Skip to main content

Mediterranean Misconceptions

I'm in the middle of a marathon writing session about the history and influence of the Italian language, Italian grammar, and some aspects of Italian culture. It's actually been a really fun project for me because it combines the great loves of my life (language and culture) and feels more like an intellectual hobby than my second job. Fun stuff, right?

I had to take a break from the writing to rant a bit about cultural misconceptions. I'm currently researching information about traditional Italian food, and I was already prepared to read about myths and misunderstanding posing as truth on the Internet. (Sometimes I think the only reason the Internet exists is as a format for people to share all their misinformation.)

The first site that appeared in the search engine was a link to a slideshow that shows why Italian cuisine is so healthy. As soon as I saw the phrase "Mediterranean diet," I know the entire piece was bullshit. First, I have spent a considerable amount of time eating with people from the Mediterranean. Second, I'm not afraid to ask them about their culture. (I am the girl who followed up, "Nice to meet you" to my first Canadian with, "So why is ham called Canadian bacon?")

But I digress. I really wanted to take this time to clear up some of the lies that are consistently spread in the U.S. about the Mediterranean diet for reasons I don't completely understand.

Yes, people in the Mediterranean eat many healthy foods, including olive oil, whole grains, and fish. They also eat many foods Americans consider unhealthy. You might be shocked to know that they eat a LOT of cured meats, and seafood has not been traditionally popular in the inland regions because people didn't have access to it. Even much of the seafood is cured in some way.

It's true that they consume a lot of olive oil (and consider butter an abomination), they use it FAR more than Americans are comfortable adding to their diets. When my Spaniard friend cooked with me, he added more than a tablespoon or two of olive oil to the pain. He drenched everything with it: bread, eggs, vegetables, rice. My traditional breakfast is still a slice of Ezekial bread with at least two tablespoons of olive oil and a slice of whatever cheese I have on hand. Every American who sees me eat that chastises me for eating too much olive oil.

Speaking of bread, this is perhaps my favorite misconception. I'm not so sure where anyone got the idea that people in the Mediterranean eat whole grains. I've seen a lot of pasta, rice, and bread, but it's ALWAYS white...you know, that stuff that we're told was brought from hell by the devil himself. It's not whole wheat pasta or brown rice or even bread with some added pumpkin seeds and nuts. And you know what? They eat this EVERY day.

For the record, tomatoes are a relatively new addition to the local diets because they were thought to be poisonous for many years. Italians also don't eat much garlic; that was an influence from Spain who once ruled much of southern Italy. Even when traditional Italian dishes call for garlic, it is added just for flavor and removed before serving. Spaniards like to chop it up and throw it in.

I'm not knocking the diet. In fact, it's pretty much the one I follow, but I eat like they really eat there (except for the cured meats and sausages). It works well for me. The high fat content keeps me full (I'll save the rant about the protein keeps you full myth for another day), and I don't eat as much as I would on a typical American diet. I just wish we could stop with the lies.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Busy Days Ahead

It's been a busy week for me. I left my house at 4:30 Monday morning for my drive down south and pulled back in my driveway at 1:20 this morning. The days have been long, too, between working at the new school from 7:30 until 3:00 or 4:00 and then working at the new place until 9:00 or 10:00 each night. I now have callouses on my fingers and not one intact finger nail. I think I've also developed a new twitch somewhere on my face. One afternoon this week, I stood in the middle of our new living room and took in the sight of missing drywall, a growing hole in the floor and soaked up my husband's predictions that we still won't be ready to paint by the weekend. All I wanted to do was cry. All I felt was nothingness. Numbness. Anyone who has ever reached the point of numbness knows that it's scarier than feeling like you're falling apart. It's one step beyond feeling like you're falling apart. I couldn't help but wonder just what we had gotten ourselves

The Carnival

It's a beautiful Saturday afternoon here in southwest Florida, although still a bit too warm for my November tastes. I'm learning to enjoy my weekends with as much unstructured and unscheduled time as possible. Last Saturday was a delightful unstructured day. A new friend of mine (the one from the Everglades excursion) and I went to a local carnival. Now, here's the thing...I LOVE carnivals. The food. The people. The rides. The lights. I can easily spend an entire day wandering through the crowds. He's no carnival slouch. The first thing we did was walk through the entire place, scoping out the rides. Then the fun began. We rode almost every ride there (except for the kiddie attractions and the broken Tornado). The Wild Claw. The Scrambler. The Orbiter. The Space Oddysey. The Swings. The Pharaoh's Fury. The Ferris Wheel. The Giant Slide. The Haunted House. The Avalanche. It was all good. How can you top a ride that uses centrifugal force to plaster your body against

Stranger Obligations

I had to make a few difficult decisions this week. At least, they were difficult for me. I wish I could be the kind of person who completely makes decisions based on his/her own needs and wants and boldly moves through life with unabashed freedom from how our choices affect others. But I'm not built like that. I had placed an ad for my former stray. I felt like it was time to find her a more permanent home because so much in my life right now is uncertain. One person answered the ad, but she did not seem like a good fit, and I gave up further thought. This week I received another response. As long as this person is telling the truth, it's an ideal situation for the dog. Yet, I had a strange feeling and could not sort out whether or not it was my intuition kicking in or that fact that I actually like the dog and don't want to see her go. In the end, I decided that it was in my own (and my Winnipeg's) best interest for her to stay with us through the summer. (I seri