What's in Mystery Meat, anyway?

Cooking for myself is a recent development.  As a child, your parents do all the providing.  Whether that comes in the form of a home cooked meal or a paper sack, they are responsible for what you consume.  Mostly.  You gradually gain more independence in your food choices, get lunch money instead of packed lunches.  School food is an entirely different blog post.  Let's not go there.

In college, if you go, you have the most freedom yet.  From what seems like a wide selection of food, your choices seem endless.  Cereal OR eggs and bacon for breakfast?  Both?  Wowza!  Being serious for a moment, it all malarkey.  Frankly a farce.  The food in big shiny serving containers, made in mass quantities to feed hungry college kids is not much better from Mystery Meat Monday of the third grade.  You don't know what's in it, not really, it just looks like you do. Those mashed potatoes might be the genuine article.  Or they might be only a step higher than shredded sawdust.  You'll never know.  After all, there'll be so much salt and butter added it's sure to taste alright.

I'm sorry; is my soapbox blocking traffic?

The sad fact is, people go to college to learn and walk away (hopefully) with a diploma and the freshman fifteen.  Plus some more if they're really unfortunate.  Something is wrong here.  Part of it is probably poor choices.  But another part is that we don't know where our food comes from or how it's made anymore.  We don't read labels, or question what chemicals are put in our food.  It's served to us and we are clueless about where it came from and sometimes even how it's made.

Now I'm not saying we should all be on hyper vigilance, or that these things need to be abolished.  But we didn't become one of the fattest nations by eating organically.  What I'm saying, if I'm saying anything, is that we need to start thinking about it, at least.

I'm no longer in the dormitories.  I live in an apartment off campus, with a fully functioning kitchen.  I cook for myself every night, to varying degrees of fanciness. Some nights I make lasagna or chili or some other multiple serving dish and freeze the extras, for many lunches and dinners to come.  Other times, I just boil some whole wheat pasta and sprinkle it with mozzarella and bacon.

Hey, I never claimed to be perfect.

I almost never eat out anymore.  For money reasons, sure, but primarily for health reasons.  Yesterday for lunch, I acted out of character and went to Steak and Shake with a friend who had quite a hankering for a nice greasy burger.  I might disagree with his desire to act on it, but I don't condemn.  I treated him, actually.  During our meal, I made an off hand comment about how even I like to eat fast food occasionally.  He stared at me and fumbled for verbal footing.

"Steak and Shake is not fast food," he said finally, his tone indignant.

Moments later, our food arrived.  The waitress apologized for our long ten minute wait.  As I looked at the chili I had ordered, a meal that I'd had absolutely zero hand in preparing, cooking and serving, I knew my friend was not alone in his vehemence.  Much of America, of the world, very much agreed.  This is not fast food.  It's life as we know it.