Welcome to Dr Roger K.A. Allen’s Blog

February 18, 2010

Obesity and FoodConnect

Filed under: Cooking — Tags: , — Dr Roger KA Allen @ 3:17 pm

The obesity epidemic in my opinion is due to a disconnection of man with the biosphere. The enormous explosion of the modern city with the problem of life-style and food supply is the cause.

We no longer buy from the farmer but from multinational food suppliers (middle men) who make excess profit from food and beverages. However there is a quiet revolution happening at least where I live. In my state there is a body www.foodconnect.com.au which provides fruit and vegetables, bread and even dairy products direct from farmers. We get a box of what is in season once a week and pick it up from a volunteer (a family nearby) who acts as a depot. We receive a newsletter about its contents and we live on that for a week. It costs us $100 and we buy no other fruit and vegie. This feeds four people. We eat their farm loaves without butter as the bread is so tasty. We make our meals around the box and it thus demands a creative approach to cooking and eating. It is all organic. No food has traversed the stratosphere to get to our mouths. By the end of the week, our fridge and fruit bowl is getting bare.

This week we received some Bunya nuts from the Bunya pine tree; a staple of our indigenous people once a year when in season. We have never cooked them before but will.

We buy a lamb from a farm, slaughtered by a local butcher. It comes cut up in a box and a man delivers it to our kitchen once a month. http://www.silverwoodorganics.com.au/

We know that the sheep are happy and we know the terroire of the animal just as we do with our food box.

A good book I recommend is called “Food Rules” by Michael Pollan (Penguin).  When we are out of contact with our terroire, we are on the slippery slope of societal decline.

I am writing a book on life as a child in the 1950s and in it I can see that we are in decline in many ways. We used to have our milk delivered from a farm and poured into an enamel billy can we left on our front steps. The milk had cream on top and tasted like milk. We now buy such milk from a dairy but there is one big supplier which dominates the majority of our dairy farmers. It is an Italian multinational.

This week, Foodconnect delivered its 150,000th food box. There are similar moves afoot overseas.

You are what you eat. The famous 19th century French gastronome, Brillat-Savarin said, “Tell me what you eat and I’ll tell you what your are”. Grow a vegetable garden if you can. Seek out good things and you may just precipitate a reversal of the current decline in the food chain.

There was an article in our newspaper yesterday on lap bands for teenagers. We have an obesity epidemic in my country and I am not just pointing the finger at the USA. We are just following the trend.

If bread needs butter for taste, it is not good bread. I was told once by a Latin teacher, that bread quality declines with the more ‘modern” the civilisation which brings me to Mahatma Gandhi who when asked what he thought of British Civilisation, he replied he thought it was a good idea. Our civilisation is why we are obese.

You can’t legislate common sense. It is all to do with the food change. There has to be a quantum leap in thinking about our connection with the food source.

This disconnection was exemplified one day in 2008 when I was walking with my wife under the beautiful glade of olive trees one morning at Olympia in Greece in full summer. As I can hear now from my home, there was the shrill of cicadas which at times was almost deafening. It reminded me of home as there were eucalypts too.

An American woman came up to me (I could see her nationality as she had sneakers on and was two pick handles across the beam and not only by the tell-tale timbre of her voice but the volume gave her away. She asked me what the noise was and wasn’t it awful? I told her the answer and said to me it was music. Her reply was “Can’t they spray them” (meaning with insecticides). I thought to myself, this is why my country is exporting bees to your country.

Michael Pollan says don’t eat it if your grandma wouldn’t recognise it. My adage is, “Don’t eat or drink it if Homer (not Simpson!) wouldn’t have recognised it. The Cretan diet is the best I know and I adhere to. It is sustainable. Meat should be a condiment, not cover your plate. Olive oil is a staple consumed in prodigious amounts along with vegetables.

A man from the Pacific Islands visited a friend in Sydney. As they walked along the street, he passed a man and asked, “Who that fella?” His city friend said, “I don’t know”.

This kept on happening until after a while his Pacific friend said, “You live with ghost people.”

We live in ghost cities surrounded by ghost people, down the corridor, next door, in your street. You eat ghost food and you live on ghost soil which is now a commodity in fenced allotments with a mortgage to be traded and sold to the next ghost in five years as you move onto another ghost town to live with more ghosts.

Foodconnect supplies food in a city of one million people/ghosts.

Finally one glass of wine is equivalent to a slice of bread. An endocrinologist friend told me that soft drink is a major cause of obesity in the young. When I was a child soft drink was a treat we had at birthday parties.

When we first got fruit from food connect my children who were used to perfect fruit polished with wax refused to eat apples which were small and had specks on them until I told them that real fruit is imperfect and will have spots and things on the surface. Although small they are crisp and sweet and sometimes have the apple leaf on the stem. We demand perfect fruit and produce at our peril. I saw a programme on TV about catching crab in the Aleutians. The fishermen threw a whole catch back because some crabs had barnacles on their shells! The public wouldn’t buy them.

Humans are out of touch with their roots and the soil and obesity like a warming planet is a mere symptom of a greater malaise.

September 23, 2009

RUM

Filed under: Cooking — Tags: — Dr Roger KA Allen @ 3:57 pm

by Roger K.A. Allen, Skipper of Wee Barkie, A Colin Archer cutter, QCYC, Shorncliffe, Brisbane.

Jolly Roger

Say the word “rum” and for me it will evoke many images.  I see the turquoise Caribbean, the Jolly Roger, gold doubloons andpieces of eight, Long John Silver and peg legs, bronzed buxom beauties in floral skirts and bandanas, and slaves working in sugar cane fields. I can still smell the sickly sweet molasses wafting from the sugar mills along the Tweed River of my childhood, Mum’s delicious rum custard and a flaming plum pudding at Christmas courtesy of bottle of Bundaberg rum and the warmth of rum and milk (Moreton Bay porridge) after the dawn service at ANZAC Day. Thus for me, rum is the most evocative of drinks, unlike wine, whisky, or beer.

In French as in most European languages, nouns have gender i.e.  masculine or feminine. The Fates decreed that rum be masculine (le rhum).  After a hard day’s sailing  in a 35 knot nor’easter with waves crashing into my cockpit and  down my  cabled polo neck  jumper, with my red ensign shredded  and my blasphemous red  macaw hanging  featherless and freezing  from my left shoulder, don’t hand me a  chilled well-oaked chardonnay,  an amber ale , nay not  e’en  a dram of your best single malt.  Pour me generous rum and one that looks like the bronze thighs of a Tahitian maiden and not one of them (sic) pale imitations blanched white like a sperm whale’s tooth for milady’s cocktails, complete with a pigmy’s umbrella and a swizzle stick.

Ron Matusalem

The origin of the word “rum” is obscure but may come from the word for rum, “rumbustion” or perhaps a contraction of the Latin for sugar cane “Saccharum officinarum”.  Cane sugar along with coffee and rum saw its début in Europe in the 17th century and at first sugar was dispensed by apothecaries. Rum reached Australia in the late 18tth, century and is now second only to beer in popularity.

Rum is forever associated with Admiral Vernon, who in 1740 instituted his infamous Order to Captains No. 349; the dilution of the daily ration of neat rum in the proportion of one quart of water to half a pint of rum, in a scuttled butt and for “those that are good husbandmen receive extra lime juice and sugar that it may be more palatable to them”. As he wore a cloak made of the fabric, grogram, he thereafter bore the contemptuous nickname of “Old Grog”.  The Royal Navy rum ration ceased on “Black Tot Day”, 31 July, 1970 but is still available as Pusser’s (viz. Purser’s) Rum; a dark, robust rum still made in the original wooden pot stills.

The test of rum for me is whether it is nice to drink it neat. Regrettably our rums are third rate. Rums are made either from molasses, or less often, from the first-pressed sugar cane juice which gives a smoother finish and more subtle, floral flavours. The French call this type “rhum agricole” and my favourite is Ron Zacapa from high altitude of Guatemala. I also like L’Arbre du Voyageur 1998, from Martinique and the slightly orange marmalade taste of Pyrat Rum, from Anguilla in the British West Indies, Angostura from Trinidad, Ron Matusalem from Cuba and the hint of vanilla in Appleton’s from Jamaica.  Drink these neat like cognac. After a hard day’s winter sailing  I come home to a rum toddy; a nip of Pusser’s  rum in a medium glass with boiling water, a teaspoonful of Demerara sugar and a slice of  lime. Indeed a small amount of Demerara sugar goes well with rum on the rocks. I have enjoyed seeking out new rums which are now competing with best Cognac, Armagnac and my favourite, Calvados. But that is another story.

D-DAY

Filed under: Philosophy — Tags: , — Dr Roger KA Allen @ 3:38 pm

by Roger Allen. A review of Anthony Beevor’s latest book.

I have just finished Anthony Beevor’s book, D-Day, and have read some of his others; Crete, Stalingrad and Berlin. I have not read his book on the Spanish Civil War. Why read about something that happened in 1944 you may ask?

One of the main lessons of history in my opinion is that we don’t learn from the lessons of history. Had D-Day been a tragic failure, it is probable that the Red Army would have kept marching and ended up across the plains of France and as result the map of Europe would have been totally different.

D-day WWII

One of my favourite books is” On the Psychology of Military Incompetence” by Norman Dixon, Professor Emeritus at University College London and for ten years he held a commission in the Royal Engineers. He left the Army in 1950 and was wounded in action (he said due to his own incompetence). This book is a must for any serious military historian. He says with good justification that in any war the least incompetent side wins.

Beevor has the knack of quickly going from the big screen and the big military overview to the intensely personal and poignant in the same paragraph. It is this rapid focusing from wide angle to macro-close up which I find so engaging. He has the ability to use the big brush and not just paint the Débarquement de Normandie (not the invasion for the French mind) from the British view point. For that matter how many movies have you seen of D-Day where the British and Canadian Divisions land very successfully on three beachheads are shown as opposed to the two beachheads of the Americans? Well I suppose that is the value of having a Hollywood and millions of dollars for movies. The only landings which came close to a complete debacle were those of the Americans and I say this with the greatest of respect and as one who has stood in sadness and awe one windy overcast day on Omaha Beach. I felt the whole place and the war cemeteries deeply moving.

Beevor’s skill as a writer emanates from painstaking research of archival material now available over 60 years later. He shows that the allied war effort  in Normandy was not a one man band but came from many nations including Polish, Jewish soldiers, Australian and New Zealand airmen and naval personnel, Czech, Russians, French, etc not to mention British, US and Canadian soldiers. He paints Field Marshall Montgomery in most unflattering terms and describes the political machinations of the time including the aspirations of General DeGaulle.  Ironically Paris is liberated on the feast day of St Louis.

To add to the drama, in July 1944 saw the attempted assassination of Adolf Hitler, an event which has earth tremors through the German General Staff in France. The German side is presented in detail and with candor and compassion. The great tragedy as I see it was that the Allied soldiers were dying alongside their courageous and very professional German adversaries in order to liberate not only the French but ultimately the Germans from their own political system and with the vision of a new democratic Europe.

The appalling price the people of Normandie paid is portrayed with no punches pulled and particularly with regards the wanton destruction of Caen and its inhabitants by massive raids by heavy allied bombers who killed relatively few Germans. Beevor says that Normandy was sacrificed with the result that the rest of France was largely spared the carnage of the war of attrition in the bocages (hedgerows) in the first three months of the war. Monty again was criticised severely for his failure to close the Falaise Gap and allow about 20,000 Germans to escape encirclement.

I came away from this book with the opinion that Monty was a poor general and highly egocentric. The subsequent Battle of Arnhem (viz, A Bridge Too Far) only confirms this and El Alamein in which many of my countrymen fought with great valour was won by the bravery and professionalism of the average soldier and a considerably larger force and logistic supply  of the allies and arguably despite Monty.

I therefore recommend Beevor’s latest magnum opus as a compelling read and a worthy companion to his other stable mates. I think he should write a sequel to D-Day on the Battle of the Bulge, The Road to Berlin and something more close to my home, The Kokoda Track and the long overlooked fearsome battles in New Guinea where the Japanese were first reversed on land.

The squatter’s chair

Filed under: Literature, Poetry — Tags: — Dr Roger KA Allen @ 3:29 pm

Squatter's chairThe squatter’s chair…
From my childhood’s memory
It’s always been there….
My Grandpa’s study with shafts of sun
The books and legs, as if at one.

There sat the squatter’s chair.

My Father too, legs in the air.
Books of Greek, Latin and French
Lexicons with binding worn
Cicero and Molière
Herodotus, Homer and Baudelaire.

There sat the squatter’s chair.

This was the world my Father knew
Greek texts, enticing, strange,
A different world; a special view.
Journeys of the inner mind,
Dante and Omar Khayyam.

There sat the squatter’s chair .

During his life he worked with pain
Suffering, and death…this ray of light,
With my Mother’s help
Patients by day, and in the dead of night.

There stood the squatter’s chair.

But at home he had a secret life.
There were us children and Mum,
But his other wife,
Was a Grecian Muse in a gown of white.

Beside the squatter’s chair .

My mother toiled in her garden of love,
While he flew in his minds to lands above,
But still loved her roses, and cornflowers blue;
Her perfumed garden and ephemeral hue.

Around the squatter’s chair .

But now it’s all over
The garden is bare,
There is no one sitting in the squatter’s chair
And his thirst for all these treasures of old,
More precious to him than silver and gold.

But when spring comes
It will be back on the lawn
Surrounded by flowers, grandchildren and Mum.
And there will he be in his father’s chair

Reading and snoozing while we’re having fun.
Such is the squatter’s chair.

Now I sit in his chair beside my wife,
Whose perfumes and hues pervade my life.
For the squatter’s chair is the chair of life.

And what of the man who is made of dust,
He lives in this garden that he loved so much.
He’ll always be here, surrounded by love,
By the sunshine and peace and the turtle doves.

Such is the squatter’s chair.

August 25, 2009

I went sailing.

Filed under: Uncategorized — Dr Roger KA Allen @ 12:18 pm

I went sailing

I went a sailing today
As I am fortunate to do.
The houses and the headland,
The people and their troubles,
Shrink as the lines of life’s perspective
Stretch invisible behind
And the sea engulfs me
Like the arms of a women’s love
And the boat’s sharp prow
Cuts wave and water;
This giant blade folding time in space
Like my mother folding sugar in a sponge.

The blue surge collapses behind
With the scrawling of our wake
Rubbed out, anonymous and gone
As if we were never there.

A lone dark cormorant,
Wings bent gracefully behind;
Shoots like a black arrow
Into the depth and darkness
While our hull’s curve
Murmurs merrily,
As froth and foam speed by
Borne on by the pregnant belly
Of a north wind in Dacron sail
Whose tight sheets strain
To the vectors of force and motion;
The horse pulls tight against the reins.

There is a liturgy in coming home:
The setting sun and ebbing tide,
The dying wind,
The crying gull.
The mooring lines ready,
The fenders down,
Our minds tense
As we stop,
Safe and fast our straining steed,
By ropes fixed fast on the cleats of steel,
And the figure eights of obligation.
This sail is my calibration;
Against the length and breadth
Of all this blue planet’s wonder,
Its lightening and its thunder,
And this little life.

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