When it comes to cooking, I`m notoriously bad at following recipes.  It`s been this way for as long as I remember and, despite all good intentions, I fall in to the same patterns.  I know that many people don`t follow recipes – it`s just that I really, wholly believe, Id learn a lot more about cooking if I`d just constrain myself and follow a few great recipes.  I know they could help me, I want them to help me and I just never get around to it.

There are some advantages to not following recipes – especially  as a writer.  Inventing almost everything we eat means that I protect myself from copying someone else`s work.  This, of course, is a silly argument.  It`s like claiming that I won`t steal any poems that are written in Russian because I can`t read Russian – the argument is either irrelevant (i.e. I don`t want to read Russian so it`s no loss to me) or silly (because I am robbing myself of learning – it doesn`t make me somehow smarter).

Recent years have had me practice and study technique.  I recently seared a steak that made it abundantly clear that my previous idea of searing a steak (developed over 38 years) was just wrong.  For more than 27 years I lacked a cast iron pot and, that alone, was enough to limit my ability to really sear a steak.  Practice and learning takes time and learning from people who are masters is something that can accelerate ones learning.  All that is to say that using a recipe would help me.

I do read recipes.  I enjoy flipping through recipe books like they are some sort of amazing magazine.  Get ideas and inspiration but take them in a direction that`s mine.

Another piece of irony is the fact that we share recipes.  They`ll work literally or you can play with them of course.  I often go back to a meal I`ve written about here and repeat some of the things I`ve done in the past while updating my current dish with what I`ve learned since or have in the fridge.

When it comes to soup, I really struggle imagining that I need a recipe.    Soup has some core fundamentals but it`s biggest constant is it`s reliance on whatever is in the fridge or pantry.  It`s not all about leftovers but I can`t remember running out the door for a`missing ingredient` when for soup.

As we prepare to share a soup recipe, it occurred to me that perhaps it was silly to describe how to make soup with measured instructions like a traditional recipe.  So I thought I`d ask for your input:

We’ve heard about straw polls in the US – so we’ve decided to do a soup poll.  Here’s a quick survey about our soup preferences – take a few moments to fill it up and see what others think as well!

Here’s a few links that are related to our soup poll:

• Making and canning stock – part 1
• Making and canning stock – part 2
• Making and canning stock – part 3
• The secret to darker stock
• Making great turkey stock
• Preserving Turkey Stock
• My secret to the best dried bean soup in town
• Vegetarian Split Pea Soup
• Nose-to-tail vegetables: a different take on stock
• Simple Squash soup
• Simple Asparagus soup
• Cream of Sorrel and Asparagus Soup
• Left-unders: vegetable water

We’d love to hear about your favourite types of soups in the comments below!

Joel is in the process of peeling 30lbs of garlic right now. I’m going to help by doing todays post…thus keeping my hands free of garlic smell…just in case I run into Eddie Vedder tonight. We have tickets to see Pearl Jam and I’ve had a wee crush on the man for about 20 years (which is more than half my life)…and on the off-chance he climbs up to section 106 I’d rather not smell like garlic.

Okay, so you’re thinking…Dana is finally doing a post and she’s not even going to talk about food and / or preserving….ha!

Here’s where it gets awesome: I can in fact connect my excitement and love of one of my favourite bands to food.  Around 2006 Eddie Vedder did debunk the myth that the band was named after his ‘grandma Pearl’s special Peyote Jam’…there’s no such thing. Such a shame, that would have made a heck of a post.

BUT…maybe we need a break from recipes….let’s talk music for a change.

There’s a lot of bands with food (and drink)  in their name…here’s some that came to mind for us. Try to guess from the drawing and feel free to add your own favourites in the comments.

1.  PEARL JAM
2.  SOUP DRAGONS
3.  MUDHONEY
4.  the SUGAR CUBES
5.  SMASHING PUMPKINS
6.  RED HOT CHILI PEPPERS
7.  FISHBONE
8.  CRACKER
9.  THE CRANBERRIES
10. THE TEA PARTY
11. NEUTRAL MILK HOTEL
12. VERUCA SALT
13. CAKE
14. BLIND MELON 

**completely un-food related UPDATE**
Pearl Jam was AWESOME…over 2 hour set….last song played with full house lights up …Neil Young joined them on stage for “Keep on Rockin’ in the Free World”. Outstanding. Memorable.

This is the final installment in a 3-part series on why and how to cook the head of a wild boar or pig and the importance of nose-to-tail eating for meat eaters.

I shared a post in October that discussed a new friend and his experiences tasting squash and broccoli for his first time when he was in his 40′s.  I also shared that, at the time, I had turned down the opportunity to eat the eyeball of the pig’s head we roasted and how the two experiences were completely related.

Why is the thought of eating an eyeball so difficult?  I watched a friend enjoy one and he made it as safe as he could for me and shared that it essentially just tasted like meat.  As I’m not a vegetarian, why balk at the offering of a different part of the animal?  I often remind myself that the ‘grossest’ thing I eat is likely honey (essentially the bile of an insect) but I was raised to understand that was socially acceptable and ‘easy.’

I also know that, in all likelihood I’ve had it before – in sausage, head cheese (a favourite as a child) and pate’s or bahn mi’s (Vietnamese meat sandwiches).  And that doesn’t bother me in the least.  But the thought of carving it out of a socket and popping it back like an overgrown peanut just isn’t something that crosses my mind.  And I couldn’t do it in October.

The evening we served the Wild Boar’s head was a very inspirational evening for me.  People were actively discussing whether they’d be able to try it while they stood in line for a piece.  Vegetarians and meat eaters were all discussing our odd relationship with meat and what it truly is that we choose to consume or not.  The conversation was always polite, insightful and wonderfully contemplative.  We were connecting with our food.

A friend asked about the eyeball and if he could try it.  I was inspired by the moment and the people around us who had pushed their own comfort zone that evening.  We quietly walked back to the tray while no one was around (this wasn’t a dare or ‘stunt’) and I pushed myself to dive in.  I won’t go in to the detailed mechanics other than to say that it was what it was – pork.  It wasn’t crunchy, brittle or hard.  It was just like eating pork and if you’d put it on a sandwich without me knowing I would have never known.

But it was immensely difficult.

I gagged 3 times.  I don’t remember ever gagging while eating.  And the reaction was 100% psychological.  It had nothing to do with taste or texture – it was all the thought of what was in my mouth.  It felt partially wrong (and ironic that the alternative would have been to discard it like that would be somehow ‘better’, if not easier).  There is an absolute irony that I can eat every other part of the animal without feeling I’ve somehow wronged the animal and yet this felt so foreign and challenging.

Without trying to be overly dramatic, I’m fairly certain the experience has further changed my complicated relationship with meat (this article from 2006 which shares my past as a semi-vegetarian and hunter goes into further history of the subject).  The initial impact of the experience lingered for days and it’s still an experience I reflect on with some regularity.  I’m not sure I’ve come to any grand conclusion on what the experience was other than to force me further to reconcile exactly what it is that I’m eating when I do decide to partake in any kind of animal harvest.  It has brought me a much more complete understanding of what it is that I’m eating and what I am partaking in.

I really hope this post doesn’t sound preachy or ‘higher than thou.’  I’m certain that this isn’t an experience for everyone – I’m not even sure it’s one I will repeat.  I also recognize that there are many people (and cultures) who would laugh that such a staple piece of meat could be any type of ‘experience’ at all just the same as many of us look at bacon or a Big Mac. 

It was simultaneously sobering and fascinating and has really taught me a lot about what I eat and why I do it.  And, for that, I am extremely thankful.

I`m hoping you`ll read the next paragraph before flicking away in disgust (as I may have years ago).

The idea of eating a pig`s head is something that is psychologically difficult for many but few ponder why they find it so difficult?  It`s fascinating to me that on the `fear-factor`scale of things, a pig`s head would rank high while it`s chops or honey (the regurgitated contents of the stomach of a bee) are considered accessible meals.  I hope you`ll consider reading on.

This post has no pictures.  If you`re hesitant, you can `safely`read on.  Tomorrows will feature pictures but they won`t  and appear on the main page and will be hidden under the fold on the direct link.  This article also discusses why I believe this meal is also a dish that many of my vegetarian friends are an advocate of – though they won`t partake.

The first time I saw the dish was on `St. Practice`night in 2010.  This was the Monday evening before `St. Patrick`s Day`and was a neighborhood party for those working in the service industry who would not get to partake in the greenest party of the year.

The evening had started innocently enough.  A highly touted oyster shucking competition went down and the entire bar were fed samples through the competition.  I use the term `bar`loosely – we were assembled in a heated tent in front of Leslieville`s Ceili Cottage (also the home of our CSA and all-around awesome place).  There was loud celtic music playing and free oysters encouraged many to grab an extra glass – it was a festive night.

Around 11:30 the staff erupted from the kitchen carrying trays of bread, cheese and preserves.  They placed the spread on the bar, carefully leaving room for something hot as they laid down a few cutting boards in the middle of the condiments.

Within a few minutes Chef Kyle Demming (of the soon-to-be-opened Sausage Partners) entered the room (he is a lanky giant and difficult to miss with a calm serenity and projecting kindness coating him) with two full-sized pigs heads.  He placed them between the condiments, jabbed his chef`s knife into one of the skulls (I`d later learn they are sliced like this as part of cleaning so there`s a natural resting place) and said, `Have at èm!`  Chef then backed into a corner and watched for the next hour.

I can`t say there was an initial rush to dive in.  Several people approached with curiosity and I found myself next to a Gentle Giant who was from Newfoundland.  He grabbed the knife, told me to grab two pieces of bread and cheese.  He grabbed the knife, hacked away and produced two open-faced sandwiches.  We toasted our meal and fired it back.  The gratification was instant and this is indeed one of my reasons why I believe that cooking the head is important – not only does it use the entire animal but it tastes amazing!  I know describe it as extreme bacon to those who are curious.

It didn`t take long for people to start to line up.  Before long, the line consisted of almost everyone in the room – with Chef in the corner.  I spent most of the rest of the night in that corner, talking to Kyle.  Our pig had been a small-farmed Tamworth and came from Kawartha Ecological Growers (still one of the main farmers we support).  It was easy to cook – just do it slow.

The rest of these observations and reflections on cooking the entire head are from that evening as well as the two times since that night that I have cooked a head (one was a Tamworth and the other was a wild boar):

• I must emphasize that it tastes phenomenal.  Extreme bacon good.  Without that, this would be a dish that could turn people away.  I show them how to eat it, step back and let the others sell the dish.  If a few people eat it, they will drag others to it.  Of the people who have eaten the dish, I have never seen anyone say anything short of extraordinary things.
• As people line-up for the dish,many are uncertain (almost to the point of mild fear) of what they will experience.  It`s a different emotion than one gets from eating something new (i.e. Alligator or Camel) for the first time – because the people in line have generally eaten pork.  It`s what I call the familiarity-paradox: because we know the ingredient but aren`t used to coming face-to-face with dinner, the discomfort is even more pronounced and unfamiliar.
• The meal is a no-preach message about connecting to your food.  You have to cut your own piece (or have a friend do it).  You are connected by default of recognizing what is on that tray and what is in front of you.  It`s not an easy task to do what we ask others to do for us (i.e. butchers and abattoirs).  There is no denying what it is – and conversations around meat consumption, farming and our relationship to meat are simply natural.  We had 3 Vegetarian friends at the last party and all were equally engaged in pleasant conversation around topics such as our lack of connection to our food.
• Economics.  An entire Boar`s head fed samples to more than 60 people.  We went through 4 loaves of pumpernickel and two large blocks of cheese.  The Boar`s head was $10 (I paid $15 for the Tamworth last October).
• Use of the whole animal.  To think that one of the most delicious parts of the animal goes to waste because it`s psychologically difficult is tough to accept to me.  It is odd to consider that the belly of the pig is somehow an elevated ingredient compared to this.
• Tradition.  This ties in the last two points – dishes like these were the gourmet meals of many poor economies and cultures.  Lobster was also once seen as the food of the poor while SPAM was elevated as high-class.  On the journey to return to real ingredients, tying in culinary tradition and learning new dishes offers an amazing opportunity to grow as chef and diner.
• Connection to other meat.  Many (if not most) who eat this, will explore their connection with meat and what it really is that we eat.  It’s not something that can easily be described in words but I believe it’s an important experience in a time where our connection with what is on our plates is becoming lost (Jack Kerouac named William Burroughs Naked Lunch after the concept of seeing what was on our plate for what it actually was and not just a but of meat or a carrot).

We’ll share how to cook it, serve it and eat it – without jamming it down other people’s throats…tomorrow.

Have you tried a head before?  Would you?  What do you think of some of the points above?  Do you have any to add – or any to counter?  Feel free to add to the discussion below.

I was recently surprised to find out that the ‘map of the tongue” was a myth.  Shortly thereafter I was even more surprised that I ever believed in it in the first place.

The ‘legend of the tongue’ map (which claimed our tongue was broken into different sections which sensed different groups of tastes) was greeted with skepticism for some time.  Place a few pieces of salt in different places of your tongue and you’ll see that you can taste it anywhere.  Do the same with sugar.

Humans can detect at least 5 known types of taste:

• Salt
• Sweet
• Bitter
• Sour
• Umami (the most recent detected type of taste which is described as Savory or as the taste of monosodium glutamate.

The study that many see as the ‘final nail’ in the debate around the taste map was published in 2006 (you can find the academic text here).

The ‘new’ understanding (many had used the salt and sugar debate for a long time to demonstrate the problem with the map) accepts that we may taste even more different tastes than the 5 above and that taste likely originates in receptors that are all around the tongue.  There are still debates around the possibility of centralized groups which would lead to certain tastes being more sensitive in certain regions of the tongue (i.e. that our tongue has regions which specialize in certain tastes while still detecting the others) but the evidence is not conclusive.

It amazes me to think of how much we have to learn about taste – and about how many things in cooking rely on the myth of the taste map, including:

• The shape of different wine glasses and how they are designed to target areas of the mouth (based on the map) with certain tastes.
• The shape of different beer bottle styles for the same purpose.
• The idea that we are cooking with tastes that we haven’t isolated yet and could fundamentally change recipes and pairings.
• That many recipes don’t account of umami (being fairly new) – at least consciously.  Chef David Kinch of Manresa (Los Gatos, CA) shared that his restaurant examines everything they cook to determine if they’ve added umami in the dish – if they haven’t, they adapt the recipe to include something.  What are our recipes missing now?  What will happen when we discover a 6th taste and understand how to incorporate it into our own cooking?

We’re at a dramatic time in human history.  We are learning more about the human body, brain and cognitive abilities than ever before.  We’re challenging old dogma and old beliefs.  Our ability to share the knowledge is greater than ever before.

What will we learn that will change our cooking?  What have you learned that challenged something you once believed to be true?  What is left to figure out?

It amazes me that I took the tongue map so literally despite the obvious proof from my own experience.  Now I just have to replace all my stemware (heh)…

I wrote a series of posts about eating alone earlier in the year.  At the time I was sitting in various restaurants while I travelled for business.  Business travel has taught me a lot about my relationship with food and I am especially thankful for the forced opportunities of eating alone that once felt alien and uncomfortable and have migrated to an area of familiarity and pleasure.

Business has also taught me a lot about places that I thought I knew so well.

When people visit from out-of-town, I take great pleasure in showing them a bit of my fair city (Toronto).  As our office is more than 50 kilometers (about 30 miles) north of where I live, it’s a lot of fun taking people to a city they may not otherwise experience – or may not experience in the same way that I enjoy sharing with them.

When I first moved to the city, Dana could easily see my discomfort.  I was anonymous and didn’t like the feeling one bit (ironically I’ve become far more comfortable with the concept to the point that I occasionally seek out anonymity as a way to escape the typical experience of what happens from day-to-day).

There was no single place I could go and feel truly welcomed as a familiar face, as someone who belonged or ‘fit in.’  This wasn’t about popularity or about having my ego massaged.  It was a feeling of complete disconnect with the community around me.  A feeling that comes with time – not just about being recognized by someone but (perhaps even more importantly) recognizing others and feeling comfort within that.

Just as I occasionally eat alone when I travel abroad for business, I like to take ‘familiar strangers’ who are visiting for work on a partial tour of our city – and especially to the places that I visit with regularity (with and without others).

Places like The Avro.

Brining ‘friendly aliens’ to places that you consider to be your ‘home planet’ often teaches you about those places that you hold dear as well as challenges your view of your ‘normal’ as well as challenges social norms.

To demonstrate the difference, let’s oversimply things and share some observations – the word ‘alien’ is a non-judgemental word describing a new visitor to an established environment (that person could live on the same block) and ‘resident’ as a regular visitor to the same place.

Here’s a few things I’ve observed this evening:

1. Aliens make residents a little more alien (this was an observation from just walking around our neighborhood).  It’s not a bad thing.  The most familiar establishment that greets one with a very casual warm greeting occasionally becomes more formal on the introduction of aliens.  Perhaps this is a respect for the resident and caution around said alien – perhaps there is a different social norm which underpins this observation.
2. Aliens bring new vision to residents.  The Avro won the best Caesar in Toronto.  I tried my first tonight after bragging about it to Aliens.  I have known for a long time and am thrilled that they’ve won it – even took pride in it.  But one of the friendly aliens I travelled with offered me my first taste this evening.
3. Old excitement refreshes in the presence of Aliens.  A visit to Hooked was a quick reminder of just how much I love the vision of Dan and Kristen.  I have never felt less passionate about the place but tonight got me as excited as I was the first time I was in there.
4. Aliens make you appreciate the normal that teases you every day.  We ran into 3 or 4 friends on the street – many on their way to find food in the neighborhood.  The sense of community can’t be taken for granted in the spotlight of the present.
5. Aliens reveal the ‘naked lunch’ just by being there.  It was Jack Kerouac who gave that term to Allen Ginsberg and challenged him to really examine what was on his plate.  He saw a cut of beef as exactly what it was – much the same as the ‘instant truth-o-meter’ of an objective witness can ‘force’ you to share about what you really think about those local places that you observed without consciously thinking.
6. Aliens find secret options on the menu.  Requests for recommendations force you to slow down, review the things you’ve had and seen and cancel the pre-programmed ordering mechanisms that result in me ordering my favourite standby time after time.

I’m guessing I have a lot more to learn from Aliens – and from other residents.  What have you learned about your local places by brining visitors to experience them with you?

In the early 1990`s I had a chance to work with the Canadian Space Agency, NASA and several key partners to the space program. Today`s final shuttle launch is a bag of mixed emotion for me – I`ve adored the concept of space since I was a child.  I was 7 or 8 when the first shuttle took off and it`s been a consistent part of my daydreams for as long as I can remember.

My work with them was a total of 3.5 months.  My role was fairly low in responsibility but very high in my exposure to the organizations.  Our 3-member team was contracted to do a lessons learned on several space-related projects and we obsessed over space for 18-hours a day and 6 days a week.  We had the chance to interview hundreds of people who ranged from junior project members to the heads of the programs and included astronauts, scientists, engineers and more.

While the project was not related to food, I do remember two distinct discoveries related to food:

1. Crumbs were a nightmare anc considered potentially fatal.  The zero-gravity environment could produce crumbs that would float and could get into all sorts of electronic gear.  Most of us wouldn`t eat a crumbling pastry directly above their keyboard – when those crumbs can float through the air, it`s almost like everywhere is over a keyboard.  Several high-names chefs (including Grant Achatz of Alinea) have been involved with NASA to develop space meals since (not because or related to our project).
2. Most Canadians (and others around the world) believe that the Canadian Space Arm (now known as `Dexter` by the program) is the best contribution Canadians have made to Space.  While Astronauts that we interviewed agreed that it was vital, they did not think it was the `best`thing Canadians contributed to Space.  The consensus favourite is the lesser-known space flusher.  A toilet designed to be used in zero-gravity (a loose tie-in to food but it made me chuckle).  The complexities of space made the design very difficult.

I also learned a lesson that fundamentally changed the way I work – and cook.  The lesson came over lunch while sitting in the cafeteria of the Canadian Space Agency (outside of downtown Montreal) with the then-head of the CSA.  I was young, anti-establishment and very much about avoiding any type of process in the name of creativity.  My host picked up on all of this, asked me several questions and then said (paraphrased):

We are an extremely creative organization.  We take on projects that no one has ever tried before.  That`s why we need process.  Without a process we wouldn`t know if a project succeeded or failed because of the project or because of how we tried to do it.  By approaching each project the same way we enable ourselves to determine what happened – if all the projects fail, the process was wrong, if one fails, the project was wrong.

It was a very scientific approach – constrain a variable.

When I preserve, I also follow consistent processes.  I approach each batch in similar ways and learn from each what can be applied to the whole.  By doing this, I`ve accelerated my learning…

When I had the opportunity to attend an interview by Chef Thomas Keller (one of the most celebrated Chef`s in the world), he said a similar thing:

Creativity comes from repetition.  If you want to be a great Chef, make stock for 2 years and perfect it.

He also stated:

The difficulty with young Chefs (experience, not age) is that they keep wanting to try new things.  They move on to the next dish, the next ingredient or the next technique before mastering the last.

I remember connecting Keller`s point to the Space approach I had earlier learned.  Since hearing his speech, I have worked on perfecting a limited amount of dishes (pizza and polenta come to mind) rather than just moving on to the next thing as all times.  Bread and pastry is my radar as a potential next target…

Space has forever changed me – and my kitchen.  I hope the next chapter of our exploration continues to inspire others as much as this one has…

I`ve been away from home for less than a week and todays trip home is just on time!

When I travel for business I, like most, miss family, pets and friends.  I also find myself (as I`m sure others do here) missing my kitchen.

The obvious reasons for missing my kitchen include the ability to eat what and how I`d like, access to the freshest ingredients, a wonderful pantry and the ability to cook anything I`d like on a whim.

Travelling for business generally means less access to the types of foods I`d value most.  Last night`s dinner was in a restaurant with others and featured spaghetti with canned sauce – certainly not the cruelest fate and it was absolutely palatable.  But it`s not nearly the same as the case of sauce we still have left from last year waiting at home.

Despite that, I can easily live without a full pantry and the options my home kitchen provides with relative ease.  I am not a picky eater and can make do with anything at all and find an appreciation for what I do have.  There are many in the world that would be so lucky as to have that can of sauce that I ate last night and I try not to lose sight of that.

What I really miss is the ability to cook.  Working in the kitchen, to me, is my place of peace and comfort.  I love to work my way through a tested recipe or the experience of trying something new.  The repetition of a single task (like slicing) and the thrill of the senses abound when making a complex dish – or something as simple as toast.

The act of cooking, to me (and many others), is an act which is reserved only to my own home or to the homes of people who are very close to me (and the odd professional kitchen that I get to visit).  Just being in a kitchen is a place of warmth to me, a place of home.

It`s a place you rarely see when you travel for work -  and one that`s easy to miss.

Do you miss your kitchen when you travel?

The last few days have been some of the most excruciating pain I`ve ever felt.

When I broke my elbow, it took 4 days to go to the hospital because I didn`t think it hurt `that bad.`  I had mono for 5 months before finding out because I thought I was only a `little bit sluggish.`  After unknowingly walking around with a dislocated finger (and doing farm chores for 5 days), I put the digit back in the socket myself.

And yet the last 3 days have been some of the worst pain I`ve ever had.

Gout (once known as the `Kng`s Disease`) is largely related to what you eat.  I have the lucky combination of enjoying some of the problem foods while also having a history of gout in my family.

My Father explains it really well; `Cartlidge cushions your joints from rubbing into eah other.  Got attacks a single joint and turns everything int crystals – th slightest movement of the joint crushes those crystals together and causes pain.`  He takes his hands, press his fingers with his pals pointed towards his chest and moves them like two gears – showing how the crystals (his fingers) connect like mismatched gears on a clock.  His explanation is only part metaphor – crystals do indeed form although it`s not the transformation of cartilage.

Gout typically appears at night and arrives with little warning.  I`ve had minor attacks most of my life but was diagnosed with acute attacks about a year-and-a-half ago and informed I would have an attack about every 18 months.  It`s been 17.5.

The attacks are triggered by consuming foods with high uric acid.  These include foods high in purines such as:

• beer (some say alcohol in general though there is some debate)
• cheese
• red meat
• mushrooms
• excess legumes
• fatty foods
• asparagus
• cauliflower
• consume
• baker`s yeast
• gravy
• organ meat
• oils
• and more..

Gout is a form of arthritis and t attacks a single joint – often the big toe, ankle or knee.  The joint becomes swollen, often turns red and is painful to touch (a simple touch of a blanket or even resting your heel on something which subtly puts pressure on the other parts of your foot is enough to writhe in pain – putting a sock on brings one lose to tears).

Treatment includes antibiotics, painkillers and natural helpers including

• low-fat milk
• cherries
• adequate carbohydrates, especially complex carbs such as whole grains, fruits and veggies
• lots of water
•  tomatoes, kale, cabbage,
• Fruit juices, oranges, bananas
• and more…

Maintaining an ideal body weight is also an important factor in avoiding gout.

I have several lifestyle changes I can adjust to avoid.  We`ve drastically reduced the amount of meat we eat over the last few years and will have to make some more adjustments going forward.

It`s amazing – yet mind-numbingly logical – how much what we eat affects us.  Despite the pain, gout is a relatively minor complication of diet.  What is the addiction of fast food, convenience foods and additions of mysterious chemicals in pre-packaged foods doing in our society at large?

The important disclaimer: I am not a doctor or a scientist; just a dude with a sore foot.  Using the above as medical reference would be very silly, if not dangerous to your personal health.  If you have gout or any other maladies please do not use this article as a reccomendation on how to diagnose, treat or cure your ails.  That would just be a bad idea.