Faith Works 1-19-24
Jeff Gill
Comfort foods and a culture of community
___
Don't worry, I'll get back to shredded chicken sandwiches here in a bit. Didn't think I was done, did you?
During the bowl games, when the West Virginia Mountaineers were playing in a mayonnaise themed contest, the booth commentators took a break from play to sample pepperoni rolls.
Now, WVU is in Morgantown; Fairmont, West Virginia claims it is the one true home of pepperoni rolls, but you can find them up and down the Monongahela River all the way north to Pittsburgh, and south a ways. There are pepperoni roll outposts down towards Parkersburg and even around Charleston, and the state has adopted it their state food.
The roots are underground: they were made as a simple lunch to take down into the coal mines. Sticks of pepperoni, beloved of the southern Italians who were recruited by the thousands in the early 1900s, baked into small loaves which you could put into your pocket. Some today still maintain a true pepperoni roll has sticks baked longwise into the roll, but you can find them with a sheaf of pepperoni slices or even ground pepperoni in the dough.
During the Mountaineer football victory, the on air crew ate pepperoni rolls . . . with mayo. This provoked the Episcopal Diocese of West Virginia to strongly protest, suggesting penance was needed, while adding that the use of Miracle Whip on a pepperoni roll is an abomination. It was all in good fun, sort of. And yet said with a hint of seriousness.
Comfort foods are close to our hearts, and how to make them can be a ritual with religious overtones. They have a history, and we are telling a story to ourselves, and about ourselves, as we make and consume them. This is most obvious every Thanksgiving, and in many Christmas cookie recipes, but it's true all year long in certain ways.
Which brings me back to shredded chicken sandwiches. When I left here and we moved to Fairmont, West Virginia for six years, on the counter as a housewarming gift on our arrival was a bag of pepperoni rolls from Giuseppe Argiro's original bakery. We learned the story, and I came to understand the linkage to history and struggle and sacrifice every time one was eaten, even if I've never worked in a coal mine. And the core pepperoni roll territory tracks with the seams of coal and the mine shafts of West Virginia.
What's going on behind our fascination with shredded chicken sandwiches? One story claims that back a hundred years or so, every family raised chickens, and they laid eggs; you didn't kill a chicken until it stopped laying, by which time they were pretty tough, so you had to cook them down long and slow in a cream sauce. Yeah, I can see that.
But chickens are everywhere. We aren't and never have been the chicken capital of the world, or even Ohio. That doesn't explain the very precise footprint of shredded chicken commonality, exploding out of an apparent Licking County epicenter and sprawling north and west across the state.
We may never know the actual origin of the shredded chicken sandwich as we have it today, the core recipe of a can of boneless chicken, a tube of crackers crushed, and a can of cream soup, mixed together and simmered at length, served up on a hamburger bun. But I suspect I know how it spread as it did.
And my guess has to do with finding an unexpected outpost of shredded chicken . . . in Fairmont, West Virginia. The connection isn't coal mining, but something our two areas have in common besides crock pots and roasters.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's nearing an end (a temporary one) to his shredded digression into 2024. Tell him what foods keep you grounded at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads.
Monday, January 08, 2024
Notes from my Knapsack 1-25-24
Notes from my Knapsack 1-25-24
Jeff Gill
Chickens and eggs and smartphones
___
Correlation does not equal causality.
It's a common statement around scientific endeavors in general and social science in particular. Just because something happens right before something else occurs doesn't mean the one caused the other. It could, for instance, mean they're both caused by the same as yet unmeasured trigger, but one phenomenon happens a little faster than the other.
Another funny way to make the point about correlation versus causality: there's a website by a guy named Tyler Vigen called "Spurious Correlations." His flexible brain working with modern data tools has been able to plot out graphs "showing" odd correlations such as how deaths by drowning in swimming pools closely follows by year the number of films Nicolas Cage appears in. Somehow, there is a statistical correlation, but surely not causation (I can hear some of you thinking furiously about how there might be, and you go right ahead).
An infamous version of this was a magazine story entitled "Bullying Can Make a Bully Healthier," that somehow picked up on data showing that bullies have a lower risk of chronic disease. Is there a connection? May well be, but causation? At the very least I hope not.
Social psychologist Jonathan Haidt has been getting a great deal of media attention, justified I would argue, for taking a wide range of survey data, and a global perspective, to demonstrate that starting in 2012 we've seen in the industrialized West a significant teen mental health crisis. His global view is important, because he is able to compare outcomes and changes within cultures and circumstances, and it's not a global shift caused by cosmic rays.
Or as Haidt said more recently, "(this crisis) was not caused by reality getting worse around 2012. Their material and physical health improved steadily." You can look up his work to see how he carefully demonstrates that aspect of what's going on. And then he says "(t)o paraphrase Epictetus: 'It is not events which disturb teens. It is the device through which they interpret all events.'" It's access on a personal, ongoing basis to smartphones.
Here's where I want to offer a note of caution, even as I've been standing with school administrators who are concerned that the incendiary effect of social media on personal devices are creating more intense, faster spreading tensions between students. They'd like to see smartphones limited in their buildings, more than they're allowed to in many cases.
Yet correlation is not causation. There's a growing assumption that the connection between smartphone enabled social media and increased mental health issues for teens is related to content, to challenges around self-image, invidious comparisons, teasing and taunting and bullying. That could be. We don't know.
But what won't get better, if we empower schools to decisively limit devices on school property, is if the decline in teen mental health and increases in anxiety and depression are all more connected to lack of sleep. The obsessive scrolling and clicking and gaming to 3 am most nights. Is sleep the true culprit here? We don't know.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; nope, he's not yet done with this subject. Tell him what you think, but not at 3 am, at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads.
Jeff Gill
Chickens and eggs and smartphones
___
Correlation does not equal causality.
It's a common statement around scientific endeavors in general and social science in particular. Just because something happens right before something else occurs doesn't mean the one caused the other. It could, for instance, mean they're both caused by the same as yet unmeasured trigger, but one phenomenon happens a little faster than the other.
Another funny way to make the point about correlation versus causality: there's a website by a guy named Tyler Vigen called "Spurious Correlations." His flexible brain working with modern data tools has been able to plot out graphs "showing" odd correlations such as how deaths by drowning in swimming pools closely follows by year the number of films Nicolas Cage appears in. Somehow, there is a statistical correlation, but surely not causation (I can hear some of you thinking furiously about how there might be, and you go right ahead).
An infamous version of this was a magazine story entitled "Bullying Can Make a Bully Healthier," that somehow picked up on data showing that bullies have a lower risk of chronic disease. Is there a connection? May well be, but causation? At the very least I hope not.
Social psychologist Jonathan Haidt has been getting a great deal of media attention, justified I would argue, for taking a wide range of survey data, and a global perspective, to demonstrate that starting in 2012 we've seen in the industrialized West a significant teen mental health crisis. His global view is important, because he is able to compare outcomes and changes within cultures and circumstances, and it's not a global shift caused by cosmic rays.
Or as Haidt said more recently, "(this crisis) was not caused by reality getting worse around 2012. Their material and physical health improved steadily." You can look up his work to see how he carefully demonstrates that aspect of what's going on. And then he says "(t)o paraphrase Epictetus: 'It is not events which disturb teens. It is the device through which they interpret all events.'" It's access on a personal, ongoing basis to smartphones.
Here's where I want to offer a note of caution, even as I've been standing with school administrators who are concerned that the incendiary effect of social media on personal devices are creating more intense, faster spreading tensions between students. They'd like to see smartphones limited in their buildings, more than they're allowed to in many cases.
Yet correlation is not causation. There's a growing assumption that the connection between smartphone enabled social media and increased mental health issues for teens is related to content, to challenges around self-image, invidious comparisons, teasing and taunting and bullying. That could be. We don't know.
But what won't get better, if we empower schools to decisively limit devices on school property, is if the decline in teen mental health and increases in anxiety and depression are all more connected to lack of sleep. The obsessive scrolling and clicking and gaming to 3 am most nights. Is sleep the true culprit here? We don't know.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; nope, he's not yet done with this subject. Tell him what you think, but not at 3 am, at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads.
Faith Works 1-12-24
Faith Works 1-12-24
Jeff Gill
Shredding my plans for the new year
___
Let's just say there's a serious level of interest out there in shredded chicken.
Yes, a few let me know that they would rather eat truck stop sushi past its sell-by date than have a shredded chicken sandwich again, but they are emphatically in the minority.
For many, shredded chicken sandwiches are a comfort food up there with grilled cheese and tomato soup, or mashed potatoes with gravy. Warming, filling, comforting.
More than a few of you touched on the Depression era roots of a simple meal which could be made with what was on hand, and there was usually an opened sleeve of crackers and a can of boneless chicken in the pantry. Or as some reminisced, there was a time when canning included chicken along with cherries and tomatoes in the Mason jars on the shelves.
What I did not realize was the rich, complex diversity of this simple entree. I had a sense of its geographic reach, and the reality that the beating heart of shredded chicken territory is Licking County, Ohio. That heart isn't quite a center, because the range stretches east up to but not quite along the Ohio River, south hardly at all, and to the northwest I heard from friends in Wauseon confidently assuring me that if I got up there to visit them, they could find me a menu with shredded chicken on it.
Columbus is within the realm of the sacred sandwich, but Cleveland is not and Cincinnatians are expressing horror at the very concept as I described it to them (but look at what they do to their spaghetti). Toledo is contested ground, but Lima and Clyde and Bowling Green are within the holy lands, so to speak.
There is, of course, a website: chickensandwich.info which has over two decades of data, sporadically updated. It shows an isolated outpost in Athens, but since it was at a Whit's, I'm guessing that's the Licking County influence at work.
The website also provides almost twenty recipes, and links to many more. Because it turns out there are even MORE ways to make the humble shredded chicken than I realized. When I posted last week's column on my social media, I heard from many former concession chefs for middle and high school events, which took my previous lore focused around church basements to a whole new level.
Roasters are the key element in making shredded chicken for the masses, and also why it's tricky to make just a few of them. Big families might be able to pull it off, but if you're just cooking for one or two, you're likely to do something quite different from mixing up large cans of boneless chicken, crushing and stirring in a box of crackers, and adding a significant amount of canned soup.
I suspect there's also something to the time spent simmering away in that roaster, and how experienced concession stand parents maintain their product. Evaporated milk had never crossed my mind as an element of shredded chicken sandwiches, but it has been explained to me that it helps keep your vat of shredded from drying out, but it cooks down nicely in the mix.
The cracker conundrum still hovers over this question: how best to make shredded chicken? A surprising number of folks told me they used half Ritz, half saltines, because just the latter is (no surprise) too salty.
Central to this whole issue is: why here? Why us? What makes Licking County the home and heartland of shredded chicken? I'm on a pilgrimage close to home as we try to understand: why.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's made a few roasters full himself. How long will this topic drive the "Faith Works" column? Tell him yourself at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads.
Jeff Gill
Shredding my plans for the new year
___
Let's just say there's a serious level of interest out there in shredded chicken.
Yes, a few let me know that they would rather eat truck stop sushi past its sell-by date than have a shredded chicken sandwich again, but they are emphatically in the minority.
For many, shredded chicken sandwiches are a comfort food up there with grilled cheese and tomato soup, or mashed potatoes with gravy. Warming, filling, comforting.
More than a few of you touched on the Depression era roots of a simple meal which could be made with what was on hand, and there was usually an opened sleeve of crackers and a can of boneless chicken in the pantry. Or as some reminisced, there was a time when canning included chicken along with cherries and tomatoes in the Mason jars on the shelves.
What I did not realize was the rich, complex diversity of this simple entree. I had a sense of its geographic reach, and the reality that the beating heart of shredded chicken territory is Licking County, Ohio. That heart isn't quite a center, because the range stretches east up to but not quite along the Ohio River, south hardly at all, and to the northwest I heard from friends in Wauseon confidently assuring me that if I got up there to visit them, they could find me a menu with shredded chicken on it.
Columbus is within the realm of the sacred sandwich, but Cleveland is not and Cincinnatians are expressing horror at the very concept as I described it to them (but look at what they do to their spaghetti). Toledo is contested ground, but Lima and Clyde and Bowling Green are within the holy lands, so to speak.
There is, of course, a website: chickensandwich.info which has over two decades of data, sporadically updated. It shows an isolated outpost in Athens, but since it was at a Whit's, I'm guessing that's the Licking County influence at work.
The website also provides almost twenty recipes, and links to many more. Because it turns out there are even MORE ways to make the humble shredded chicken than I realized. When I posted last week's column on my social media, I heard from many former concession chefs for middle and high school events, which took my previous lore focused around church basements to a whole new level.
Roasters are the key element in making shredded chicken for the masses, and also why it's tricky to make just a few of them. Big families might be able to pull it off, but if you're just cooking for one or two, you're likely to do something quite different from mixing up large cans of boneless chicken, crushing and stirring in a box of crackers, and adding a significant amount of canned soup.
I suspect there's also something to the time spent simmering away in that roaster, and how experienced concession stand parents maintain their product. Evaporated milk had never crossed my mind as an element of shredded chicken sandwiches, but it has been explained to me that it helps keep your vat of shredded from drying out, but it cooks down nicely in the mix.
The cracker conundrum still hovers over this question: how best to make shredded chicken? A surprising number of folks told me they used half Ritz, half saltines, because just the latter is (no surprise) too salty.
Central to this whole issue is: why here? Why us? What makes Licking County the home and heartland of shredded chicken? I'm on a pilgrimage close to home as we try to understand: why.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's made a few roasters full himself. How long will this topic drive the "Faith Works" column? Tell him yourself at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads.
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