Not all food is created equal
As it is in our neighbouring countries, here, autumn foregrounds the varied, colourful and complex flavours of this season’s soil produce. This produce is called many things depending on the context. But here, it is called ‘letlhafula’ – an evocative word, signifying, amongst others, the movement of this food from being a side dish to being the centerpiece of our daily diet. As with all healthy foodstuff, it is herbivore but with an acceptable trick and a deliberate twist to appeal to the palate of a society likely to be more carnivorous than being herbivorous. Because it is colourful, it pleases our aesthetic eye. Because it has minerals, vitamins, fibre, roughage, etc, it is nutritious and because it enhances our immune system in readiness for inclement seasons, it is literally food for our survival. Since the other food – the one that does not have its roots in the soil of the earth - is consumed simply to address our starvation, and is thus a default, we must remember that this autumnal food is different and requires from us a deliberate choice of it. After all, not all food is created equal. Thus, wisely, we ought to make the autumnal soil produce our deliberate food choice.
It is during this season that we can largely be fed with goodies from elsewhere other than a grocery store. In fact, during this season, our ploughing fields, gardens, forests and roadside vendors often have all that is required to make that intentional choice of preferring our soil’s foodstuff. Yet even before they are cooked, these varieties of the produce of the earth are themselves a result of providential beneficence. Every colour of that variety is a pre-cooking work of wonder, and every discernment of it, reminds us of how reliant we are on the bounty of the soil of the earth. Autumn is also as good a time as any to indulge in the many pleasures of the varieties of the fruits of the earth. All fruits are good food, and the consumption of good food is itself a justifiable passion in and of itself.
The sweet, sour, tangy, bitter and tasteless bounty of our ploughing fields, gardens and forests, with their colours, capture our imagination, delight our senses, please our palates and satiate our appetites. This food, likely to be forgotten rather than remembered at meal times, is more than essential for our survival; it is vital for our bodies’ retention of good health in the cold months of the year. Small wonder that it is always a nutritionist’s and every mother’s time-honoured advice that we ought to eat plenty of each, everyday – even if they themselves may not do so! Therefore, observed rationally, the bounty of the earth provides us with limitless variety, taste, colour, well-being, and options of preparation, other than the default diet which merely requires some fire and cooking utensils.
As someone with a lifelong inability to cook, I regard cooks with admiration. I accept that they must be talented artists, able to convert cooking – itself a selfless, time consuming and laborious task – into a work of culinary art and science. The result of this amazing effort is often a perfect dish engaging the senses of touch, taste, smell and sight. Cooks often say that they derive joy in what they do; that, by experimenting in the kitchen, they awaken their creativity and that in feeding others, they are expressing an act of devotion. Nobody can quibble with this. Anyhow, it is these glimpses of the humanity and the genteel nature of cooks that usually provide a backbone and steadiness to stable family life which is the bedrock of every successful society. I would like to add that a cook’s kindness and purpose of doing good for others can be reinforced by merging it with a deliberate preference of the autumnal produce of the soil as food, for all seasons. In any case, in my view, there is probably no food that requires as much washing, chopping, dicing, slicing, cutting and measuring as vegetables and fruits. If this signifies superiority, indeed, some food is created more superior than others!
Because the other diet is a default, it often chooses you, almost impudently. Reject this dietary intrusion! Instead, accept that since the diet of the autumnal earthly produce has a halo of health, for that reason alone, you will deliberately choose it for yourself. In any case, as the seasons roll in and out of our lives, they help in giving us life’s dramatic arc called aging. Sooner or later, we all experience it. Unsurprisingly, the bounty of the earth comes to our aid and imperceptibly delays our aging fast. Consider this: the blue zones of longevity are a few places in the world in which people have low rates of chronic disease and live longer than anywhere else. One of, or perhaps, the main reasons for this, is that in these few places of the world, inhabitants consciously choose a diet of the soil of the earth and consume it with a clear intention not to overeat. I hope this is not a self-reinforcing bias, but personally I am yet to witness a diner overeating vegetables and fruits.
Finally, I exhort you to stick with this diet of the soil of the earth for some time. Then observe how as autumn recedes and winter beckons, your palate has become familiar with the diet’s reliance on the contrasts between its own colour, texture, sight, smell and taste. You will then acknowledge that, axiomatically, like you, this food is more than the sum of its parts. Then again, as you slowly free yourself from the inclination of the majority to retain the default diet, you are bound to acknowledge that the Setswana word above, ‘letlhafula,’ expresses something deeper than just food; it is a lifestyle. Welcome (back) home, to how your life was intended to be at its literal beginning!