I've returned from a business trip and brief vacation in Europe. I'm struck by how people in Europe gather in common spaces such as parks for conversation or walks, rather than in shopping malls for consumption. There are more bicycles than people in the Netherlands. People in Europe don't seem to be out to prove something. In the song, What About Everything? the group Carbon Leaf sings about being "in search of some rest, in search of a break. From a life of tests where something's always at stake." Granted, it took Europe a long time to reach this point, and there's quite a bit of damage to others in their history, but even throughout their heyday, there was always the need to learn another language, observe another culture, and experience someone else's food. Someone else's real food.
The US is beginning to actively engage in reflection and conversation about food. Michael Pollan has written The Omnivore's Dilemma, which examines the "lineage" of four meals. It's disturbing, but not surprising, that it's almost impossible to determine the natural history of a happy meal from McDonald's. I'm sure the cows processed in the industrial production chain of McDonald's aren't too happy about those meals. The single point of failure with industrial food production has also resulted in a vulnerability or dependency that can affect large numbers of people or our furry friends. Think of the fast food restaurant problems with vegetables, or the pet food recall that's taking place right now.
Pollan recently wrote an article in the New York Times Magazine ("Unhappy Meals"). He describes an interesting journey in the US of the fascination, even obsession, with micro-nutrients. This view has culminated in the belief that if one can manage to eat the ideal combination and proportion of vitamins, minerals, and avoid the bad stuff like saturated fat, then, voila, one can become healthy. He offers a persuasive argument to eat real food, focusing on natural ingredients because, well, perhaps nature does know best. Or perhaps our adaption to nature over time has resulted in cuisines that actually acknowledge the best balance of local ingredients and our nutritional needs. Pollan begins his article with the following advice: "Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants."
Our (and I include myself in this) reluctance to follow this simple, yet powerful, advice has been fueled by the industrialization of food. As we have moved away from real food, we have correspondingly missed the taste of real food. There's an entire industry associated with artificial flavors. I find it disconcerting that I can close my eyes, smell something from a test tube, and imagine a bacon cheeseburger. Artificial flavors seem to found their true calling with sodas (or soft drinks or pop if you prefer). Just think about the number of variants of Coke. What started out as "new Coke" has now resulted in so many varieties of Coke that perhaps we've overwhelmed ourselves with choices (why is it that there are so many close associations of the words "choice" and "dilemma"?).
My wife has also noted that cheesification of food. There seems to be cheese generously applied to all types of food. Perhaps this happened during the Atkins Diet craze, or perhaps it's an attempt to surpass corn-based derivatives as the "natural" food flavoring additive. I'm sure if cheese can be added to enough food products, the dairy industry will be very happy. So it's occurred to me that there's an obvious conclusion: the happy convergence of high fructose corn syrup and cheese.
Cheese flavored Coke.
Ask for it the next time you supersize your meal at McDonalds.
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Saturday, November 18, 2006
A Few Thoughts About Being Elite
I travel a great deal, almost exclusively for business. Anyone who travels a lot knows about, and probably participates in frequent flyer or guest programs. As a result of my very frequent travels, I have achieved "elite" status in more than one of these programs. Even if you do not travel much, you have probably seen these folks. They (like I) stand around the airport gate, hoping for upgrades, or seeking to board the plane before everyone else (except for first class passengers). They (like I) move to the "special" line at the hotel reserved for elite frequent guests. One of my particular favorites is Continental's OnePass program. For OnePass, if one flies 75,000 "eligible" miles in a calendar year, one can obtain the highest level of status--Platinum elite. It's actually possible to fly less than 75,000 miles and achieve Platinum status, or fly more than 75,000 miles and not achieve it.
Confused? So is everyone else. There's a nearly impenetrable set of conditions for different fare classes, partner airline rules, phases of the moon, and religious rituals that govern these rules. Frequent customers (like I) will do all sorts of strange things to navigate this maze, and some people (so far, not like I) will even fly well out of their way or take unnecessary trips in order to achieve OnePass Elite status. What does one gain for becoming Platinum elite? Well, I'm not even sure of the full range of benefits, but the one that I care about the most is a greater probability for upgrades to first class. There have been so many occasions I've watched jealously as Platinum elite members get upgraded, while Gold Elite members like me have to take solace in knowing that while we're in Economy, at least we get to board before other Economy passengers, sit in the front rows of the plane, and make sure that we get our luggage into the overheard compartment. I thought I would reach the magical 75,000 eligible miles following my current trip to Scotland, but it seems that this may not happen for reasons that were beyond my control. Upon realizing this, I became annoyed, even agitated and frustrated. I resolved to call Continental upon my return to the US using, of course, the dedicated phone number for Gold Elite members.
While on this trip, I watched a BBC news story about two young brothers in Congo who used to work in the copper mines. They used to work several hours a day, sometimes in sweltering heat, in crowded conditions with other children. Through the generosity of BBC viewers, these brothers are now able to attend school instead of working in the mines. One of them has made many friends and dreams of becoming a pilot. The other one smiled sheepishly at one point while describing his desire to learn "everything."
Today, I went to visit the Royal Yacht Britannia, which was decommissioned in 1997. It now sits in Leith harbor as a museum, showcasing the Royal lifestyle. I was struck by the immense attention to detail and pageantry to the point of becoming seemingly absurd. Is it really necessary to polish the Royal silverware everyday and make sure that the settings are precisely measured by a ruler? The trappings of the elite. I walked through the yacht feeling morally superior, knowing that I would never dwell on such superficial matters--that I know what's really important in life.
As I was leaving the yacht, I remembered those brothers in Congo. And then it occurred to me. The elite relativism. How would they react to my obsession with Platinum elite status? Would it seem as absurd to them that I measure airline miles as it seemed to me to measure distances between silverware? I live a more sustainable life than the monarchy of the UK. But I also realize that there's no monopoly on the desire to be considered elite.
When I get home, I certainly won't polish the silverware, and I think I might refrain from calling Continental.
Confused? So is everyone else. There's a nearly impenetrable set of conditions for different fare classes, partner airline rules, phases of the moon, and religious rituals that govern these rules. Frequent customers (like I) will do all sorts of strange things to navigate this maze, and some people (so far, not like I) will even fly well out of their way or take unnecessary trips in order to achieve OnePass Elite status. What does one gain for becoming Platinum elite? Well, I'm not even sure of the full range of benefits, but the one that I care about the most is a greater probability for upgrades to first class. There have been so many occasions I've watched jealously as Platinum elite members get upgraded, while Gold Elite members like me have to take solace in knowing that while we're in Economy, at least we get to board before other Economy passengers, sit in the front rows of the plane, and make sure that we get our luggage into the overheard compartment. I thought I would reach the magical 75,000 eligible miles following my current trip to Scotland, but it seems that this may not happen for reasons that were beyond my control. Upon realizing this, I became annoyed, even agitated and frustrated. I resolved to call Continental upon my return to the US using, of course, the dedicated phone number for Gold Elite members.
While on this trip, I watched a BBC news story about two young brothers in Congo who used to work in the copper mines. They used to work several hours a day, sometimes in sweltering heat, in crowded conditions with other children. Through the generosity of BBC viewers, these brothers are now able to attend school instead of working in the mines. One of them has made many friends and dreams of becoming a pilot. The other one smiled sheepishly at one point while describing his desire to learn "everything."
Today, I went to visit the Royal Yacht Britannia, which was decommissioned in 1997. It now sits in Leith harbor as a museum, showcasing the Royal lifestyle. I was struck by the immense attention to detail and pageantry to the point of becoming seemingly absurd. Is it really necessary to polish the Royal silverware everyday and make sure that the settings are precisely measured by a ruler? The trappings of the elite. I walked through the yacht feeling morally superior, knowing that I would never dwell on such superficial matters--that I know what's really important in life.
As I was leaving the yacht, I remembered those brothers in Congo. And then it occurred to me. The elite relativism. How would they react to my obsession with Platinum elite status? Would it seem as absurd to them that I measure airline miles as it seemed to me to measure distances between silverware? I live a more sustainable life than the monarchy of the UK. But I also realize that there's no monopoly on the desire to be considered elite.
When I get home, I certainly won't polish the silverware, and I think I might refrain from calling Continental.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Pace of Life
On Saturday night, we walked around and drove through Kitsilano, downtown Vancouver and Granville Island (for dinner). Many businesses closed by 6pm, and almost all of them closed by 9pm. At the Railspur Alley Cafe and Bistro, we had some great food, even better company, and noted that they started closing before the posted closing time. There was nothing pushy or rude about this; it was simply acknowledgement that business was a little slow on this particular evening (we speculated that the "Eat Vancouver" food festival might have drawn off some customers). I'm sure they would have remained open if someone had come in, but they also realized there are better things to do than "maximize profit" on a Saturday evening.
During the day, we walked around the beaches near UBC and the Pacific Spirit Regional Park. Perhaps being near the mountains, ocean and forests just makes one more pensive and reflective, but it's worth noting that the beachfront was free of condos, or hotels, or anything that else might increase the GDP--and ruin the peace and tranquility. More than anything, I noted the silence in the lush, green forest.
There's a harmony about this place, which probably reflects a sense of community and sharing. There are common spaces where various people gather--and not just to spend money; there is a major urban center amongst the trees, water and mountains. There is free firewood and free parking on Granville Island. There is a sense that life is about more than squeezing just a little more productivity out of the moment. That perhaps life is about living in the moment.
During the day, we walked around the beaches near UBC and the Pacific Spirit Regional Park. Perhaps being near the mountains, ocean and forests just makes one more pensive and reflective, but it's worth noting that the beachfront was free of condos, or hotels, or anything that else might increase the GDP--and ruin the peace and tranquility. More than anything, I noted the silence in the lush, green forest.
There's a harmony about this place, which probably reflects a sense of community and sharing. There are common spaces where various people gather--and not just to spend money; there is a major urban center amongst the trees, water and mountains. There is free firewood and free parking on Granville Island. There is a sense that life is about more than squeezing just a little more productivity out of the moment. That perhaps life is about living in the moment.
Friday, May 26, 2006
Granville Island
I am on vacation in Vancouver.
Everytime I've had the great fortune to take a trip to Canada or Europe, I've noted how much more relaxed people seem as compared to Americans. A recent article in The New York Times described a study that concluded we spend twice as much per capita on health insurance as the English, yet they seem to be about twice as healthy as Americans (and the English almost certainly aren't the healthiest Europeans). The article asserted that stress and anxiety could be causes for American health problems. You think?
I watched the documentary "People Like Us" which examines the issue of social class in the US. It provided some interesting food for thought about the myth and reality of the "rags to riches" story, class mobility and self-awareness or images of class. For a nation that claims to be largely free of class distinctions, it's sad to note how much Americans try to differentiate themselves by class. How much stress and anxiety to which we subject ourselves simply because of an obsession with class.
Granville Island in Vancouver is an industrial park. Well, that's far too simple a description. It describes itself as an "urban planning success story." That's an understatement. It's a remarkable mosaic of industrial plants, artists' galleries, crafts makers' stores, a public market, a kids zone, and green, open spaces. All surrounded by water. What I found most amazing about this place was the seemingly contradictory activities and spaces. As I walked around, I kept wondering about whether this type of convergence can really work. It does. Beautifully.
Baltimore is a city with an industrial heart, its heyday defined by steel, ships, and railroads. In many ways, it celebrates this history, but in other ways, it tries to sweep it away. The Inner Harbor is superficially similar to Granville Island. By some measures, the Inner Harbor is a success story, but it does not embrace Baltimore's industrial hearbeat. Most of the tourists, and some of the residents, may not even notice the signs of industry that are still within sight of the Harborfront.
As I observed more, I began to sense that Granville Island is a celebration of diversity. I often seek patterns or themes--sometimes to a fault. Nonetheless, I kept searching for an overarching theme, perhaps because this place seemed so unusual. Finally, I thought..."people working with their hands." Everyone here builds things with their hands. As someone who spends almost all day in front a computer, leading a group that builds digital libraries, there's something really affirming about seeing the creation of real, tangible objects. Initially, I thought that it must be strange for machinists or construction workers to be among artists. Then I thought perhaps people in Vancouver view their "blue collar" workers as artists. What might happen in a place where everyone isn't obsessed with class, but rather see each other as human beings?
I noted someone wearing a hard hat, who was helping well-dressed tourists. And then I noted the flowers in a window of one of the industrial buildings. It's hard to see the machine on the inside, but it's easy to see the appreciation for flowers. As I reflected on this scene, it occurred to me that Granville Island challenged my tacit impressions of class. And that was a liberating feeling. It also helped me tap into the dormant artist within me. But that's a story for another day.
Everytime I've had the great fortune to take a trip to Canada or Europe, I've noted how much more relaxed people seem as compared to Americans. A recent article in The New York Times described a study that concluded we spend twice as much per capita on health insurance as the English, yet they seem to be about twice as healthy as Americans (and the English almost certainly aren't the healthiest Europeans). The article asserted that stress and anxiety could be causes for American health problems. You think?
I watched the documentary "People Like Us" which examines the issue of social class in the US. It provided some interesting food for thought about the myth and reality of the "rags to riches" story, class mobility and self-awareness or images of class. For a nation that claims to be largely free of class distinctions, it's sad to note how much Americans try to differentiate themselves by class. How much stress and anxiety to which we subject ourselves simply because of an obsession with class.
Granville Island in Vancouver is an industrial park. Well, that's far too simple a description. It describes itself as an "urban planning success story." That's an understatement. It's a remarkable mosaic of industrial plants, artists' galleries, crafts makers' stores, a public market, a kids zone, and green, open spaces. All surrounded by water. What I found most amazing about this place was the seemingly contradictory activities and spaces. As I walked around, I kept wondering about whether this type of convergence can really work. It does. Beautifully.
Baltimore is a city with an industrial heart, its heyday defined by steel, ships, and railroads. In many ways, it celebrates this history, but in other ways, it tries to sweep it away. The Inner Harbor is superficially similar to Granville Island. By some measures, the Inner Harbor is a success story, but it does not embrace Baltimore's industrial hearbeat. Most of the tourists, and some of the residents, may not even notice the signs of industry that are still within sight of the Harborfront.
As I observed more, I began to sense that Granville Island is a celebration of diversity. I often seek patterns or themes--sometimes to a fault. Nonetheless, I kept searching for an overarching theme, perhaps because this place seemed so unusual. Finally, I thought..."people working with their hands." Everyone here builds things with their hands. As someone who spends almost all day in front a computer, leading a group that builds digital libraries, there's something really affirming about seeing the creation of real, tangible objects. Initially, I thought that it must be strange for machinists or construction workers to be among artists. Then I thought perhaps people in Vancouver view their "blue collar" workers as artists. What might happen in a place where everyone isn't obsessed with class, but rather see each other as human beings?
I noted someone wearing a hard hat, who was helping well-dressed tourists. And then I noted the flowers in a window of one of the industrial buildings. It's hard to see the machine on the inside, but it's easy to see the appreciation for flowers. As I reflected on this scene, it occurred to me that Granville Island challenged my tacit impressions of class. And that was a liberating feeling. It also helped me tap into the dormant artist within me. But that's a story for another day.
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