Historical crop videos online

Alerted by a tweet from Pat Heslop-Harrison, I delved into British Pathé’s new Youtube archive of 85,000 historical films. The following little gem turned up when I searched for wheat.

I shared it with my go-to guy on wheat genetic resources, and he had this to say:

Multi-branched spikes have been investigated by a number of researchers (including Cal Qualset from whom we have germplasm he developed). It’s interesting to see farmers harvesting a variety with the trait. It seems an obvious way to increase yield (make the wheat spike into a sorghum-like inflorescence) but results have not been as encouraging as the morphology suggests.

Have fun searching for your favourite crops.

My happy liver I cover with a garment fit for a queen

tabletSince we’re on the subject of agricultural biodiversity and poetry, let’s also deal with that Sumerian ode to beer that featured in another article I linked to recently. It’s called the “Hymn to Ninkasi,” and it was found on a 19th century BC cuneiform tablet. Ninkasi means “lady who fills the mouth,” and was, aptly enough, the goddess of brewing. I found a longer version of the poem online, along with a recipe for the beer it describes, a “light, unhopped, unfiltered barley beer.” There’s some really detailed scholarship on Sumerian beer out there. What I don’t quite understand is why this stanza

While I circle around the abundance of beer,
While I feel wonderful, I feel wonderful,
Drinking beer, in a blissful mood,
Drinking liquor, feeling exhilarated,
With joy in the heart [and] a happy liver—
While my heart full of joy,
[And] [my] happy liver I cover with a
garment fit for a queen!…

which is rather fun, is found in some sources but not in others. Some disagreement among Sumerian poetry experts? I’d like to think so.

Incidentally, there’s a thing called the Pennsylvania Sumerian Dictionary Project which has come up with an entirely horrible but endlessly intriguing online resource. It took me like an hour, but I finally figured out what I think is the Old Akkadian cuneiform for Ninkasi.

small

You’re welcome.

How is yoghurt like a hybrid seed?

An audio recording of a 90-minute panel discussion is not something to tangle lightly with, not even when the topic is one of my favourites: fermentation. I finally got around to it, though, and I’m very glad I did.

The recording dates from exactly a year ago today, which I swear I didn’t know before writing this, and a discussion at the American Museum of Natural History as part of their series Adventures in the Global Kitchen. The Art of Fermentation featured Sandor Katz, who needs no introduction to fermentation heads, and Dan Felder, head of research and development at the Momofuku Culinary Lab. 2

I found it really fascinating even though – possibly because – I know a bit about fermentation. And one bit in particular joined fermentation to another interest: seeds and intellectual property rights. I know!

Starting at about 1 hr and 8 mins, Sandor Katz was explaining why, if you decide to do home-made yoghurt with most store-bought yoghurt as a starter, it is ok for the first generation or two but by three and four is pretty runny and not very good. He said that bulk industrial yoghurt depends on pure cultures of just two species of bacterium, Lactobacillus bulgaricus and Streptococcus thermophilus. Local, heirloom yoghurts, if you will, contain those two as part of a larger ecosystem, and the ecosystem as a whole is able to defend itself from microbial interlopers, whereas the pure cultures are not. And that’s why an heirloom yoghurt can be renewed generation after generation without changing much in its properties.

Katz pointed out that greater control for the manufacturer means some benefits but less self-sufficiency for the consumer. You can buy their yoghurt, but you can’t use it to make your own. And he specifically likened that to the development of F1 hybrid seeds, which likewise offer benefits at the expense of self-sufficiency. Because you can’t save your own seeds from F1 hybrids.

Except, of course, that you can. You don’t get what you started off with, but that’s the point. With time and space and a little bit of knowledge you can dehybridise F1s, exploiting all the goodies that the breeders put in there and, who knows, coming up with something as good or better and being able to maintain that generation to generation. I have no idea whether you can do that with industrial yoghurt, exposing it to a bit more wild culture and selecting among mini-batches.

And that led to a not very satisfactory discussion of intellectual property rights as they relate to ferments and the kind of work Dan Felder is doing with Momofuku. “I can’t talk about that,” he said, disarmingly. But then he did, worrying that plagiarism was much more common than credit and attribution among chefs. And that’s why they keep some things secret.

Katz then pointed out that we owe all the ferments and most of the techniques in use today to generations of experimenters before us. Sound familiar?

Ferments and techniques, but not substrates, countered Felder, who makes a miso based on Sicilian pistachios, and much else besides. He was proud to accept that he was building on generations of experimentation and tradition. Just not writing it up on Twitter.

I decide soiling my hands

“The book showed how ninjas trained by jumping over cannabis plants,” Takayasu says. “Every day they had to leap higher and higher because cannabis grows very quickly. I was so amazed that I told my mom I wanted to grow cannabis when I was older.”

I defy anyone coming across that opening gambit to refrain from reading on. I know I Nibbled it, but the Japan Times article on that country’s history of hemp cultivation and use, which came out a couple of days ago to commemorate 420, is much too good to leave to languish in a sidebar.

Not convinced? How about this?

…the [1948] U.S. decision to prohibit cannabis created panic among Japanese farmers. In an effort to calm their fears, Emperor Hirohito visited Tochigi Prefecture in the months prior to the ban to reassure farmers they would be able to continue to grow in defiance of the new law — a surprisingly subversive statement.

There’s lots more. I have to say, though, that what intrigued me most was this:

As well as references to cannabis plants in ninja training, they also feature in the “Manyoshu” — Japan’s oldest collection of poems — and the Edo Period (1603-1868) book of woodblock prints, “Wakoku Hyakujo.” In haiku poetry, too, key words describing the stages of cannabis cultivation denoted the season when the poem is set.

Researching that bit about haiku led me to what seems to be the mother lode on Japanese hemp culture. Which in turn eventually led me to discover that the Japanese actually have a word for seasonal words, if you see what I mean: kigo. And that there’s a database of kigo, which includes words having to do with hemp, of course. I’ll leave you with a haiku from one of the comments on that indispensable resource; not, I think, an ancient Japanese haiku, but evocative nonetheless, and apposite:

now retired
I decide soiling my hands
cannabis growing