And for you grow-your-own folks, which I’d like to be, Monsanto has its sticky icky fingers into a lot of seed companies. Go here for a list of Monsanto-free seed companies: http://occupymonsanto360.org/blog/2013/06/01/monsanto-free-seed-companies/
I was pleased to find a new meat line from Oscar Meyer—Selects. I bought chicken breast hot dogs, labeled all rib meat, no preservatives. Elizabeth, my food label expert, read the label and agreed they look good. And Oscar Meyer is apparently untainted by Monsanto.
You know those little stickers on a lot of fruit and vegetables? A four-digit code means conventionally grown; a five-digit code beginning with eight means genetically modified; a five-digit code beginning with 9 means organic. But, alas, Snopes says they’re not always reliable. Still they’re a step toward educating ourselves, and I think we have to do that to protect our food supply.
I am fortunate (in some ways) to have a gluten- and dairy-free friend living in my garage apt. (Sometimes, when she will be eating with us, meal planning is hard, but she’s very adaptable and self-sufficient.) She’s well versed in reading labels because her health demands she know what's in a product, and she helps me steer the course. This morning we made really healthy cookies from a recipe that’s been floating around the web this week:
3 really over-ripe bananas
2 c. oats (we used quick cooking rolled—steel cut wouldn’t work I don’t think)
¼ c. almond milk (yes, you could probably substitute but Elizabeth had it in her fridge)
½ c. raisins—we substituted mini semi-sweet chocolate bits, though I don’t object to raisins and even think dried cranberries might be good
1 tsp. vanilla
1 tsp. cinnamon
Mash it all together.
Grease cookie sheet (we didn’t and learned the hard way), drop by teaspoons onto sheet (Elizabeth does that so precisely) and bake 15-20 minutes at 350.
The house smelled heavenly even before we got them in the oven and better yet while they baked. They’re chewy with a different texture than what you expect from a cookie, but they’re delicious. Waiting for six-year-old Jacob to arrive tonight and give his verdict.
Jacob's verdict was predictable: he doesn't like them. A texture thing, I suspect.