Slow Travel: The Grand Tour

Maps of the US seem to be all over the media recently, a little patchwork quilt of reds and blues - a repeated reminder of the divisions between urban and rural, between coastal and central, between ethnic groups or income levels. But it’s one thing to see the maps of the country’s political inclinations, and quite another to get one’s head around the sheer vastness of these here United States.

Union Station in Washington, DC

I’ve written this from a train. This visit home, I decided to cut out the air travel and catch a few locomotives. Now, this isn’t an earth-shattering decision on my part. My move back home after college was by train. And I had crossed the country twice before, traveling from Washington, DC to Seattle. However, this was my first trip linking together so many rail rides – committing to a full loop (sorry southeastern US…), a “Grand Tour”, shall we say. It meant factoring in a solid 8.5 days in-transit. Inevitably, that makes you stop and think about how big the country is, how different each place is, and how many people call each home.

Just a quick history lesson – while the US wasn’t the first to pioneer railroads, it replicated and expanded upon the technology to an unparalleled extent. During the mid- to late-19th century, trains were the ultimate movers of people and products – capable of covering great distances quickly and relatively efficiently – but they were much more than that. As the name of the route from Seattle to Chicago – The Empire Builder – suggests, trains were also means of asserting national sovereignty and uniting geographically disparate regions. Railways served this purpose in countries like Italy and India, connecting a collection of autonomous city-states. In the US, railways helped assert the notion of manifest destiny and supported rebuilding in the post-Civil War reconstruction period. Between 1855-1871, the US government operated a land grant program for new rail companies to expand west (eventually totaling 730,000 sq km), encouraging settlement and development. Notably, the first transcontinental railroad was completed in 1869 by the Central Pacific and Union Pacific Railroad companies (note the link to my alma-mater…), running from San Francisco to New York City. Fortunes were made and lost in the rail business, and economies rose and fell.

With the expansion of motor vehicle and airplane use in the mid-20th century, trains became the less preferred method of moving people. Today, they still significantly contribute to US freight transport, most noticeably for heavier cargo traveling long distances. For instance, rail makes up 15% of US-North America transboundary freight transport (by value, second after trucks). But passenger rail has lagged behind other developed nations. While not surprising given how the country’s transportation network developed, the missed opportunity for the US to lead in rail innovation still saddens me.

Heading north in Central Oregon

Tears aside, there is much to be said from my Grand Tour. It took me across over 7,500 miles of the United States, including a southwestern route I had never been on before. Although I had vowed to use the time for an uninterrupted writing retreat, much of the daylight hours found me distracted by the landscape flying past. Here’s a brief overview:

Leg #1: Los Angeles to Oakland (12 hours)

My first time on this stretch of the Coast Starlight, I was surprised by how popular this route was, not to mention the number of vocal first-time train travelers. Filled with beautiful coastal views complemented by the rolling Central Valley scenery, the routes from LA are notorious for delays, not least because freight is king.

Leg #2: Oakland to Seattle (21 hours; 1,377 miles from LA)

During the winter, you lose all the northern California landscape to the night, but wake up to Oregon’s high desert with the dawn light. This remains my favourite route, perhaps because it invokes those comforting feelings of coming home. It’s also a pretty vibrant leg, with many passengers getting on and off for the shorter trips between San Francisco and Portland (or somewhere in between) and Portland to Seattle.

Skirting Glacier National Park as day breaks

Leg #3: Seattle to Chicago (45 hours; 2,206 miles)

This ride would be amazing in the summer, with some of the most impressive alpine window-watching! The tracks start along the Seattle waterfront, with views of the Pacific for the first hour or so. East-bound you miss the journey across the Cascade Mountains this time of year, but you catch the majestic peaks of Glacier National Park as the sun comes up. Looking at a map, it is also particularly interesting to see how the tracks skirt several Native American reservations, including: Colville, Blackfeet, Flathead, and Fort Belknap. It is a subtle reminder of the region’s tearful history.

While Montana takes an entire day to cross, the majority of which is comprised of sparsely populated prairie (there are less than 7 people per square mile in the state). North Dakota flew by under the cover of night. As the second day broke on Minnesota, we had a reminder of heightened border security, when a patrolman came onboard to ask passengers’ nationalities. Not to sound like a broken record, but people really do use the train! This seemed to be mostly short-hauls, and I expect the train is more convenient for some more rural areas, where major airports are hours drives away. The demographics leaned slightly older, some of whom I overheard discussing their dislike of flying and prefer to avoid the hassle of airports if they have time. Ehem, #32goingon70

Along the Mississippi is apparently the best place to spot eagles…

Leg #4: Chicago to New York City (20 hours; 959 miles)

Chicago is the hub that nearly all cross-country routes go through, and this time proved trains to be oddly reliable: with some snowstorms hitting the northeast and flight/bus cancellations, the trip was packed with people who had opted for the train.

Leg #5: New York City to Washington, DC (3 ½ hours; 226 miles)

Much better than the bus. Period.

Leg #6: Washington, DC to Chicago (18 hours; 764 miles)

Passing through Chicago again, with a few hours to catch up with a friend (or family).

Leg #7: Chicago to Los Angeles (43 hours; 2,256 miles)

As my first time on the Southwest Chief, this leg of the journey was fascinating and quite a contrast from the northern routes. Deserts, canyons, and glimpses of the Rockies – after that first night, it soon became clear we were not in Kansas anymore (which we crossed while sleeping). There were also little reminder of the strong industrial ties to railways – passing offshoots to mines and cars full of coal, destined for ports or other parts of the country.

Coal cars in Colorado

After spending over 160 hours on trains in the span of five weeks, I made it back to beginning, to leave you with a few final thoughts on taking the slow travel option. 1) This was definitely a lesson in Geography, a refresher in neighboring States and overland distances, while tracking that little blue dot inch along my phone’s map. 2) I’m continually surprised at how quickly the time flies. While three days seems like a long time to get from point A to point B, in the scheme of things it isn’t. And when you travel this way, everything tends to feel just a little bit less urgent. 3) Opting for the train has to be more than low-carbon travel. In Europe, there is really no comparison: the default electric high-speed rail produces about a tenth (or less) of the greenhouse gas emissions of flying. However, this is ‘murica! Amtrak trains emit about ~0.45lb CO2/passenger mile (the NE corridor is at 0.37lb CO2 because it runs on electricity rather than diesel), which is comparable or slightly higher than a non-stop long-distance flight (though taking a coach is by far the greenest, though perhaps less enjoyable, option). While sometimes it is the more carbon-friendly option, there are also plenty of other reasons to go via rail (did you see that mountain?).

On that note, anyone interested in a combined rails and trails trip? Until then…

Shameless plug - more photos from the Grand Tour on Instagram.

Credit: Points with a Crew Blog

Where Art and Ag Collide

Giuseppe Recco's Still Life With Fruit

There is something magical about walking around an open-air market, glimpsing the varieties of fruits and vegetables, ones you'd never see - maybe never even imagine - gracing the supermarket shelves. It's like entering a gallery, a visual experience wherever you turn. 

I have never been much of a modern art person, usually drawn to the large landscape paintings that captured feelings of awe and humility (e.g. Romantic era paintings of nature), or sense of exploration and adventure (e.g. Hudson River School). This realism attempted to interpret humans' complex relationship with the 'natural world'. Yet this overlooks one of the most central interactions with the environment; it is not often the context in which we discuss another flavour of realism, the still-life paintings of flora and fauna particularly popular during the 16th and 17th centuries.

Four Seasons in One Head

There was an article in National Geographic, a couple of years ago now, which tries to piece together the evolutionary history of our modern-day watermelon. Cultivated crops are products of generations selecting fruits, vegetables, seeds, and grains that exhibit traits of better taste, more edible material, and ease of growing. Crops are in essence a most direct product of people's relationship to nature. Amazingly, some of this evolution is captured in art over the centuries, documenting how cultivars have ebbed and flowed with the passage of time. While the food still-life genre seems to bore some people to tears (sorry sis), it is a beautiful snapshot in time for the botanically-inclined. 

Perhaps a more explicit nod to humanity's direct confrontation with nature in the form of horticultural or extractive pursuits were Giuseppe Arcimboldo's series of seasons and elements (I'm a particular fan of autumn...). This vein of work seems to present a marriage between science and art, trying to meld botanical accuracy and metaphor within an image. At times I wonder how much effort was spent on studying rare or geographically-distant varieties of plants, how much the use of one particular cultivar was a carefully meditated decision, and how much we could learn from these paintings about the agricultural systems and trade flows of those eras. Perhaps it is not too late to change PhD topics, after all (...just kidding, I'm very content where I am!...)

Album Vilmorin. The Vegetable Garden (1850-1895)

Anywho, I had in mind no specific agenda for this post, no earth-shattering message; just a musing inspired by one of the various prints adorning my walls. So I'll end with acknowledging the artistry in marketing seeds themselves. Many a visitor returns from France with an A3 sheet adorned with a random assemblage of heritage varieties of fruits and vegetables. Little do most of us realise that we can thank the Vilmorin-Andrieux & Cie seed company (dating back to the 18th century) for this unintentional form of wall decoration. If you search 'vintage seed packet', a further array of masterfully depicted heritage plant varieties will emerge, testament to the beauty of agro-biodiversity and the skill of botanical artists. Not the obras we frequently find in halls of a museum, but a more subtle and everyday aesthetic.

So maybe, just maybe, you and I will look at still-life paintings (and seed packets!) with a more discerning and inquisitive pair of eyes. Art museum fieldtrip, anyone?

A Sweet New Year

Shanah tovah u'metuka - these words express wishes for a good and sweet new year. We actuate these sentiments by dipping apples in honey, eating rich raisin-dotted bread, and reflecting on a year gone past. While the round loaf of challah bread represents the continuity and cyclical nature of a year, the honey is a reference to a 'land flowing with milk and honey' - Israel. Many other Jewish holidays also embrace sweetness, prescribing more ritual consumption of honey, dairy, and fruits.

We often, however, overlook the fact that the honey alluded to in biblical texts is not the bee-derived syrup so commonly used today, but rather a sweet liquid made from the fruit of a date palm. The date palm is suggested as the oldest cultivated tree, potentially originating in presentday Iraq, and feeding the populace of the Middle East for upwards of 8,000 years. But an equally extended history with humans exists for honey produced by bees, as well. Pre-dating the advent of agriculture by a hair (it is a forageable food), honey was probably first stolen from the hives of wild bees a bit more than 10,000 years ago. Apiarists may have started cultivating colonies in ancient Egypt, or perhaps back even further as documented in cave paintings. It was fit for gods, used as currency, and replete with medicinal properties. 

This is a sticky topic for a vegan. Yet while the staunch abstainers point to the poor oppressed worker bees, the fruits of whose labour are then cruelly seized, I'd argue that conscientious honey consumption is a more environmentally responsible. Local and in moderation, a recipe for healthier pollinator populations and more resilient ecosystems. While not quite at the level of concern as the recently declared endangered bee species in Hawai'i, bees do face huge pressures from habitat loss, pollution, pesticides, and more, while also playing pivotal ecological roles. We can do far more by supporting local cultivators who try to build a better environment for people and apids, than by boycotting the industrial segment. Let's leave it at that!

And because a Jewish holiday blog post is incomplete without a sweet recipe, here's one for the road...

Rosh Hashanah Honey Cake

2/3 cup sunflower oil

1 cup hot black coffee

1/2 cup non-dairy milk (or orange juice)

1 1/2 cup raw cane sugar

1 tbs treacle or molasses

1/2 cup honey (if you swing that way), agave, or golden syrup

10 large dates, soaked for 3-4 hours or overnight in ~1/4 cup water, pureed (or double and replace honey entirely)

3 1/2 cups plain or light wholemeal flour

2 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp sea salt

3 tsp cinnamon

1 tsp allspice

2 tsp apple cider vinegar (if no orange juice)

1/2 green apple, chopped (optional)

1/2 cup walnuts, chopped (optional)

1. Mix oil, coffee, milk, and sugary substances together.

2. Sift in the dry ingredients and then combine just until everything is incorporated. Fold in sliced apple or walnuts, if desired.

3. Transfer to a large cake round or two loaf pans. Bake for 35-45 minutes at 180°C, until a knife comes out clean. Don't overbake! Allow to cool completely.

Inspiration: The Jewish Fruitcake - NPR The Salt

Baking Back in Time

I've been spending a lot of time with flour lately. Between a bread-baking class, a sourdough starter standoff, and the Victorian Bakers on BBC, you might be surprised to hear I haven't yet developed a gluten intolerance. Something about making bread by hand is very satisfying, but also makes you realize just how much modern technology changed our relation to bread.

Episode one of Victorian Bakers saw the four professional boulangiers in a country village bakery, using primarily wild yeast, hand kneading, and long proofing times. Funnily, this labour and time intensive process is back en vogue with artisan bakeries. The overnight or multi-day ferments are highly prized (and the flavour is usually worth it), as is the rustic and slightly whole grainy appearance. I've come to enjoy this process immensely - the planning, the perfecting of hydration levels, the stretching and folding of the dough.

But by episode two, we had moved to an urban setting ... And witnessed the growing pains in the baking professions from rapid industrialization. This was the age of 'dough conditioners' and additives. Chalk to whiten the loaves as pearly pain became a sign of social standing. Bulking agents of questionable health safety helped to cut costs. And of course copious amounts of ash from coal fires and sweat from backbreaking kneading. Bread was a staple bordering on inedible. Yet, the cost cutters and substitutions are still prevalent among commercial bread manufacture. Somehow we don't seem to recoil from Wonder-bread or the typical hotdog bun.

 

Finally, lets talk flour and sugar. Apparently, the grains grown in the UK tend to be lower in gluten than the hard winter wheats of North America. So towards the end of the 19th century when imported flour was introduced in a big way, bakers all of a sudden had an easier time of making consistent and desirable loaves. While I get really excited about the prospect of using interesting heritage varieties of wheat (or even rye), I'll also readily admit that more glutinous flours are considerably easier to work with. The other interesting ingredient development, which surfaced in the final episode, was the expansion of sweet treats in the baking world. This came about as the British colonies allowed for a ready supply of sugar, lowering the cost and making cakes and tarts more widely accessible. For better or worse, this mainstreaming of cake breaks (along with tea, of course) is still a fixture to this day. 

Besides an entertaining hybrid of a history documentary and reality tv cooking show, Victorian Bakers proved thought-provoking an reflective on the evolution of our daily bread to this day.

And that's some good-tasty food for thought! 

Watch: http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b06vn7sq/victorian-bakers-episode-1

Let Them Eat Bread

You may have figured I fell down a rabbit hole or got lost on the way to library. And while either of those things are likely to happen here in Oxford, I can sadly use neither as an excuse. Rather, it just so happens that the more work I have - the more looming deadlines, the more time spent sitting in front of a computer screen - the more I bake (and the less I apparently write on this blog). Friends know this to be the case, and often benefit from a plethora of carb-laden delights that one person should never (and yet, sometimes does) consume alone.

It's a strangely meditative and calming activity, which requires patience and planning. Operating literally by feel, it is also a very personal pasttime, one in which many of the bakers I know have strong opinions and preferences about process of kneading (or not), fermentation (how long), and composition (how hydrated). Luckily for you, I am not one of those people - though that might explain my bread-baking's inconsistent results. And I'm also not here to wax on the joy of baking, in spite of appearances to the contrary.

On a Skype not too long ago, my father (yes, I know you're reading this) commented on what a challenge it must be to make bread without a breadmaker or a stand mixer and breadhook. While surely those modern amenities facilitate and standardize the production of bread at home, they are by no means necessary. In fact, this comment made me pause, and reflect that actually people have made bread without mechanical aids and in much less optimal conditions for thousands of years. So of course this prompted the ensuing storm of Google searches. 

Now, many of you are familiar with baking using packets of dried yeast that you then activate in warm water with a pinch of sugar. But that 'invention' of packaged and ready to use yeast happened only in the last century and a half. Bakers have used the 'wild' yeast present in the air for much longer. Often referred to as a sourdough 'starter', the naturally occurring Saccharomyces species of yeast metabolize the sugars in grains to produce carbon dioxide and leaven the dough, while the presence of Lactobacillus bacteria create a distinctly sour flavour. Saccharomyces is also used for alcoholic fermentation in wine and beer; in fact, some theories have wine and beer as the first leavening agents in bread!

Bread is one of the foods that marks our species' transition from hunter-gatherers to agriculturalists over 10,000 years ago, initially the result of baking a porrige-like concoction of grain and water on hot stones. The flatbreads (think pita and corn tortillas) still form the basis of diets in many cultures, and must have developed independently in places as different as the arid Levant in the Middle East to the humid forests of South America. Then as far back as 6,000 years ago in the bread basket of ancient times, and likely by accident, that fateful mixing of yeast and ground grain results in a leavened loaf.

It's interesting to reflect on the evolution of this staple food over millennia. What is required of me today - mix flour, water, starter, and a bit of salt; let the dough sit for a day or so; and then preheat my oven and bake - is far less arduous than for my predecessors, even without an electric mixer. But I think perhaps less recognized and yet just as drastic is the change in substrate - from coarse whole grains ground with rocks to finely sifted milled flours. The clean white dust, which we call 'All-Purpose' in the US or 'Plain' here in the UK, bears little resemblance to its ancestors (and is of little use in baking a good loaf of bread). And perhaps for that very reason there seems to be a resurgence, even a rennaissance, of artisan baking of late - both in the home and as businesses. After tasting difference, it's not hard to understand why!

Read More: 
A Brief History of Bread - The History Channel
The Rise and Rise of Sourdough Bread - The Guardian
Bread and Women - The New Yorker
The History of Bread - The Science of Bread Making
The Story Behind a Load of Bread - Botham's of Whitby (artisan baker)
Yeast Fermentation and the Making of Beer and Wine - Nature Citables
What Makes Whole-Grain Bread So Hard to Bake? - Smithsonian
Sourdough Bread-Baking: The Levain - Chef Turned Soldier