I spray my organic apples with organic produce cleanser. I rinse my leafy greens twice in warm water and thrice in cold. Same with canned beans. In pinch, when I’m without my organic produce cleanser, I might wash the outside of cucumber with soap before peeling it, like a Prep Chef with O.C.D. Why? As a city dwelling mother of two (and one child with food allergies) if I am going to go to all the effort of purchasing and carrying bags of healthy foods to feed my family, I’m going to avoid the irony of contracting E-Coli from overpriced baby spinach. What a waste! I am far too Reluctant of a Foodie to take that chance.
On another clean note, due to my son’s food allergies, I’ve learned to scrutinize my food choices and labels and have reason to be genuinely concerned with the state of packaged goods. I view food “contamination” in a unique fashion since, for example, nut particulates and unaccountable sesame seeds are the equivalent of a sprinkling of arsenic, nay a soupcon of lead in my son’s mouth.
Now if I have a thing about clean food then it seem I’m not alone. Lately the phrase “clean food” has been bantered about with ease and frequency in my social circles. First, it was my friend Jennifer. Like many of my friends, Jennifer is a bit of a Foodie. She drives into Queens for blood pudding when hankering for a “Nice, traditional winter breakfast” and she enrolls in culinary classes called “Summer Grilling: From Flatbreads to Dessert Fruit.”
A few weeks ago, while we were making dinner plans, Jennifer urged me over the phone, “Let’s meet at that new Italian restaurant on 77th Street. I tried it and it’s good. Good clean food.” Then she repeated, “Really clean.”
I was intrigued. Who wouldn’t want to eat this clean food she speaks of? How could I refuse? Imagine: “No thank you Jennifer! I prefer grimy food!”
Subsequently, our dinner was quite tasty. My arugula salad wasn’t limp. My scallops tasted like scallops, which is all I ever ask of them. My meal wasn’t salty or under-seasoned or well, dirty. But it wasn’t remarkable. I was confused. And rather than press my bother my good friend for her definition of “clean food” the next day, I researched it myself.
I spray my organic apples with organic produce cleanser. I rinse my leafy greens twice in warm water and thrice in cold. Same with canned beans. In pinch, when I’m without my organic produce cleanser, I might wash the outside of cucumber with soap before peeling it, like a Prep Chef with O.C.D. Why? As a city dwelling mother of two (and one child with food allergies) if I am going to go to all the effort of purchasing and carrying bags of healthy foods to feed my family, I’m going to avoid the irony of contracting E-Coli from overpriced baby spinach. What a waste! I am far too Reluctant of a Foodie to take that chance.On another clean note, due to my son’s food allergies, I’ve learned to scrutinize my food choices and labels and have reason to be genuinely concerned with the state of packaged goods. I view food “contamination” in a unique fashion since, for example, nut particulates and unaccountable sesame seeds are the equivalent of a sprinkling of arsenic, nay a soupcon of lead in my son’s mouth.Now if I have a thing about clean food then it seem I’m not alone. Lately the phrase “clean food” has been bantered about with ease and frequency in my social circles. First, it was my friend Jennifer. Like many of my friends, Jennifer is a bit of a Foodie. She drives into Queens for blood pudding when hankering for a “Nice, traditional winter breakfast” and she enrolls in culinary classes called “Summer Grilling: From Flatbreads to Dessert Fruit.”A few weeks ago, while we were making dinner plans, Jennifer urged me over the phone, “Let’s meet at that new Italian restaurant on 77th Street. I tried it and it’s good. Good clean food.” Then she repeated, “Really clean.”I was intrigued. Who wouldn’t want to eat this clean food she speaks of? How could I refuse? Imagine: “No thank you Jennifer! I prefer grimy food!”Subsequently, our dinner was quite tasty. My arugula salad wasn’t limp. My scallops tasted like scallops, which is all I ever ask of them. My meal wasn’t salty or under-seasoned or well, dirty. But it wasn’t remarkable. I was confused. And rather than press my bother my good friend for her definition of “clean food” the next day, I researched it myself.
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