Ingesting Poisons to Jingles

[Yuan Steak in Ubon Ratchathani on 6/24/2]

On 4/25/23, Beth emailed me, “My landlord/housemate eats 4 pieces of bread with jam and copious honey in his tea, but he already had a heart attack and his belly alone must weigh 100lbs. I’m certain the foods are dumbing his brain […] I still hope to help him get healthier but the conditioning is so deep that it’s like the addiction is living instead of the person.”

About 60 years old, Beth is not doing well financially. She had a crepe restaurant in South Philly.

It’s not easy to eat healthy on a tiny budget, “My supermarket ‘shopping’ consists of coffee, organic eggs, whole milk yogurt, cheese, fresh pickles, and different kinds of Russian fresh made cabbage. And about 8 items cost $60 something the other day. So I might fast longer between days that I eat. I learned we can fast for days and even months if we’re adapted to it, without a problem. And we’ll have so much autophagy going on that we’ll be healthier. As long as we get some sea salt and as long as no beverages contain sugar.”

Beth’s email introduced me to the idea that fasting could be healthy, but there’s a dark tint here. Extreme poverty has made this an appealing option, not just for Beth, but millions of other Americans.

“Autophagy” makes me think of the snake that eats its own tail. With the mouth joined to the anus, digestion is renewed and perfect autonomy established. Eating my own shit, I need nothing from the world.

I believed in three square meals a day, with a big breakfast to get everything started. Vietnamese love a big bowl of beef soup, phở, in the morning. Outside many Viet schools, you can see kids eating broken rice with pork chops. With a full belly, they can enter class.

In Pasco, WA, I saw Mexican laborers buying huge donuts at dawn, before work.

Say big breakfast and most people will think of the English version, with fried eggs, sausages, bacon, black pudding, fried tomatoes, fried mushrooms, fried bread and, most importantly, a heap of baked beans. Of course, it’s unhealthy, but you only live once.

That much meat in one sitting means it was not widely available in England until the middle of the 20th century. Before that, your average bloke had to settle for porridge or a hunk of bread with a piece of cheese to start his day. The Just Stop Oil protestors blocking traffic and disrupting lives across England don’t realize the depletion of cheap oil will greatly reduce, or stop, most activities we’ve taken for granted. Our age of abundance is rapidly winding down.

Climate chaos isn’t caused by cars but geoengineering. They aren’t just poisoning our food but atmosphere. Jewjab, though, is the most direct route to woke paradise.

Though I’ve often talked about food, I’ve said nothing about its potential for harm. This is especially alarming in the USA, where a cornucopia of toxins are slyly injected into what appear to be food items.

Mortadella is a thousand-year-old Italian sausage from Bologna. Makers who strayed from its rules and definition could be fined and tortured on a rack. You can’t just call something anything. In the US, mortadella has become bologna, baloney or polony.

Here are the ingredients in Oscar Meyer’s version, “Mechanically Separated Chicken, Pork, Water, Corn Syrup, Contains Less than 2% of Salt, Ground Mustard Seed, Sodium Phosphates, Sodium Propionate Potassium Chloride, Sodium Diacetate, Sodium Benzoate, Beef, Flavor, Sodium Ascorbate, Sodium Nitrite, Extractives of Paprika.”

[Raleigh, NC on 12/14/11]

Loretta Lynn, “There are some good country singers in my family and some great Crisco cooks!”

Americans are still swallowing a parody of bread, Wonder, that’s touted as extra nutritious. “It’s scientifically true eight slices of Wonder Bread contain as much iron as in three lamb chops […] Remember, Wonder Bread helps build strong bodies eight ways!”

Tricked into ingesting margarine, Americans developed heart problems. Their Aspartame laced “sugar-free” sodas give them cancer. Denying for decades it was poisonous, WHO is ready to announce it may be so. Perhaps in 2300, WHO will admit Jewjabs weren’t entirely safe and effective.

Before becoming War Monger in Chief for Baby Bush, Donald Rumsfeld was CEO then president for Searles, the maker of aspartame. Harvard Business School cites him as a model, “The real success of Searle under Rumsfeld […] came with the FDA approval of Aspartame, the artificial sweetener that became popular and very profitable for Searle during the 1980s diet craze.”

Rumsfeld was White House Chief of Staff under Ford, and Counselor to the President for Nixon. In the private or public sphere, Rumsfeld was a seasoned pro. Inside the Beltway, you don’t rise that high or last that long being an honest chump.

In Scranton, I saw my friend Chuck drinking Diet Coke, so told him about Aspartame, but Chuck kept drinking it. It’s sugar free, so must be healthy. When Trump ran for president, I pissed Chuck off by saying the casino conman would achieve nothing, so no border wall, Hillary Clinton arrested, manufacturing jobs returned or draining of DC Swamp. Trump did, though, usher in Jewjabs. To keep his bus driving job, Chuck rolled up his sleeve and winced, at least twice. Still believing in elections, Chuck will, most likely, vote for Trump again.

Born in Vietnam on 11/12/63, I left my native country on 4/27/75. At the peak of America’s involvement in the Vietnam War, there were half a million US soldiers in the country, plus military contractors. There were also many American journalists. Their demand for American food saw burgers, hot dogs and pizzas being served, but besides bar girls, very few Vietnamese tried them. Around 1974, I half bit into a burger and thought it awful, but it was likely an awful burger. I had my first hot dog in Guam in May of 1975, where I was living in a tent as a refugee.

In the US, my father, brother, future stepmother and I were sponsored by a half-British, half Vietnamese woman and her American husband. Living in that house introduced me to baked beans, which I thought comically bad. It would take me years to love it, not that I had to. My last Philly apartment always had baked beans available.

During nearly 40 years in the US, I pretty much ingested what others did, so lots of Coke, french fries, mashed potatoes, potato chips, nachos, canned chili con carne, canned tuna, canned clam chowder, macaroni and cheese, spaghetti, instant noodles, donuts, Cheetos, cheeseburgers, cheesesteaks, lunch meats, bacon and, yes, American cheese. As wheat bread became more popular, I did switch to it, because it had taste. Finding margarine foul, I always bought butter.

Only on occasional visits to Vietnamese restaurants did I get my raw leaves and herbs. Their antioxidant, anti inflammatory and immune boosting qualities are underappreciated outside Vietnam.

Though I had a British housemate during college who baked his own bread, I only discovered how serious and wonderful bread is, and cheeses too, when I arrived in Italy in 2002, for a two-year stay. Having visited roughly 20 European countries, I found grown up, soul steeling bread in all of them.

In Ubon Ratchathani twelve days, I’ve seen very little of it, thanks to my skin disaster. Though triggered by an anti-bacterial bath gel and ointment, this was inevitable, since I was filled with toxins from years as an oil painter, house painter and consumer of American pseudo food.

During my last healthy day in Ubon, I was actually trying to eat American fried rice, a Thai dish of rice fried with ketchup (with its corn syrup), soy sauce, onion and raisins. A fried egg, hot dog and deep-fried drumstick complete this unholy meal. For the fried rice, butter or margarine should be used.

Since the place with American fried rice was closed, I went next door to Yuan Steak House. Despite its name, it had no beefsteaks, only pork, chicken and fish “steaks.” With many deep-fried offerings, it was a Western style joint, meant for Thais. Tired of rice and noodles, they can go there. To eat at Yuan, then, was to experience Western food like a low-brow Thai. Sophisticated Thais wouldn’t have touched this crap.

I ate beetles in Mexico, silkworm pupae in South Korea and Cambodia, dog and cat in Vietnam, dog in Cambodia and Laos, fermented shark in Iceland and jellied eel in England. In Namibia, I drank tombo without knowing what it was. In Lebanon, I had a raw beef sandwich. If it’s good enough for the locals, I’d try it. I have never said no to any food or drink offered. When I bought a homeless woman in Oakland a coffee, she reciprocated by giving me a pill, which I popped without hesitation. That was stupid.

In Seoul, I saw Okinawa taco rice on a menu, but didn’t try it. Should have. Too often, an opportunity occurs just once. Options recede, windows close until you find yourself at some place so alien, it’s unearthly and inhumane.

At Yuan, my combo had french fries, three fried chicken chunks, three hot dogs and three deep fried cheese balls that weren’t very cheesy. Mayonnaise and hot sauce came with it, and a bottle of ketchup was at the table.

If I’ve ordered it, I’ll eat it, so I polished off that disaster. Though I was stoic, my body had to make me pay, and not just for that meal, but similar ones down the decades. I’ve been in discomfort or pain ever since.

The next day, I started a regiment of just one meal a day, nearly all at Grow Up. I’m lucky there’s a health-conscious joint nearby. Usually, I have an elaborate salad with eggs or fish, with a side of avocado and a mixed juice drink. The last has names like Young Forever, Beauty and Balance and Skin Repair.

Suddenly, Beth’s comment about fasting and autophagy has become super relevant. An American friend with a nutritionist wife also encourages me to intermittently fast.

Very slowly, I see improvements. This morning, I was able to wiggle my right toes, though just standing up from my bed was howlingly painful. Once outside, I pushed myself to walk two blocks, then back. Two days ago, this would have been impossible. I must move my limbs somewhat normally to get my blood flowing, and prevent swelling.

I don’t know when I’ll get over this, but this ordeal has made me most qualified to start a new business, you must agree.

Renting a ground floor office space, I’ll commission a handsome sign, “Linh Dinh, dermatologist, nutritionist, chiropractor and surgeon. Whatever ails you, I can fix. Call now for discounts.”

For July 4th, I’ll have lunch with an American resident of Thailand. Fearful of more retribution from mother nature, I won’t even eat a Chicago hotdog or Mission burrito even if it’s available here. Chastened, I’ll be happy with just cups of green tea.

It will be very nice, though, to chatter with a fellow American. We survived it.

[$7.13 meal at Grow Up in Ubon Ratchathani on 7/1/23]

[Ubon Ratchathani, 6/22/23]

[Ubon Ratchathani, 7/2/23]