... this is cool, important, and well done research. But as in most cases, we should be cautious in making assumptions about how broadly it applies
A digest of recent food culture posts on Mefi:
The Food Timeline, evolution of foods dating back to before 17,000BC ⏳; Maria Orosa, Filipina food technologist, chemist, humanitarian, war hero 👩🏽🔬; The D.C. Region Doesn’t Have Full-Time Food Critics of Color. Why That Matters 📰; Archeology of Taste is a project about childhood memories 🍭; Consider the potato: How do you prefer yours? 🥔; The Food Flow Model, a web of connections across the continental U.S. 🚚; What Makes Good Comfort Food? A LitHub conversation 🍝; The most taxing work in the kitchen is brain work 🧠Iceland’s last McDonald’s burger simply won’t rot, even after 10 years 🍔.
What was it like to be alive on September 15, 1985? "from the mundane to the profound, what do you remember about that time?"
I am no longer simply the kid who wrote those things, did those things. I am that person with years, layers of experience and judgement added to the mix. Something like looking into the mirror, but your image doesn't behave the way you'd like it to behave. Anyhow, my memory needed to be tweaked, and I'm glad I did it.
Several things stand out. I was shocked to see things (written there) that I thought I'd never forget, but had. Also, some of the memories I carried never happened to me--they were things someone else told me, and I had internalized them. More subtle slippage, in that sometimes I wrote several page of bullshit--not lies, just circumscriptions, soldierly evasions, using standard war-story phrases--while trying to say something, and that something never quite made the trip from my mind to the paper. Yet thirty years later I could see between the lines. I know what I couldn't say then. It it truly wierd how we are able to store little packets of reality without knowing it, and when the right stimulus comes along, all the little itches and aromas, textures and sensations waft up to command the senses, like a fugue, if you please.
Mostly, though, when I read that journal I was surprised, as if I were seeing the kid who wrote it in person for the first time. All these years I'd thought him to be an asshole, but looking back at him now, he wasn't all that bad, just young, and without much of a perspective with which to deal with the impossible things he was witnessing. Doing. He was better at his job than I remember.