First Preview for 'Scrumptious Science' coming to Youtube April 1st 2019, 8pm (EST)
I'd be ever so grateful if you gave it a watch and a thumbs up!

Second Preview too? Oh, alright...if you're going to be demanding...

And because everyone knows me better than that -here's an extra blooper reel for your amusement. It's amazing hard to remember your own script...:-)

So, you know how it all works -like, share, subscribe, COMMENT and please -all suggestions are more than welcome! I'm no expert :-)

My latest science communication effort is premiering April 1, 2019 (8pm EST). Hope you can join me for a cornucopia of food, science, art, history and a few saucy quips :)
Scrumptious Science S01 E01

When Lunchtime Tastes of Sunshine...

Bruschetta. It's not as di moda as it once was.
Australian cafes had a love-affair with all things Italian for a decade or so, but then they got bored and decided de-constructed something-or-other with smashed avocado (always with smashed avocado) was tante meglio, meglio cosi (so much the better). I clearly remember the gastronomical snobbery of the 'bruschetta' pronounciation days. It was right up there with the correct preparation of affogato. Hint: 'ch' is a hard sound, so it's 'Broo-sketta'. Apologies if I just ruined your millenium. Anyway...

It's fair enough too. Like so many things, the true heart of excellent Italian food isn't the recipe (although the centuries old flavour combos are pretty stonkingly amazing) -it's the produce. Bruschetta should be a riot of flavour. It should be all the sultry heat of summer soaking into a crusty piatto (plate/trencher) that is itself toothsome, tangy, and something your teeth can rip into voraciously.

Perhaps this beloved Italian summer staple fell from popular cafe favour because it was...well, a little disappointing most of the time? Supermarket tomatoes, commercial white bread, packaged parmesan, basil grown en masse, indoors, that had never even glimpsed the baking summer sun...there's a recipe for yawn right there.
I know I bang on about this, but the joy, the relish and the ultimate satiety/satisfaction doesn't actually come from the produce or recipe alone. It comes from consuming a story. it's the reason Andy Bowdy's cakes became a crazy sensation. The clever bugger made awesome, beautiful cakes -sure...but he gave each one a story and a name. Love me a good visionary :-)

The story of the Broo-sketta

In the dead of winter, a woman sits at her computer, swathed in multiple layers and scarves. She's perusing seed-catalogues and dreaming. In front of her -hundreds of enticing heirloom tomatoes whisper enticingly. Some are a thrill of unusual colour, some a perfect combination of ugly-beautiful shapes, some come with testimonials of flavour. The woman is greedy and would like them all, but she settles on 5 or 6 new options and waits by the mail-box hopefully.
When the packets arrive, even her small son is enchanted. "Can I take these to school for news Mummy?". Mummy is pleased, and allows her precious seeds to be shoved into a backpack. She sets aside a vaguely unsettled feeling.

That afternoon, a very hang-dog 6yr old comes through the back door - a scruffy harbinger of doom. Daddy looks stormy too...because he already knows. Mummy reads all the signals and steels herself.  For reasons known only to the logic of a kindergarten student, he has opened and emptied out the packets on the bus. Apparently he was "showing" people the seeds and they just kinda "fell out". She tries not to cry and fails.
Weeping complete, she peers into the packets mournfully -their bright pictures of promise holding nothing now...wait...what's that? In the tight envelope corners a few survivors! Four to be exact. 2 in each corner.They are whisked into seed-raising pots with the urgency and care of a delicate ER operation.

A few weeks later, with imperfect germination -she has two plants. TWO! They are babied and molly-coddled with that strange gardener's combination of gentleness and steely determination. The 6 yr old watches the process with some trepidation. It is lovingly dressed with wood-ash, egg-shells, sifted manures, and even decorated stones (6yr old's version of helping/penance). It is nurtured through a terrible heat-wave, and hand-watered daily. The stones are gaudy, but sweet. Mummy is reminded that he may be irresponsible, but he does try so hard to fix things when they're broken.

Finally, it is time to harvest. She plucks any fruits starting to colour and ripens them on a sunny windowsill to avoid the possibility of splitting due to intense heat and storms. These much-anticipated Brad's atomic grapes blush slowly next to volunteer cherries and the firm-fleshed Sungrape. The anticipation so much part of the coming delight.

One uncomfortably warm morning, they're ready. Brilliantly coloured and with just a tiny amount of 'give' when gently squeezed. Home-made sourdough is sliced thinly, fragrant basil is plucked from amongst sister tomato plantings, garlic pulled gently from the twisted braid. The pantry offers a local chilli & lime olive oil and a caramelised balsamic from Mudgee. A sharp parmesan from Orange is grated finely. Every ingredient has a story. Everything on this plate has been created or nurtured with passion and care. Every producer has been chatted with, laughed with. We have shared our stories.

Today, all of our tales are woven into my lunch :-) It is simplicity itself, but as rich flavour and story fire up all my neural pleasure and reward pathways, biochemical magic twinkles. Quantity is not necessary. Satiety is not signalled by the stomach's stretch receptors, but by ghrelin levels falling fast and leptin levels surging. Neurogastronomy at its finest. The story of the flavours, the pleasure, the hedonism of my immense enjoyment ensure that a small energy offering is enough...well enough. Over-eating would be...I dunno, somehow wrong. This is not to be gobbled, but savoured. This is the pleasure of the gardener.

Digging for Buried treasure

STARKERS WITH A CABBAGE...

STARKERS WITH A CABBAGE

So, I did something quite out-of-character this week: allowed myself to be photographed naked…with a cabbage. This may seem an odd life choice, but let me explain:

I was inspired. The.Naked.Farmer campaign came to my attention. The catch-cry of this organisation is ‘it takes just as much guts to take your gear off as it does to talk about mental health’. Through calendars, social media campaigns and farm-visits –The Naked Farmer raises funds and awareness for rural mental health. Their website and Facebook page is adorned with farmers of all shapes, sizes and genders tastefully ‘in the buff’, and it’s absolutely charming.

These non-sexualised images hide a dark reality though – rural and semi-rural mental health is in trouble. Traditional hegemonic masculine roles, drought-related stress, isolation and financial hardship exact a heavy toll on our farmers and miners. In Lithgow alone – self-harm rates are double the NSW rate.

In addition, ironically enough –our food production locales are often simultaneously ‘food deserts’, or areas that have very poor food security. Our farmers may be growing our food, but what are they actually eating? Again, in the semi-rural Lithgow area (more mining than farming), hospitalisation due to diet-related disease is also double the state average. Poor food choices; high energy/low nutritional content in meals is highly correlated with psychiatric distress andviolent behaviour. Takeaway food, confectionary and heavy red meat consumption result in both internal andexternal manifestations of depression in adolescents. When this is paired with a dearth of mental health services, high unemployment and a struggling coal industry –you get what the media calls a suicide crisis.

So, how does one regional woman getting her kit off help? Well, for starters –we pay attention to nakedness. It even changes our psychologicalreactions to the person in question, making them seem less powerful/controlling, and more sensitive to basic human commonalities like hunger, emotion and desire –in short, a more relatable frame of reference. It can be the same person, same facial expression, same descriptors but a hint of body changes perception entirely.

Is this just ‘sexualising’ an issue for attention? That depends entirely on you. Is nudity always sexual? Are you automatically non-sexual when clothed and then hot-to-trot when de-robed? Is having a shower sexual? Are women ‘asking for it’ when they expose some skin? What if there’s a cabbage involved? –fetishes aside, surely there are few items less sexy than a cabbage…

I’m also a Nutrition scientist, foodie and gardener, and current research is solidly behind the fact that gardening is beneficial for physical, psychological and social health. Growing and eating your own food ticks so many boxes on the positive mental-health list it’s ridiculous.

So, this week I took off my clothes and sat down with a cabbage I nurtured from seed. I allowed myself to be exposed, real, and armourless. Lest you imagine that exhibitionism is an intrinsic characteristic here…it was HARD! I really did have to confront an awful lot of my own ingrained body-issues and perceptions of ‘beauty’. I was/am frightened that some slightly pudgy white chick with a cabbage is just not at all an effective awareness tool.

 However, I live in Lithgow and young people are taking their own lives, self-harming, and increasingly embracing violent behaviour. I hope this little endeavour helps to bring awareness to an enormous and multi-tiered problem. I also hope that it makes people think –even for a moment –about the relationship between food, gardening and rural mental health. If you’re interested in supporting this initiative financially, head to The Naked Farmer’s website and purchase a delightful calendar that will make you smile in spite of yourself. Yep, it’s The Calendar Girls but with a rural Aussie twist J

Research Recruitment: Not as Easy as it Looks

Maybe they're shy? Maybe they've been hit too many times by companies promising 'research' but actually pushing a pyramid scheme or an expensive sign-up? Maybe it's just the local area -perhaps Nigella Lawson is just a bit too 'out there' for Lithgovians?

The musings of a researcher trying to recruit Focus Group participants.

Either way, With data-collection beginning on Thursday, I only have 1/3 of my places filled for a free meal, a focus group chat, and a sweet treat to take home. This is slightly problematic. You see, especially with qualitative research, a significant study sample is pretty necessary. It's not that the opinions of the 25 people I have aren't valuable and insightful -they will be, but the analysed results will not be broadly (or even narrowly) applicable to the study-population. This means that (a) The results will have some problems passing peer-review, and (b) the questions I am asking (that I believe are extremely pertinent to health, nutrition and science communication) will be lost in the shifting sands of knowledge.

By the way, it's not just me asking these questions. When we (scientists) choose a topic for study, we do a fairly soul-destroying thing called a 'Literature review'. For those that have lived their lives without doing one: (a) lucky you!, (b) this innocently-named gauntlet means you read thousands of published papers in your field. You follow everything that is currently known, every spin-off study, every 'further research' suggestion. You hop across disciplines like an insane frog. You find 'gaps' in Nutrition, Sociology, Neuropsychiatry, media studies, biochemistry, physiology, microbiology, genetics, epigenetics, Psychology, Art, Literature studies, and many many more. Like a studious arachnid, you gather threads and follow them. You weave a story from the silks of all the others -rejecting some, connecting others. Eventually (after your brain leaks out your ears...again), you settle on a question that needs an answer. You are also now (apparently) some kind of amphibian/arachnid hybrid...but anyway, anyway...

 That's just the beginning.

Your question may be quite good. In fact, it may be very good. However, you don't get to decide this. Instead, you will approach numerous professors in trembling anticipation with your little question. You'll hand it over in absolute terror, because it is they that will decide whether your question is one that the world/the university supports. It's not awfully different even outside the post-graduate realms. Your question, your thoughts, your enquiry will always be judged as meritorious or not -by funding bodies, by your employer, or by Industry requirements.

So, I did that...and they approved! Yes, I had a few glasses of bubbly that evening :-)

Then, there's another wee gauntlet...ETHICS. You see, unfortunately -Nutrition studies often involve humans. Well, they do for me. I just can't bring myself to decapitate/eviscerate mice on a regular basis in vague hopes that the murine model suddenly becomes applicable to humans...even for a sensational headline. Humans are complicated. In order to study them, you have to assure people (the ethics committee) that you aren't going to do anything to upset them, hurt them, cause lasting (or momentary) psychological damage, or y'know -accidentally kill them. So you devise yet another document and research methodology that ensures absolutely that your research will be as pleasant to participants as a relaxing stroll on a perfect beach in Ibiza (without the obvious hazards of possible drowning/sharp bits in sand/sun-damage/flying sharks/sand-flies/tsunamis/wind-storms...you get the idea). Look, I'm being flippant, but one doesn't have to go too far back into Scientific history to see why this is a pretty important step...Tuskagee Syphilis trials anyone?

Anyway anyway, -the ethics committee (miraculously) approves. It turns out that serving people dinner and talking to them is an acceptable risk. Thank goodness. I had been worried about the evening dinner with my family for decades...

You are elated. You set about doing your research. You print posters, saturate social media, initiate GoFundMe campaigns so you can afford to feed 60 people, rally local sponsorship deals, wangle venues. It's all very industrious and energetic. Then, on a quiet sunday of 'the week' it all begins, you check your booking sheets. Big gaps. BIG BIG BIGGITY BIG gaps. The trouble is, we're out of money and out of time now. It's literally in the 'hands of the gods'.

So, if I'm just a little 'twitchy' for the next 3 weeks you'll understand why. All that work, all that energy...and it's entirely possible that the story will just unravel and float away regardless.

Community gardeners: Passionate? Delusional? Both?

Today we started a community garden on a neglected 'brownfields' site. The Portland Cement Works literally built Sydney. Once, this was a thriving industrial community. Sure, it was constantly blanketed in a cloud of cement-dust, and subsequent generations are still showing up to hospital with respiratory diseases that smash state averages to smithereens, but hey -this is a familiar story in many regional industrial centres. Coal mining, electrical power-plants, cement works...no one bothers about it too much. There's a pride in industry and survival. Not any great wonder that this is a set-in-stone Nationals seat.

However, things are inching towards change. As Sydney and the Greater West become increasingly impossible to afford, the population is shifting -socially, economically and even politically. Most encouraging of all, dying communities that have been left adrift after industry closure are still fighting towards growth. This isn't idealism, it's survival. The suicide rate in Lithgow is obscene. Hopelessness is constantly tempered by social movements like "It's not weak to speak", and "Walk and talk". People are trying to connect, to solve, to grow.

I don't even pretend to have comprehensive answers here. I'm a Nutrition scientist, a foodie and a gardener. My part in helping is to use my knowledge to make a difference, any difference.

So, we're starting to breathe life into a skeletal monolith of industry-past. I know of no better way than planting a garden. 

A garden IS life. It's building soil back to fertility, it's planting and saving seeds in hope of a better future. It's beauty, work, science, inspiration, joy and community. A depressed patch of earth is as wonderful as a foster-child, or a large charitable donation to me. It's crying out for nurture -something so many of us can understand.

This is our little plot. 185 sq metres or so. The soil is...not. It's dust. It grows couch and hardy weeds, and is thickly matted. trust me, I tried to sink a mattock into it today and it said "Sod off!" in no uncertain terms. This is land that has been used until it's bleeding, and it's not coming back to softness without a fight.

This is my version of showing Cinderella her dress for the ball. Right now she's scoffing heartily. 'Not wearing that..NO WAY!'. She's pretty steely in her resolve. So, we're trying a gentler approach: 'It's too much. I get it...but maybe just these ear-rings?'. She harrumphs. Not pleased.

We adorn her anyway. We hope she'll get used to them...even like them eventually. This weekend, we'll try even more beautiful ones -made of hardwood sleepers and the richest soil. Perhaps with heirloom pumpkins sprawling over her parched body gently she'll give a little...just a little. Perhaps with regular water she'll yield...just a bit.

We're only here to help, but like all wounded things -the land is likely to give us a few swipes and scars before she trusts us enough. It's a gentle team of gardeners. No -one's going to attack her with gouging machines, or demand that she 'put out' before she's ready. We'll wait, and tickle. We're hoping that one day she remembers how wonderful it once was to be soft and fertile. We're hoping she'll forgive us for past wrongs.

In our tiny corner of a vast, wounded body, we're hoping to show her (and us as a community) that we can heal and thrive. Small steps.