The religious overlay that nutrition has taken on is neither holy nor wholesome. It precludes us from breaking bread together. It forestalls the public health progress that could occur if we could all find a seat at a common table.
I won't speak for my friends and colleagues in public health, although I suspect they feel the same; I'll just speak for myself. I am nobody's nanny. But as you play with the military-industrial establishment with your health on the line, I don't mind being a referee.
Pollan's collection of rules keeps it simple: No medical or calorie counting rules (don't people get tired of counting calories?). And my favorite rule is the super simple number 24: When you eat real food, you don't need rules.
For one fab weekend, the spacious but contained world of the Baltimore Convention Center became a Wonderland of all things organic, where I never had to apologize for being vegan or explain what it means. Coming from meatcentric Miami, I've got to tell you, it was nice.
My first thought when I saw the Whole Foods sign go up in my neighborhood was: My life just got a million times better. The convenience! The consistent quality! The $11 half-pint of curried chicken salad! My second thought? I am such a f*cking hypocrite.
For me gardening is therapeutic, it's also the source of the freshest food I get to eat and it's also beautiful. To me it's more beautiful than a perennial border. The satisfaction for me is gustatory as well as aesthetic and therapeutic.