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Quote by Michael Pollan

“Al parecer el apetito humano es sorprendentemente elástico, algo que tiene mucho sentido desde el punto de vista evolutivo: nuestro antepasados cazadores-recolectores consideraban apropiado darse un festín cada vez que se presentaba la ocasión, lo que les permitía almacenar reservas de grasa en previsión de futuras hambrunas. Los investigadores de la obesidad llaman a este rasgo -el gen ahorrador-. Y si bien este gen resulta muy útil como medio de adaptación en un entorno impredecible marcado por la escasez de comida, es un desastre en un entorno donde abunda la comida rápida y en el que las ocasiones para darse un festín se presentan veinticuatro horas al día, siete días a la semana. Nuestros cuerpos están almacenando reservas de grasa en previsión de una hambruna que nunca llega.”

Quote by Michael Pollan

Book:The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals
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Work

The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals

Michael Pollan investigates the complex relationships between food, culture, and the environment through an in-depth analysis of the ingredients and processes involved in four distinct meals. The book delves into the history, science, and ethics of food production, offering a critical examination of the modern food system and its impact on health, sustainability, and society. more

Author

Michael Pollan
Michael Pollan

Michael Pollan is an American author renowned for his insightful views on food, agriculture, and culture. His work explores the impact of the modern food industry on health, the environment, and society, as well as the necessity of sustainable food systems. more

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“Al parecer el apetito humano es sorprendentemente elástico, algo que tiene mucho sentido desde el punto de vista evolutivo: nuestros antepasados cazadores-recolectores consideraban apropiado darse un festín cada vez que se presentaba la ocasión, lo que les permitía almacenar reservas de grasa en previsión de futuras hambrunas. Los investigadores de la obesidad llaman a este rasgo -el gen ahorrador-. Y si bien este gen resulta muy útil como medio de adaptación en un entorno impredecible marcado por la escasez de comida, es un desastre en un entorno donde abunda la comida rápida y en el que las ocasiones para darse un festín se presentan veinticuatro horas al día, siete días a la semana. Nuestros cuerpos están almacenando reservas de grasa en previsión de una hambruna que nunca llega.”

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Book:The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals
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“The cuisine of Northern Iran, overlooked and underrated, is unlike most Persian food in that it's unfussy and lighthearted as the people from that region. The fertile seaside villages of Mazandaran and Rasht, where Soli grew up before moving to the congested capital, were lush with orchards and rice fields. His father had cultivated citrus trees and the family was raised on the fruits and grains they harvested. Alone in the kitchen, without Zod's supervision, he found himself turning to the wholesome food of his childhood, not only for the comfort the simple compositions offered, but because it was what he knew so well as he set about preparing a homecoming feast for Zod's only son. He pulled two kilos of fava beans from the freezer. Gathered last May, shucked and peeled on a quiet afternoon, they defrosted in a colander for a layered frittata his mother used to make with fistfuls of dill and sprinkled with sea salt. One flat of pale green figs and a bushel of new harvest walnuts were tied to the back of his scooter, along with two crates of pomegranates- half to squeeze for fresh morning juice and the other to split and seed for rice-and-meatball soup. Three fat chickens pecked in the yard, unaware of their destiny as he sharpened his cleaver. Tomorrow they would braise in a rich, tangy stew with sour red plums, their hearts and livers skewered and grilled, then wrapped in sheets of lavash with bouquets of tarragon and mint. Basmati rice soaked in salted water to be steamed with green garlic and mounds of finely chopped parsley and cilantro, then served with a whole roasted, eight kilo white fish stuffed with barberries, pistachios, and lime. On the farthest burner, whole bitter oranges bobbed in blossom syrup, to accompany rice pudding, next to a simmering pot of figs studded with cardamom pods for preserves.”

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“What is the best thing you've ever eaten?" Poulet rôti. I was sure that my mother was going to say the poulet rôti from L'Ami Louise in Paris because she'd sat next to Jacques Chirac there and he'd said that since she was a chef, perhaps she would cook something for him. And so she did. She went right back into the kitchen and whipped up something fabulous. After that, they used goose as well as duck fat when frying their potatoes, because it had been her way. I mouthed Poulet rôti into the pillow. But my mother was quiet. She could have made conversation, little noises while she was thinking. But she didn't. Lou didn't care. "Masgouf," she said. "From an Iraqi restaurant that's closed now." I sat up. I opened my mouth. I almost yelled, What? But she was still talking. "I went there with her dad years and years ago." I imagined her jerking her thumb in the direction of my room. "The company was like watching paint dry, but the food was fantastic. Out of this world." "And?" Lou said. "And," my mother said, "I went back a couple of years ago, just to see, and it was closed up. Totally empty and sad. One silver tray sat in the middle of the place, I remember. Broke my heart to pieces." "Masgouf?" Lou said. I was already out of bed, sockless and by the bookshelf, ripping through the index of The Joy of Cooking, then Cook Everything, then, finally, Recipes from All Over. I found it. "'Traditional Iraqi fish dish, grilled with tamarind and/or lemon, salt, and pepper,'" I whispered, shocked. "It was heaven," my mother said. "Literally heaven. I've tried to replicate it, I can't tell you how many times." For a second, I saw spots. I would have bet my life on it- on the poulet rôti. "You know how they say that life imitates art?" my mother said. "Well, life imitated masgouf. The fish was so good, so tender, and we ate it with our fingers. For a little while, I convinced myself that life could be so simple." Which meant happiness. Masgouf was my mother's happiness.”

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“Iran is a country that needs to be discovered. At the age of large international travel corporations losing their attractiveness, you can go to the local tour operators and get in touch with them. They also provide you with insiders' information about the country and its attractions - tangible and intangible. Read more at "Destination Iran Blog". DestinationIran.com is one such company with more than 20 years of experience.”

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Author:Rahman Mehraby
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“In a real sense, the important question is never one of validity or truth. Truth exists in the realm of mathematics and in the philosophy of logic, not in perceptions of reality. For those who would understand the world about them, the question is not one of truth, but of utility. Do our investigations deepen our understanding, further our ability to ask more refined questions, and lead to better predictions of events? If so, then the research is justified. If not, it remains but sophistry.”

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“By almost any definition, Homo naledi is not human. But if the present archaeological record reflects the complexity of Homo sapiens accurately, it means that naledi was significantly more complex than sapiens at the time.”

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