- How they grow bananas in Fadan Karshi, Nigeria.
- How they grow sorghum in Karamoja, Uganda.
- How tequila is ruining small farms in Mexico. Or is it?
- How small farms cannot feed Africa. Or can they? Join the debate! Via.
- How the Brits plan to rebrand cauliflower. This I gotta see.
- How the ancient Chinese made wine out of rice, honey, and fruit. Pass the bottle.
- How Georgia is mapping where its chestnuts used to be.
- How farmers’ rights are being implemented.
- How Indian agriculture should move beyond wheat and rice. Ok, but what would everybody eat?
- How microsatellites can be used to help catfish breeding.
- How Ni Wayan Lilir is helping people learn about the traditional healing herbs of Bali.
- How the Brits brought back the Konik.
Corn thoughts
The idea that maize and man co-opted one another in pursuit of world domination is not as new as some people seem to think. I’m reading “Corn and Capitalism: How a Botanical Bastard Grew to Global Dominance” by Arturo Warman, translated by Nancy Westrate. The original Spanish edition dates to 1988 and the translation to 2003, and although some bits have undoubtedly been updated the one over-riding impression I have so far is that all indicators of corn’s global dominance are probably now even greater than they are in the book. But that’s not why I am blogging.
Rather, I am puzzled by a reference on page 7 to a crop of American origin called sesame. That brought me up short. Sesame, Sesamum indicum, is almost certainly Indian in origin. Fortunately, Warman, or Westrate, gives a Latin name, Amaranthus cruentus, and says that it is known as Alegria, or “joy”. That makes more sense. A. cruentus is one of the three amaranth species grown for its grain, which admittedly does look a little like sesame seed. And it is the one often known in English as red amaranth, for the flower (and flour?) colour of a group of varieties that was, apparently, used as an element of ritual throughout the Americas. It represented blood, and that may have been the reason colonial religious nuts attempted to ban its cultivation and use. ((“Communion wine is completely different, you dolt.”))
Is there, then, some reason why Warman and Westrate refer to it as sesame? A Spanish word, perhaps?
All this is especially interesting in view of later paragraphs dedicated to the original domestication site of corn, Old World or New. ((It is hard to realize that this was once a subject of discussion.)) Part of the evidence that scholars adduced in support of an Old World origin was linguistic, names such as Egyptian sorghum, Syrian grain, grain from Mecca, Indian wheat, Spanish wheat, Portuguese grain and, here in Italy, Gran Turco. What all of these have in common is the notion that maize comes from somewhere else, often self-contradictory, but that was enough to send Old World supporters into a frenzy. They simply could not bring themselves to believe that such a wonderful plant had been domesticated by the lowly creatures of the Americas.
And speaking of names, it came as another shock to learn that Teosinte, the ancestor of maize, gets its name from a Nahuatl word for “corn of the gods”. How many other foods of the gods are there, I wonder?
Nibbles: Coffee, Barley, Sheep, Diary, Ancient chocolate, South African wine, Pleistocene Gibraltar, Roads
- Coffee: The World in Your Cup exhibit. I found it at Grist.
- Making beer with less water. At last a worthy use for germplasm collections.
- Rare Breeds Survival Trust take over sheep semen archive. Ah, those fun-loving Brits!.
- Illinois, 1937: farm diary in twitter form.
- Have chocolate, will travel.
- February 2, 1659: “…today, praise be to God, wine was pressed for the first time from Cape grapes.”
- Neanderthals hung out with — and hung on thanks to — biodiversity.
- Yield is not enough.
Indigenous pasta sauces
I don’t think we nibbled it here, but I did post on Facebook a news story about how Italy is thinking of banning ethnic restaurants. This elicited more comments than I usually get. One friend said he’d send me a kebab in the mail. I politely declined, citing health concerns. Another suggested such a ban would be a good idea, as most ethnic restaurants in Italy are terrible, even when — or is it because — they absorb local ingredients and ways of doing things. ((As dissected so admirably for Chinese restaurants by the writer Jennifer 8. Lee (æŽç«¶) in a recent, wonderful, TED talk.)) My wife wondered whether the move might set off tit-for-tat bans on Italian restaurants — including pizzerias ((Talking about absorbing local ingredients, is there a more spongiferous food than the pizza?)) — around the world. And another commenter wondered what Italian cuisine would be like if pasta sauces featured only indigenous agrobiodiversity. That means no tomatoes. One sauce that I could think of that is composed solely of ingredients that could be said to be native to Italy — whatever that might mean — is pesto. Anyway, one thing is for certain, such a cuisine would probably drive me to kebabs.
Grappa family awards prizes
You may have read that the Premio Nonino, a prestigious international literary prize, has just been awarded. I myself knew nothing of it, and only heard about it for the first time on the news a couple of days ago. The prize has an interesting, agrobiodiversity-themed history. Nonino is the name of the family-owned distillery that has revolutionized the making of grappa in the past few decades. Grappa is an Italian spirit concocted from pomace, the grape seeds, stalks and stems discarded by wine makers.
The character of Grappa changed in the 1960s, thanks, largely to the efforts of one woman РGiannola Nonino. Her Nonino distillery, in Percoto Italy, has been producing Grappa since 1897. In the early 1970s, she began making Grappa from a single grape, as opposed to the customary m̩lange of grape leftovers. She sought to make a quality drink, one to rival the great eaux-de-vie of France. It was an uphill battle. She sold very little of her first, 1973, production. Undaunted, she offered her Grappa free to journalists, restaurateurs, and asked that it be served at important commercial and government dinners. She poured the drink herself and told her story as she filled the glasses. Slowly, in this way, the charismatic Ms. Nonino created a following.
The Nonino Distillery’s first single grape Grappa was crafted from the Picolit grape. Today, over a dozen different grapes are used for single grape Grappas, called “monovitigno” Grappas, a term Ms. Nonino coined herself. In 1984, the same Nonino distillery gained government approval and began producing a higher quality Grappa made from whole fruit. They began with grapes and in the following years, produced products using cherries, pear, apricot, peach, and raspberry, among other fruits. Seeking a way to show off their new products, Nonino is also responsible for the stylish glass bottles in which Grappa today is sold, a dramatic change from the old medicinal-style bottles.
The Noninos first instituted a prize in 1975 with the aim of supporting efforts to save the ancient indigenous vines of the Friuli region of Italy. A literary prize came into being some years later “per sottolineare la permanente attualità della civiltà contadina” (to highlight the continuing relevance of rural culture). And finally an international literary prize was added. This last was won this year by, among others, the sociologist and documentary-maker Silvia Perez-Vitoria for her contribution to the “defence of farmers and spreading the values of ancestral knowledge.” One of the daughters of the redoubtable Giannola said, making the awards:
“We are proud that what started out as a project to promote the roots and traditions of Friuli has grown into a prize which honours those who cherish the roots and traditions of humanity as a whole.â€
Nice thought.