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GM labelling in Canada – you can do something!
Canada stands with other GM producing nations (like the US) in refusing to require labelling of GM foods (currently it’s voluntary) but also trying to force non-GM enthusiasts into allowing GM products into their markets.
It’s a hugely complicated matter, as North America has already travelled so far down the GM road; it can be hard to say what is and is not GM any more. As previously discussed here, more than 90% of Canada’s canola crop is deliberately or accidentally now genetically modified. There is no way to prevent contamination of most non-GM crops once their GM neighbours are out there in our fields.
But, happily, GM crop contaminated pollen may not be the only thing on the Canadian wind this spring. Canadians should sharpen their writing utensils and dash off letters to their MPs right this minute, since Bill C-517 is on the table now, this very week. This bill, introduced by Bloc Québecois MP Gilles-A. Perron, calls for mandatory labelling of GM products; the last attempt to pass this legislation in 2001 was defeated in parliament.
Without labelling of GM products, Canadians cannot know for sure what they are eating, and it is worth remembering that GM foods have not been proven safe for long term human consumption; they are also banned from use in Canadian organic food production (but how would an organic producer know, without labelling?). Worth a try, it seems to me.
For more info and how to get your oar in, see the info on the Greenpeace website.
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Hasta luego London
A flash farewell to London left me time only for a sprint to the Tate, where the trees are quite shockingly beautiful,
and Peter Doig’s show was in its best points big and beautiful, particularly, for me, the landscapes and snows that drew on his years in Canada.
A nice box of crayfish salad on a pretty tasty lump of lentils from the Tate’s cafeteria gave me the strength to press on.
And a last lovely lunch on Tuesday at La Trompette gave us goujons of lemon sole with a gorgeous tartare sauce
and seared loin of tuna with green bean and caper vinaigrette, tapenade, sauce vierge and quail’s eggs in darling little panko jackets
followed by red mullet with shrimp and herb risotto, grilled fennel and bok choy
and glazed shoulder of lamb with chickpeas, aubergine and cumin, pine nuts and panisses
finishing with iced yuzu parfait with mango sorbet and passion fruit,
and (super-yum!!) crème brûlée with rhubarb and ginger compote and warm pistachio madeleines.
Then it was time to take to the skies, waving goodbye to the O2
and hello to Baffin Island. Not quite as cold in Victoria, but not all that warm either, so I haven’t missed spring here.
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London, briefly
The workshop ended on Friday, after a few more mouthfuls of food and poetry. We had readings several evenings during the week, the first from Tammy who read some of her travel poems; then a reading by all of us; then a reading of poems by others that we wanted to share, which included a few more Elizabeth Bishop poems, including The Moose. I read Maxine Kumin’s Custodian, David Cavanagh’s Montreal Blues, and Carolyn Forche’s For the Stranger.
Thursday lunch featured some of the most exquisite sausages, made by the local butcher (whose shop is, as you might have guessed, the location of the village post office).
On Thursday night, some more of those clever little squiddy things – this time stuffed with meat and cooked in tomato sauce – and a school of big happy sea bass swam our way, with a lucious veggie dish featuring aubergines, peppers and potatoes in a tomato sauce.
One of our number celebrated her fiftieth birthday that night, and there was cake – an ethereal tiramisu that I suspect made all but the celebrant wish it was our birthday too.
On Friday, there were more fab salads and tuna pastries
and a finale dinner of chicken and aubergine and zucchini and some potatoes in cream, followed by fresh fruit with warm custard.
Our last morning was a surprise as those of us who had not already left for the airport before 7.30 am were awakened by drums and flutes and some harmonious singing as the village wound its way to the church, pausing to sing to the saints on the wall plaques on the houses. As we had a plaque, we got a lovely serenade, which receded up the street. The event – the Mare de Deu d’Abril – marks the miraculous end of drought in the village in 1711.
And then before we knew it it was time to leave. A long but mercifully uneventful day hanging about Alicante airport, lunching on more noodle soup
and a bit of tuna
and one last flan,
and then up and away and back to a freshly scrubbed London where the rain had eased off by arrival time. Now readying myself for the journey back to Canada on Wednesday.
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In her latest collection, Rhona McAdam navigates the dark places of human movement through the earth and the exquisite intricacies lingering in backyard gardens and farmlands populated by insects and pollinators, all the while returning to the body, to the tune of staccato beats and the newly discovered symmetries within the human heart.
“…A beautiful, filling collection, Larder is a set of poems to read at the change of the seasons, to appreciate alongside a good meal, and to remind yourself of the beauty in everything, even the things you may not appreciate before opening McAdam’s collection….”
Rhona McAdam is a writer, poet, editor, and Registered Holistic Nutritionist with a Master’s in Food Culture from Italy and a deep-rooted passion for ecology and urban agriculture. Her work spans corporate and technical writing to poetry and creative nonfiction, often exploring the vital links between what we eat and how we live. Based in Victoria, BC, and available via Zoom, Rhona is always open to new writing commissions, readings, or workshops on nutrition and the culinary arts.
