Cook Dinner, Save the World
If you weren't already convinced that cooking dinner might just save you and your family, here's an even better argument: Dinner might just save the world. From Michael Pollan's Cooked:
To cook or not to cook thus becomes a consequential question. Though I realize that is putting the matter a bit too bluntly. Cooking means different things at different times to different people; seldom is it an all-or-nothing proposition. Yet even to cook a few more nights a week than you already to, or to devote a Sunday to make a few meals for the week, or perhaps to try every now and again to make something you only ever expected to buy -- even these modest acts will constitute a kind of vote. A vote for what exactly? Well, in a world where so few of us are obliged to cook at all anymore, to choose to do so is to lodge a protest against specialization -- against the total rationalization of life. Against the infiltration of commercial interests into every last cranny of our lives. To cook for the pleasure of it, devote a portion of our leisure to it, is to declare our independence from the corporations seeking to organize our every waking moment into yet another occasion for consumption. (Come to think of it, our nonwaking moments as well: Ambien anyone?) It is to reject the debilitation notion that, at least while we're at home, production is work done by someone else, and the only legitimate form of leisure is consumption. This dependence marketers call "freedom."
Thought you'd like that.
Related: Michael Pollan and Michael Moss go shopping.
Also: I'm at Anderson's Books in Larchmont, NY tomorrow, May 4 (2:00-4:00) signing copies of Dinner: A Love Story for Mother's Day. Stop by if you are in the neighborhood.
Lastly: You have just about one more week to fill out the DALS questionnaire and become eligible to win some cool prizes. Thank you to those of you who already have! Love what I'm reading so far.
Have a good weekend.
Photo above: Best family dinner scene in the history of movies, from Annie Hall.