towards, if only in a new, culturally dynamic manner.

In our time, organic food has become a ubiquitous alternative to conventional food, whilst “green” and “sustainable” imply new (old) production practices in harmony with the ecosystem. As our global economy reaches for the last of the easily obtainable natural resources, those seeking further change in the way we do food business would be wise to learn how former generations made do without the extravagant hoopla of boxed cereal, snack crackers and store bought cookies. The past is the key to the present, or even the future, so let’s take a closer look at a model cooperative and community based producer/consumer relationship nearly extinct today: bakers and brewers.

“Humans have been eating raised breads for 6,000 years, but it wasn’t until the investigations of Louis Pasteur 150 years ago that we began to understand the nature of the leavening process,” explains food authority Harold McGee. Pre-Pasteur, rising dough was a magical thing – a gift from the gods, as was a foaming white crown on a vat of fresh malt wort. Yeast was the culprit, fermenting the bread and beer’s sugars into alcohol (baked off in bread) and Co2, transferred from batch to batch by the baker and brewer who added a small portion of their last creation to the next.

Beer and bread follow a similar history and evolution. Both are derived from various grains. Ancient cultivators cracked or ground open dried kernels and mixed the flour into a paste with water. Wild yeasts residing on the husks, stems and leaves naturally mixed into the porridge, releasing Co2 bubbles in reaction with the glutens, lightly expanding the batter. To make beer instead of bread, the grain’s starch must first be converted into sugar. This is a natural task for nature, as the enzymes necessary for this transition reside, along with the yeasts, on the husks of the barley, rye and oats gathered for eating. Leave the cracked grains in warm water and “nature’s scissors” go to work dicing up the carbohydrates into shorter sugar chains the yeasts can easily metabolize into alcohol and Co2. The concoctions probably did not taste very good or last long before spoilage, so spices and herbs, and eventually hops were added to doctor it up.

In the European Middle Ages and early modern times, both brewers and bread makers gathered similar ingredients and sold or traded with the same community members. They shared heat and fuel for baking and boiling, grain supply and, most importantly, yeast. Once yeast metabolizes and multiplies enough to raise dough or ferment strong sweet wort, they must be kept fed or they will die. It was therefore common for bakers and brewers to share each others active yeast in the form of dough or krausen off the head of fermenting wort.

Reading about this timeless relationship inspired me to ferment and bake my first loaf of bread at home. Here is a list of the necessary ingredients and simple procedure a Siciliano’s Market customer gave to me, saying he hasn’t purchased a loaf of bread in three years! The finished warm wheat bread is sweet and nutty with a pleasant girth that is not too heavy. Its hearty mouthfeel is balanced by the sweet honey flavors and high friability afforded by the addition of fat. If you’re a brewer, try adding a handful of spent grains.

Mix together 3 cups whole wheat flour, 1 tablespoon salt, 4 ½ teaspoons (2 packets) active dry yeast, ¼ cup shortening (or bacon fat) and 1/3 cup honey. If available, use a mixer with a bread hook. Add 2 ¼ cups very warm water and 2 – 4 cups all purpose flour while mixing.

Next, grease a large bowl and cover with a tea towel. Place in oven on warm for 30 minutes to allow the dough to rise. Take out of oven, flour hands, punch down, break in half, kneed, fold and turn the dough. Roll up and turn ends into a medium large non-stick or greased bread pan. Cover with tea towel and return to oven again to rise for 20 – 30 more minutes. Remove, heat oven to 375 F, return and bake for 20 – 25 minutes. Tap crust and listen for a satisfying hollow knock indicating a finished loaf.

Remove from oven, place loaf and pan on a cooling rack. Carefully remove loaf from pan after an hour and let cool. Bread can be sliced once cooled. Store in a paper bag for immediate use or freeze in plastic or foil.