Nibbles: Standing variation, Indigenous dogs, Austrian apples, Jordanian olive oil, Island foods

  1. Ancient farmers didn’t have to wait for the genetic diversity that made domestication possible. They selected from variation already present in wild plants, including the ancestors of rice and maize. Domestication was as much about spotting (or happening upon) useful differences as creating new ones.
  2. English colonists in America called Indigenous dogs “wolves,” revealing as much about colonial perceptions as about the animals themselves. This history of Indigenous dogs shows how unfamiliar animals were classified through peculiarly European ideas about wildness.
  3. Austria is bringing forgotten apple varieties back to life. Saving old varieties in genebanks is one thing: getting people to grow, sell and eat them is another, but it can be done. Or at least tried.
  4. Jordan’s olive-oil heritage centres on traditional varieties such as Nabali and ancient Rumi trees, but most production is consumed locally, leaving exports limited and making provenance, cultivar and harvest date important indicators for buyers. Compare and contrast with Austrian apples.
  5. Small island developing states have distinctive food cultures and ingredients, but face particular challenges in building sustainable and resilient food systems. FAO’s A Taste of SIDS explores the connections between island food, biodiversity and culinary heritage. Nice to see diversity within crops considered, though a few local variety names would have been nice.

Cassava, revisited, and revisited again

Cassava has been a persistent thread through this blog since the beginning. It first appears as a staple with a dark side: capable of keeping people fed, but also of causing a nasty disease under some conditions. Over time, it resurfaced repeatedly, showing how one crop can illuminate many of the key issues in agrobiodiversity conservation and use. As part of our anniversary celebrations, let’s pull some posts out and see how that might work…

An early post we called Detoxifying cassava looked at the complex ways konzo epidemics in Africa are linked to the consumption of bitter cassava. A later Nibble pointed to a very digestible (sic) introduction to cassava and cyanide. And Manihot esculenta, I presume? widened the lens historically, drawing on Dr Livingstone’s Zambesi Expedition papers to show how he understood cassava’s diversity, its promise and its danger back in the day.

Several posts over the years have looked at how well we now know and conserve the diversity of the crop. Gaps in cassava collection in Africa highlighted sounded an alarm: eastern and southern Africa seemed to be under‑represented in international genebanks. Later, More on cassava germplasm from Brazil and an earlier post compared the geographic distribution of CIAT’s genebank holdings with the that of both accessions and cultivation in Brazil, illustrating how national and international collections overlap — and where they don’t.

A post on safety duplicating germplasm collections explained the mechanics of backing up diversity, using Embrapa’s genebank as a concrete example. It also included a reference to the global cassava conservation strategy, during the development of which I got schooled on the diversity of the crop. And a paper on sources of pest resistance in cassava we included in a Brainfood showed the value of genebank holdings, identifying landraces in CIAT’s global collection with resistance to thrips, mites, and whiteflies.

This particular arc culminates in a summary of two papers on 50 years of cassava conservation at CIAT, which looks at that genebank from both ends: what went in over five decades, and what actually came out in breeding. A recent Nibble notes that cassava’s diversity is spread across multiple genebanks, and why that’s a good thing, up to a point.

Then came the TME 419 saga: Is there more than one TME 419 cassava? unpacked confusion around an IITA genebank accession number; I say TME 419, you say TMe‑419 revisited the same named clone in Nigerian fields years later. Another intricate tale centred around how some modern varieties got their resistance to post-harvest rotting. Spoiler alert: a wild relative was involved.

Genebanks, however, are not the full story. Cassava’s diversity also has to survive in farmers’ fields, where diseases constantly test its resilience. An early post, Ho hum … another deadly disease, placed cassava brown streak virus (CBSV) alongside then emerging threats like Ug99 wheat rust. CBSV was duly much in the news a few years later in 2011, and we were of course all over it, though not always one hundred percent correct in our judgements. That’s what the comments are for.

A Nibble on cassava pests questioned the crop’s “indestructible,” Rambo-like image as new problems appeared in Southeast Asia and elsewhere. An experiment on cassava degeneration, Twitter‑style focused on what to do about the widespread viral infection of cassava planting material across Africa, which badly affects performance. And a Nibbles roundup on cassava bad and good news captured an apparent mismatch between FAO worry and CGIAR optimism back in 2011. Maybe we should do an update on that, now I think about it.

Another theme has been how the crop is promoted, produced, and woven into everyday food systems today. In Cassava on a roll? I traced production ups and downs in Kenya, intrigued by seeing new products in supermarkets on my return to the country. I followed that up with The flour of Kenyan agrobiodiversity marketing, which shows cassava (with finger millet) being used to diversify staple flour, connecting conservation to real products and diets. And a Nibble on Ugandan cassava from a couple of years back highlights local innovation in value chains, if you interpret it charitably. No doubt all part of the African cassava revolution touted by Forbes in a 2023 Nibble.

I hope this roundup of our past encounters with cassava, incomplete as it inevitably is, has given you a little taste of what twenty years of this blog have been about: following stories as they unfold, picking up old threads, occasionally digging really deep, other times not deep enough. Do search for your favourite crop in the archive, and tell us what you come up with.

Eat this ravioli

Jeremy’s latest Eat This Newsletter tackles cassava, the chestnut, rice and pears. But his coolest find is a website called Flavour Lines, that allows you to find out, among other things, how far you are from a restaurant whose sign outside advertises biryani as opposed to pulao, or ravioli as opposed to pierogi.

Nibbles: Processing, Shōjin Ryōri, Philippines landraces, National Soybean Germplasm Collection, Kazakhstan genebank, Reading chocolate, Parmesan bank

  1. Grinding, fermenting, and detoxifying our way to bigger brains — an anthropologist makes the case that food processing, historically women’s work, did as much for human evolution as the mammoth-spearing got credit for.
  2. Speaking of transforming raw ingredients into something civilization-defining: a Japanese temple has been quietly perfecting vegan cooking for 700 years, no marketing department required.
  3. Meanwhile in the Philippines, Naturland, the international association for organic farming from Germany, is linking up with Global Seed Savers Philippines, to help farmers get their hands on indigenous crop diversity before it disappears.
  4. If you want to see what “future-proofing seeds” looks like at scale, the National Soybean Germplasm Collection just turned 100: a century of squirreling away soybean diversity, just in case.
  5. Kazakhstan wants in on the squirreling too: plans are moving forward for a new genebank to safeguard agricultural biodiversity across Islamic Organization for Food Security member states.
  6. The University of Reading is also 100, and in celebration scientists there harvested beans from its cacao collection (yes, it has a cacao collection) to make Britain’s first homegrown chocolate bar since 1932, a novelty act with a serious undertone: climate change is squeezing cacao’s traditional growing belt.
  7. And in Italy, the squeeze is already showing up on the balance sheet: Parmesan’s “Fort Knox” — $350 million of cheese squirreled away as loan collateral — is feeling the heat, with rising cooling costs and falling yields rattling wine and olive oil too.