Month: February 2019

The raw facts about the raw-food movement

I’ve always liked the expression “all things in moderation.” I’m not sure it represents some sort of universal law, but it seems to be a reasonable attitude with which to approach most situations in life. It suits my personality, too, because I like novelty and variety while I resist both excesses and prohibitions. When it comes to food, this sort of mindset means I wouldn’t categorically say no to any class of food—vegetables, meat, dairy, alcohol, junk food, and genetically modified organisms are all valid options. However, I try to be aware of the nutritional properties and likely health implications of what I eat, and to make food choices deliberately. So I’ll eat that occasional crème brûlée without guilt, but I’ll probably also back off on sugars and carbs the next day.

The problem is, I can’t always figure out whose opinions about nutrition and health I should believe. Among the many paths to optimal health I’ve heard are these: avoid all carbohydrates and eat mostly protein; eat only plant products; eat only fruits; eat just one particular fruit; take vitamins; stay away from vitamins. I’ve heard that eggs are bad for your health; I’ve heard that they’re great for your health. Ditto for coffee and wine. I’ve heard that foods like honey and tea will help you live to be 100 and that they’ll lead to an early grave. Many of these contradictory claims were made by trained health professionals with years of experience, and have a stack of studies and anecdotal reports supporting them. For this reason, I take any proclamation about a particular diet’s virtues with a large pinch of kosher salt.

I say all this by way of qualifying today’s topic: anopsology. Also known as instinctive eating, instincto, anosology, or the raw Paleolithic/raw Paleo diet, it’s the practice of eating only raw foods—and specifically, those raw foods that humans would have eaten before the development of agriculture or fire. So fresh fruits, vegetables, seeds, nuts, honey, and even raw meats are in; dairy, grains, and all processed foods are out. By “processed,” I mean “altered in any way.” In other words, you can’t grind, press, or squeeze your foods. Nor can you season them. In fact, a central tenet of anopsology is that foods should never be combined in any way in the same bite. And, worst of all, you must never apply heat to foods in any fashion; in this respect, anopsology differs from conventional (non-raw) Paleo diets.

Basic Instinct

My first reaction upon hearing about anopsology was that it’s highly kooky. After reading more about it and considering it in greater detail…OK, I still actually think it’s highly kooky. But there’s also more to it than meets the eye. The rationale behind the notion of eating raw, unprocessed foods is not without some merit, and while I wouldn’t choose that path for myself, it does provide, shall we say, food for thought.

Anopsology was the brainchild of Guy-Claude Burger, a Swiss cellist and physicist born in 1934. Burger was diagnosed with cancer, and decided to treat himself by eating only raw foods. The cancer went away, so Burger concluded the raw foods had cured him. He went on to study, write about, and promote the virtues of raw foods. Although Burger was not trained as a physician or nutritionist, he developed an extensive theory to explain how and why anopsology works.

The gist of the theory is that humans evolved over millions of years eating only raw foods (as would have been necessary before the advent of agriculture and the use of fire for cooking); therefore, the human body must be genetically adapted to function best when only raw foods are consumed. Further, the theory goes, humans can instinctively tell (by smell and taste) which foods are good for them. After consuming a certain quantity of any “original” (or raw and unaltered) food, its taste will change to become less appealing; this is the body’s signal that you’ve had enough and it’s time to stop eating that food. By mixing, cooking, seasoning, or processing foods, you mask these taste changes, so the only way to guarantee that you can detect and respond properly to the changes in taste is to eat foods completely separately from each other.

By eating raw foods in this manner, proponents say, one can cure or prevent a long list of diseases (everything from athlete’s foot to cancer) and ensure a long and healthy life. Anecdotal stories of miraculous cures abound. Unfortunately, very little medical research exists to support or refute these claims. Meanwhile, according to another set of anecdotal stories, some people who have religiously followed a raw-food diet for decades have still somehow gotten sick and died.

A Raw Deal

That’s just the beginning of the criticism of anopsology. Some observers point out that instinctos (as they call themselves) typically eat a lot of foods that didn’t exist in the pre-fire, pre-agriculture world—hybrids and selectively cultivated plants that have only been available relatively recently. They also, curiously, avoid foods such as rhubarb and kidney beans, which are toxic until cooked. Furthermore, contrary to anopsologists’ claims, some foods are demonstrably easier for the body to digest when cooked.

Then there’s that whole notion that humans haven’t evolved appreciably since cooking was invented—at least 10,000 years ago, and more likely 40,000 years ago. That strikes me as unlikely, but even if it’s true, it’s a stretch to assume that before that time, humans were perfectly adapted to eat any, all, and only raw foods. In addition, it’s ridiculous to assume that no one ever ground, squeezed, or combined foods before the discovery of fire. Even if there is a process by which raw foods change in taste to signal us that we’ve had enough, evidence is scant that our ancient ancestors relied on it. And if smell and taste are truly such outstanding indicators of what’s good for us, then I think it’s odd to say that mechanism couldn’t apply to, say, baked goods—to assume that because the ingredients have been processed, they must be fooling our senses.

Interestingly, vegans have been among the most vocal critics of anopsology, saying that it goes too far by permitting meat. Some vegans, on the other hand, say it’s also too limiting in not allowing all plant products. And then there are the fruitarians, who advocate eating only raw fruit (including seeds and nuts); according to them, anopsology and veganism are too broad.

Meanwhile, Burger has been convicted on separate occasions of fraud, illegal practice of medicine, and sexual abuse of minors (for which he was given a 15-year prison term in 2001). Of course, these facts have no bearing on anopsology as such, but they cast a generally dim light on Burger’s thought processes.

Personally, I find the arguments in favor of anopsology unconvincing. Although I can see the appeal in wanting to eat those foods for which the body is best adapted, it seems unlikely that we’ll ever determine conclusively what those are, or that they’re the same for all people for all time. Unless or until such proof is forthcoming, I’ll carry on eating my balanced diet of raw and processed foods.

Note: This is an updated version of an article that originally appeared on Interesting Thing of the Day on September 27, 2006.

Image credit: Pixabay

The Union for International Cancer Control (UICC) designated February 4 as World Cancer Day. It’s a day dedicated to raising awareness of cancer (including prevention, early detection, and treatment) and supporting fundraising efforts for cancer research. I’ve had numerous friends and relatives with cancer, including some who overcame it and some who did not. That’s true of most of us, isn’t it? It’s a terrible disease, and especially tragic when it can be avoided but isn’t. (Don’t smoke! Wear sunscreen! Get your kids HPV vaccines!) And if you can, donate money to a worthy organization such as the American Cancer Society today.

Image credit: NIH Image Gallery [Public Domain], via Flickr

The mirror of Venice

Years ago, on our first trip to Europe, Morgen and I tried very hard to visit as many sites as possible on our “must-see” list, which meant very short stops and lots of travel time. Venice was one of those obligatory stops, and we were both very sad to leave after only a few days, during which we had managed to see just a tiny sliver of the city. I was impressed by the canals, the architecture, the churches, the museums, and the omnipresent music (everywhere we turned, some little chamber orchestra was playing Vivaldi)—as well as the friendly and accommodating locals. We had no real plan other than to wander around and see what there was to see—which was a shame, because with a bit more foresight we might have planned a visit to nearby Murano, the suburb responsible for keeping Venice’s finest gift shops stocked.

The Spittin’ Image

Murano is a cluster of five small, closely spaced islands in the Venetian lagoon, less than 2 miles (about 3km) north of the city of Venice. Murano’s islands, like those of Venice, are linked by bridges and separated by canals; in fact, nearly everything about the town seems to be an extension of its much larger neighbor nearby. That in itself makes Murano an interesting and picturesque place, but it’s best known for its legendary glass craftsmen.

Glassmaking in Venice dates back to at least the 10th century CE, and possibly as early as the 5th century. But by the late 1200s, the production of glass objects was the city’s major industry. Not only did Venetians produce lots of glass, they also made glass of the very finest quality. And the city’s leaders went to great lengths to protect the profitability of this industry and ensure the city’s dominance in the glass trade. A 1271 law prohibited the importation of foreign glass or the employment of foreign glassworkers. In 1291, yet another law required that all furnaces used for glassmaking be moved out of Venice proper and onto the islands of Murano. The usual reason given for this move was to minimize the danger of fire, as the city’s buildings were mostly wood. But a more likely explanation was a desire to keep the city’s glass craftsmen sequestered in a single, more easily monitored location where trade secrets could be prevented from finding their way into the wrong hands.

This theory is borne out by the 1295 edict that Venetian glassmakers may not leave the city; those who attempted to leave were threatened with grievous bodily harm. On the other hand, people who worked in the glass trade were at least rewarded handsomely for their efforts. The Venetian government accorded the artisans special social and legal privileges that gave them status rivaling that of the moneyed aristocracy. This carrot-and-stick motivation worked, and glassmakers passed on their secrets to their offspring for generation after generation—giving Venice a near-monopoly in quality glass products throughout Europe that lasted for centuries.

Murano glassmakers traditionally created pieces that were primarily functional rather than decorative—but with such skill and artistry that the distinction often blurred. Though they were best known for their blown glass work, they also had special expertise in making mirrors and developed a number of innovative techniques, particularly involving colored glass.

Refilling the Glass

By the 17th century, though, Murano began to lose its mojo. A combination of political changes in Venice and technological advances elsewhere resulted in greater competitive pressure, and the Murano glass trade waned, nearly to the point of extinction. In the mid-1800s, Murano glassmaking underwent a renaissance, thanks in large part to the efforts of Antonio Salviati, a businessman who specialized in selling the glass tiles used to refurbish Venice’s many mosaics. This trend was later boosted by the tourist industry, which has kept Murano’s glassmakers busy ever since.

Today, Murano glassmakers produce stunningly elaborate art pieces that sell for outrageous sums, as well as smaller decorative articles, including jewelry. But although these are the flashiest products, Murano factories also turn out mirrors, lenses, glassware, and other conventional glass items. In a town legendary for its artwork, Murano glass is the clear leader.

Note: This is an updated version of an article that originally appeared on Interesting Thing of the Day on April 8, 2005.

Image credit: Vassil [CC0], from Wikimedia Commons

My feelings about carrot cake could best be described as indifferent. I find it entirely edible. I don’t really…understand it, I guess? I can’t quite imagine the circumstances under which someone came up with the idea. Like, you’ve got the makings for cake, and you just want to punch it up a bit. Of the hundreds of ingredients one might choose for that purpose, carrots would simply never occur to me. They’re kind of boring, and just an odd flavor and texture choice for cake. There are certainly vegetables that would make a worse choice—green beans, fennel, and broccoli, to choose three random vegetables I’m happy to eat on their own, would go less well in cake. But surely there are even better alternatives, like literally any fruit, or any of numerous spices, or (to state the obvious) chocolate? However, if you have to eat carrot cake, today’s the day.

Image credit: Elitre [CC BY-SA 4.0], from Wikimedia Commons

The strange ritual of marmot meteorology

On February 2 of each year, everyone in the United States (and in numerous other countries) who reads, listens to, or watches the news is guaranteed to encounter at least one story about Groundhog Day. The stories will be exactly the same as the ones from last year, the year before, and every year for more than half a century. At around 7:30 A.M., Punxsutawney Phil emerges reluctantly from his comfy quarters in a small Pennsylvania town and, with a crowd of tens of thousands watching, either sees his shadow or doesn’t. The crowd, now informed as to whether or not they must endure six more weeks of winter, celebrates for a few hours and heads home.

The news stories repeat, for the umpteenth time, that this ritual has been going on since 1887, though it has been a public event only since 1966. They often point out that the rodent called “groundhog” (Marmota monax) is a type of marmot also known as the woodchuck or whistle pig. They also, without fail, mention the 1993 romantic comedy staring Bill Murray and Andie MacDowell in which Murray’s character gets stuck in a bizarre time loop that forces him to relive Groundhog Day thousands of times in a row. The stories may even reiterate the obviously false official proclamations that there has only ever been one Punxsutawney Phil all these years (despite the fact that a groundhog’s average lifespan is only about 10 years in captivity and half that in the wild); that the predictions are not rigged in advance; and that Phil is always correct.

Profit from the Prophet

I’d like to tell you how interesting I think this all is, but here at Interesting Thing of the Day we have higher standards. Let’s face it: this story has gotten kind of old. If this odd ritual occurred less frequently—say, every seven years—then perhaps it would be more interesting. If that which is predicted were of greater moment—say, a nationwide famine or bumper crop—that would be much more interesting. And, of course, if there were some ineffable scientific or metaphysical principle on display—say, a genuine 100% accuracy rate—that would be very, very interesting indeed. None of these things, alas, is true. This silly event is just for fun, and few people bother to pretend otherwise. After perusing dozens of websites, though, I was able to piece together a single factoid that makes me go “Hmmmm”—but it will require some explanation. The factoid is this: Phil’s predictions are statistically significant—the odds that they’ll be wrong are far greater than would be the case if they were completely random. In other words, bet against Phil every year, and over the long run you’ll turn a tidy profit.

As you may have guessed, it’s not quite that simple. The legend gives us two options: the groundhog sees his shadow, in which case winter will last another six weeks; or the groundhog does not see his shadow, in which case spring will arrive soon. Clearly, there are other possibilities. Winter may last for another five weeks, or four, or seven. The temperature may rise for a week but then fall again. Or it may hover in that ill-defined gray zone between “winter-like” and “spring-like” for weeks on end. How exactly does one determine definitively whether, or when, “winter” has ended (apart from looking at a calendar)? And supposing we work that out, how do we judge the results? If Phil predicts six more weeks of winter and there are five, was he right or wrong? What if he does not see a shadow but spring does not arrive in full force until three weeks later? Obviously, this indeterminacy enables groundhog fans to spin the facts in any way that pleases them.

Nevertheless, numerous news organizations, in a heroic attempt to create novel content about this ritual, have applied a variety of logical and meteorological standards in order to tease meaningful statistics out of the past century-plus of prognostications. The results—depending on how and when the calculations were performed—show that Phil has been right, on average, between 25% and 45% of the time. (For example, a recent review of the data just since 1988 gave Phil a 45% hit rate, whereas another one from a few years back pegged it at 40% and a journal article from 2001 estimated only 28% accuracy.) That, if you ask me, is a truly extraordinary negative correlation. Considering it’s the weather we’re talking about, I’d take those odds.

Grounds for Dismissal

The myth of Groundhog Day is rooted in old Scottish and English rhymes involving Candlemas Day, which falls halfway between the winter solstice and the vernal equinox. According to the Continental tradition that gave rise to these rhymes, if the weather is cold and clear on this day, the cold will last; if it’s cloudy, the weather will soon turn. Groundhogs looking for their shadows are nothing but a convenient, folktale-friendly proxy. Supposing this story is somehow based in fact, it clearly must be a climate-specific fact. What may have been true centuries ago in Scotland, for example, may be all but meaningless in central Pennsylvania today. As a matter of fact, the very opposite appears to be much closer to the truth.

But then, from what I can tell, the presence, absence, or clarity of an actual shadow is sort of a moot point on Gobbler’s Knob in Punxsutawney on February 2. Phil provides his prediction in “Groundhogese”; the guy in the black top hat renders the official “translation.” More often than not, the verdict is yes: there was a shadow; six more weeks of winter. Giving Phil and his handlers the benefit of the doubt here, and supposing complete shadow-reporting integrity, we might guess that Phil’s startling inaccuracy is a simple matter of geography. Some of Phil’s counterparts, after all, such as Chester in St. Louis and New York’s Staten Island Chuck, boast accuracy rates of up to 85%. But there may be a more insidious explanation. I think Phil really does know the score but purposely lies, in protest for being dragged out of bed and into the cold. Either that or some human speaks very poor Groundhogese.

Note: This is an updated version of an article that originally appeared on Interesting Thing of the Day on February 2, 2005.

Image credit: Anthony Quintano [CC BY 2.0], via Wikimedia Commons

Yes, yes, I know, today is also Groundhog Day. (Wait, wasn’t it Groundhog Day just yesterday?) But there are more important things to think about today than a marmot and a shadow. Like food! In the United States, crêpes tend to be thought of as a fancy dessert food, but during the years I lived in Paris, I came to think of them more as cheap, ubiquitous street food—with either sweet or savory toppings/fillings. In any case, crêpes are delicious, super quick and easy to make, and appropriate for any meal. Enjoy one (or two) today—no matter how much longer winter is predicted to last.

Image credit: PxHere