Best if used by...

Recently I was having a chat with a couple of my officemates about when was the right time to chuck things of out of the fridge or the pantry. One of them had brought in a bag full of some granola bars to share with the office because the date stamp on the foil package was beyond the present date and she was afraid that they had gone off. Egad! I have never heard of an expired granola bar. Aren't they precisely the kind of food you should keep in your car or emergency kits for earthquakes, fires and floods precisely because they do not expire? I think this whole expiration date thing is the creation of lawyers and marketers.
Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't think that some foods and medicines have a shelf life. I do. When milk in my fridge gets sour and lumpy or the bread is sprouting legs, I toss it, usually. (unless , of course, I can manag to coax one last bit of French toast out of it).
Pardon me! When did corporations decide that my senses weren't good enough to figure out that the colony growing in my fridge was no longer good for me? I understand that their lawyers are trying to protect them from fools who gladly consume their months old fridge colonies, but there has to be a limit. Of course I understand that it is a useful tool to aid people, but now it seems that to me that people have surrendered their sense to the date stamp! I don't agree that you should keep that leftover chicken in the fridge for weeks. However, one can make reasonable judgements . My officemate admitted to pouring out milk simply because it was a day past due. Of course the milk folks love that because they get to sell you another litre of milk.
Ka-ching!
I can't abide by this excess! Not in a world of hunger and want. Waste is excess. Excess is selfish! My two office mates, along with a good chunk of America are being duped! Man! that corporate propaganda got kick!

The Tomato Holocaust

It is officially the end of tomatomania.This is all that remains of my beautiful tomato plants. They are all shriveled and barren. A few of the dried up stalks have several little hard nubbins which will never come into their full potential as luscious tomatoes. At least I did enjoy that one little harvest.

I admit that I left them alone unattneded in the merciless heat of August as I cavorted my way in, around, under the Indian Ocean. I left the sprinkler on. I asked a friend to stop by. It was just not enough. The attention I lavished upon them at the start of my planting and in the midst of harvesting gradually faded and now all that remains are these pathetic stragglers--hanging on for dear life. They know they are destined for the compost heap.

I have already recycled a few of the pots. Now I am trying to grow a pineapple bush/tree/plant/whatever. We shall see how it fares. It seems to be sprouting a few roots. I am pushing the limits of my pale green thumb.

©2007.

all rights reserved

Let Grass Grow

Gardeners Gone Wild or the Wisdom of King Solomon?

One of the peculiar things about Los Angeles, is that it is not the slow the creep of sunlight that rousts one from peaceful slumber, rather, it is a ceaseless buzz of lawn mowers, edge-trimmers and grass-blowers. Any resident lucky enough to own or rent a patch of grass seems to be engaged in a constant battle against it. And in this war they have enlisted their foot soldiers-- eager gardeners who show up on every block at the crack of dawn to trim and snip and cut lawns already well trimmed and groomed. I ask you, what do these people have against grass?

I love the smell of fresh cut grass, but these over trimmed LA lawns remind me of a some of the overdone plastic people roaming the streets. It just ain't natural. And the lawn offensive can sometime illustrate just how divided life is in this balkanised city.

This little patch of green straddles a space between my neighbor's and my place. My landlord is a bit more lax about his gardening and so, by neighborhood standard, our patch of yard is a jungle. So here is this tiny swatch of grass, stuck in a liminal space--neither here nor there--in between. In the war on grass, no territory is safe. Neutrality is weakness. Sides must be taken, lines must be drawn. Divisions must be made clear!

Did the soldier of garden who wrought this abomination even take a moment to ponder the aesthetic consequences, or call on King Solomon for guidance? Alas, it is clear he yielded to the purr of his gas-powered mower and the call of the next lawn waiting to be stripped of its green!

©2007. all rights reserved