Do I Need Rules?

It's probably human nature, after the flexible chaos of holidays, to crave work/school structures that seemed oppressive only weeks ago. We return to our schedules with a secret sigh of relief, and often, a list of resolutions. What are resolutions if not self-imposed rules? And yet: Rules, Shmools, I want to scream. Who needs them?

Less than one week into the project of "going unprocessed"--however defined--I've already run up against the space-time continuum. As in: bare cupboard shelves the night before school lunches must be packed, regretting my stubborn avoidance of the baked goods aisle while buying this week's groceries. Close to midnight and classes to prep? It must be time to bake something! Two things: I made labour-intensive ginger snaps (to use up a hunk of fresh ginger) and a toffee-chocolate bar cookie that was super-easy and loved by all (victory!). I'll spare you the recipes, though. This is not a cooking show, and I'm no professional.

As for stretching time, if only we could all manage our homes like JK Rowling's Mrs. Weasley, whose dinner cooks itself, or even better, believe Mrs. Whatsit when she claims, "There is such a thing as a tesseract," how grand life would be. (Madeleine L'Engle devotees, have you seen Hope Larson's graphic-novel version of A Wrinkle in Time? She gave an interesting interview not long ago about her decision to adapt the story that's become a touchstone for so many readers. This new book appeared under our Christmas tree, to the delight of [so far] the eldest and youngest children.)

But I digress. Here's the dilemma: how hard-core will this Unprocessed Project be? I've already decided on a gradual approach, making substitutions as we go, but what is the ultimate destination? Some rules would be helpful, or at least some pirated guidelines. (Sorry, but I do love that scene with Geoffrey Rush, and it somehow seems apt to invoke the unsteady Barbossa to celebrate the first failures of the New Year.)

Concerns about unhealthful industrialized food products have saturated our culture, probably beginning with Michael Pollan's books and a host of others. Pollan's widely touted rule that we shouldn't eat anything our grandparents wouldn't recognize seems like simple wisdom--although if it eliminates "foreign" fare, food that would have been considered exotic in early-20th-century upstate New York--a lot of good stuff, in other words--I'm out.

Another resource, the 100 Days of Real Food, proposes a fairly practical set of rules to shop by. From now on, I'm going to follow this one: buy no packaged food that contains more than five ingredients. That's a start, anyway.

Thanks are due to The Nourish Project, a new community food initiative, for referring me to the 100-day challenge site. Check out their video clips: interviews on kitchen literacy with environmental historian Ann Vileisis and on food sovereignty with renowned economist Raj Patel. There's even a poem about the humble onion.

So I've got my first unprocessed rule now. I'd be interested in knowing what works for others on this quest. What more do I need?