Stirring It Up with Molly Ivins Read Free Page A

struggle, along with the amphetamines that were supposed to curb my appetite but made me crazy instead. On food-filled Austin weekends we pretty much settled for just eating good stuff—food free of pesticides, additives, preservatives, artificial colors, nitrates, and nitrites. Well, except for red velvet cake, bacon, and smoked sausage. Hebrew National made the hot dog cut.
    Once Molly’s health became fragile she paid even more attention to what we ate, almost always buying organic or at least preservative-, hormone-, and additive-free foods. (To enhance the value of appreciating this newfound commitment, you might want to read at least a couple of chapters of
Bushwhacked
, the book Molly and Lou Dubose published in 2001 (he and Molly coauthored three books altogether). Revisit how Bush dismantled proposed Clinton-era safeguards that would have expanded food inspection and tightened USDA regulations. Pay particular attention to the word
listeria
, and hope this particular food-borne bacterial infection never gets close to you or anyone you care about.
    Mercifully, First Lady Michelle Obama has taken up the healthy-food sword and has led a national charge into battle against bad food, moving many communities to take a long, hard look at what they feed themselves.
    By the time Molly’s health took its worst turn, neither she nor I was counting calories. Instead of trying to lose weight, it was important for her to gain as that hateful duo of cancer and chemo took its toll. We took great pride, however, in knowing that almost every pound we carried was free of high-fructose corn syrup, monosodium glutamate, red dye #5, and yellow dye #3. In truth, most of the time we spent a lot more time eating than we did intellectualizing and deconstructing food’s sociopolitical underpinnings. Relentless examination of American food flaws can really wear you out. Eating is much more fun. Better to just get on with it.
    It never occurred to either of us that we wouldn’t have all the time in the world to get on with it, including a mountain of silly conversations.

2
Dining In, Dining Out
    ALTHOUGH SECURE IN HER INTELLECTUAL ABILITIES , Molly was in fact quite shy—an aspect of her persona that few knew. With close friends she was able to privately be goofy to the point of convulsive laughter over the kind of stuff that, when conveyed to others, elicits a pained, stone-faced response as listeners seek to divine a kernel of anything approximating hilarity.
    Some of us have experienced such a visage: midway through relating what seemed like a rip-roaringly funny event at the time, we see a perplexed look envelop the listener’s face, a look that suggests it’s best to wind down immediately. With a feeble, “Well, you had to have been there,” your voice trails off in the hope that someone will pick up the conversational non-thread. We shared those too. For the longest time, Molly’s favorite “Ellen is a doo-doo brain” story dated to the time she invited me to a Texas Book Festival gala, held the night before the festival’s official opening. It was an impressive gathering of prominent writers and authors. I loved going to those things despite feeling like a fish out of water.
    â€œUm, I’m a food writer,” sounds so feeble when you’re making small talk with the likes of, say, James K. Galbraith. So when I realized I had been pontificating about the glories of how bacon, sausage, and salt pork complemented various dried beans in a way smoked turkey never could, it was too late. I had no idea I was rattling on to a noted economist who was also the son of John Kenneth Galbraith—one of the twentieth century’s foremost economists. I’m sure he was enthralled by my monologue about culinary relativism, and howBoston baked beans were probably related to the Southern combination of ham hocks and navy beans. Bet he couldn’t wait to get home and test both