In Vitro Meat: The Future of the Paleo Diet

Eating little to no carbohydrates and enjoying a diet rich instead in meats and vegetables is the key to good health (if you ask those of us who follow the Paleo Diet). 

But there is, admittedly, no way the majority of the world's population can do that unless we radically change how we engineer food production on this planet.

And so recently we had the welcome news that researcher Mark Post has grown the first in vitro beef burger and conducted a taste test. 

Food experts Chicago author Josh Schonwald and Austrian food researcher Hanni Rützler determined that the meat, while a bit too dry owing to the lack of natural fats, was certainly edible and had the texture and taste of meat.

Isha Datar, the director of New Harvest, a non-profit promoting in vitro meat, makes the excellent point that the production of cultured meat is ultimately similar to the production of fermented beverages like beer--a controlled process in which biological organisms grow to a desired effect.

I grew up in Wisconsin, descended from farming people. I spent time regularly seeing animals destined for slaughter. And I don't have a philosophical problem with humans killing animals and eating them. Our ancestors did so for millions of years. But if meat is, as I believe, so healthy for us, we can't tolerate a world in which a few elite get to consume a meat-rich diet and others are delegated to carbo-rich foods because they can't afford better. And we can't expand the current meat industry at the expense of our environment if the concentration of animals just promotes methane and disease, as we know it does with the annual flu epidemic surging from Chinese farms. In vitro meat is the solution.

This was just a "proof of concept" test, but it represents a dramatic leap forward in food science. I expect in my lifetime to see this become quite commonplace, with in vitro meat across the spectrum of food choices, beef, chicken, pork, etc, readily available, as well as cleaner than the traditionally raised animals. And properly done, this will result in high quality meat available more cheaply to even more people.

The Saga of the Smuggled Meat...

My wife Adriana and I visit her native Romania every summer. We try to eat pretty strictly Paleo. But that is enormously difficult in Romania because the meat here is simply horrible. First off, you probably heard in the news about the controversy wherein Europe learned

what it thought was beef was actually at least half horse. That meat reportedly came from Romania. Now, I'm not actually opposed to eating horse, just so long as it's fresh and clean and I know what I'm getting. But you can understand that a place where what is marketed as beef is anything but is just not a reliable place to truly enjoy meat.

What meat you do see in stores you can just tell is shot full of chemicals and hormones, not to mention hygienic standards that saw that meat from slaughter to the plate.

This year, however, we conceived a risky endeavor. What if we attempted to smuggle excellent organic meat from the United States to Romania? 

Here was the plan. We would put into our checked luggage a quantity of frozen meat and hope that it would still be there when we arrived in Romania.

I tried to look online as to whether this was really prohibited. I couldn't find clear directives regarding Europe-bound travel. But it is very prohibited if you are going from Europe to the United States.

We decided to go for it. One bag received eight pounds of a combination of packs of ground bison and organic grass-fed ground beef. (That luscious stuff simply doesn't exist in Romania.)  I formed it into a cube to reduce surface area and then put it in a plastic bag. Then it went in an insulation bag, which I pulled tightly around the block with duct tape. The other bag received a similar eight pound block of beef and bison, but additionally ten pounds of organic chicken breast. Same treatment with the insulated bag. 

Both blocks were put back in the freezer, which I then set to the lowest possible temperature setting, 14 below zero.

We didn't take them out of the freezer until we went out the door to head for the airport.

The clock starts ticking: 1:00PM Eastern Time, Monday, July 1.

We were scheduled to take off at 5:30PM and arrive in Copenhagen for a connection that would leave for Bucharest, Romania at 8:10AM local time. We would arrive in Bucharest at Noonish and be putting that meat in the freezer an hour later. If everything went according to plan, that meat would spend 16 hours out of refrigeration. We were confident that, between the deep freeze, the insulated bags, and the fact that checked bags fly in a pretty cold cargo hold, the meat would still be at least cold when we unpacked it.

But things did not go as planned.

We arrived in Copenhagen and saw on the board that our flight to Bucharest did not yet have an assigned gate. We waited and waited. We were getting nervous when we still saw no gate a half an hour before we were supposed to board. And then, the electronic board changed.

Copenhagen - Bucharest: Cancelled.

WTF?????

We ask around and find out that we need to go to the Transfer Center to receive further information about

rebooking, etc. But my first thought was, that meat is officially in jeopardy. Luckily for us, all the signs in the Copenhagen Airport are in both Danish and English. So you can see to the left that we had no trouble finding the Transfer Center and our Gate.

I'm also pleased to report that we had no trouble finding the Assistance Center. Again, the inclusion of English on the sign was key to our success.


It was all very civilized. We took a ticket and waited our turn. We heard other Romanians similarly grounded around us. Our turn finally came. A very helpful woman informed us that the best she could do for us was to book us on a flight to Brussels at 3PM, with a follow-on flight to Bucharest, Romania that would arrive at 10:30PM. I immediately did the math. By the time we could get that meat to the freezer it would be out for 28 hours. I sighed. There's no way that meat's surviving outside the freezer that long. But that's no longer something we can control. The Airline was very kind and gave us a generous food voucher for the airport to get a meal before our continued flight. 

3PM finally rolled around. We were working on little sleep at this point. I can personally never sleep on planes. We fly to Brussels. I'd never been there before. At least I can add Belgium to the list of countries I've visited.

We had another long wait in that airport. We found a nice airport bar to relax at. We drank a few glasses of red wine. Our follow-on flight was finally ready to board. What a long day this had turned into. 

At 10:30PM local time, Tuesday July 2, we land in Romania. We're Zombies at this point. We're waiting for luggage that we fear now holds rancid meat. We wait and we wait. And the luggage carousel stops. Our luggage did not come with us. Priceless.

Adriana goes and fills out the necessary paperwork. She learns that our luggage didn't get put on our flight. It would fly to Romania the following day. And then be delivered to us by taxi--on Thursday morning.

We both just laughed at that point. I mean, pity the poor taxi driver who has to spend time with luggage that will certainly be smelling like a garbage dump. 

The following day comes and goes. We get a call in the evening from the airline that our luggage is indeed at the airport in Bucharest but it would not be delivered to us until the following morning. 

Thursday morning comes. We get the call that the driver has arrived. We take the luggage from him and head back up to our apartment. Adriana suggested that we just plug our noses and throw the meat bags down the garbage chute without even bringing them into our apartment. I suggested that we just carefully open them in our apartment to see what the damages are, ready to hurl them out depending on what we find there.

The meat had been out of refrigeration for 63 hours.

We open the suitcase with the smaller amount of meat. We can see the wrapped insulated bag in the middle of the clothes. I pick the thing up as if it were plutonium and set it on the kitchen table. I carefully tear away the tape and open the bag. We're both bracing ourselves to gag as I slide the meat out of the insulated bag.

And strangely, I feel quite cool meat come out of that bag. It wasn't exactly cold. But it was truly quite cool. Not a little cool. Quite cool. We examine the meat. These single pound hermetically sealed packs of meat were just fine. No air bubbles, no discoloration. We put them in the freezer.

On to the larger block. We open it and see blood all over the inside of the bag. But this one was actually still officially cold. One pound pack of ground bison had clearly somehow opened. It had air inside the package and no blood around the meat. We threw that one away. All the rest of the beef, bison, and chicken breast were still quite cold and hermetically sealed. We rinsed the blood off everything and put them in the freezer.

Against all odds, our meat had survived. All we can figure is that the combination of deep freezing, insulated bags, and the cold storage areas meant that the meat arrived to us still fine, but in the final hours of being fine. 

If our connection had actually happened, that meat would have still been frozen when we arrived in Romania. If the luggage had come with us, it would have still been largely frozen and quite cold. And, it turns out, 63 hours after we took it out of the freezer, that meat was still fine.

I ate a burger from that meat yesterday to celebrate the Fourth of July. Here's a Chili I made with it this evening.

Between various social engagements we know we will attend and evenings to cook at home, we have enough excellent organic meat to survive until the end of July, when we will return to the United States.

God Bless America. God Bless Us All.

You Know You're Paleo If...

You know you're Paleo if you have a collection of 29 surplus wishbones (and you break them for wishes regularly):

These birds were so delicious...

Three Moons: How I Got My Gun

That’s right, me, a language scholar from Wisconsin, stand in Baghdad a little concerned that I’m not wearing a gun yet. If that sentence sounds strange, it’s nothing compared to what I was feeling. Fact is, you don’t get sent to Iraq without first being certified on the weapon you’re required to then wear.

The NSA has its own weapons certification center, as you’d expect. But I totally lucked out and managed to get a slot at something infinitely sexier. I got to spend a week being certified on the Glock 9mm Handgun and the M-4 Assault Rifle at a secret CIA training facility somewhere in [Location Deleted]. In fact, when my boss got me that slot, she asked me to not talk about it openly because the other NSA’ers would be jealous of the opportunity I got.

What made it so envious? Well, at the NSA facility, you just got basic certification. You were taught how to fire the gun and after you complete a test of firing a full clip on a target, you get your certification and you’re good to go into the field.

Not so at the CIA. We didn’t just fire the guns to achieve quick certification. It was an entire week, all day long.

The very first day, the trainers announced to the group that one of us was, gasp, an NSA’er. I laughed along with the rest as they declared that we would all know who he was when we first fired the guns and someone hit the ground trying to hide.

Very funny guys. Let’s really see if you can spot me.

And the very able trainers began to explain that they would be meticulously teaching every aspect of these guns and how to fire them. And you would only be certified after you completed not only the firing range course, but other tests as well. This would include simulated combat situations.

And I began to suspect that I had a secret advantage. You see, I had never before fired a handgun. I’d shot birds with a BB gun at my grandparents’ farm in Wisconsin. But I’d never so much as shot a 22 rifle. And I was becoming aware that that meant I had no bad habit to unlearn.

I was Tabula Rasa, which, snickering CIA fools, is Latin for “Blank Slate.” And you can draw anything on a Blank Slate, such as a good shot on that gun.
 

This all became apparent late that first day when we finally went out on to the range with our handguns. We had learned all morning how to take them apart and reassemble them. Now, this was a fine skill to learn, but the fact is that for three months in Iraq I never once did more to my gun than remove the clip nightly (more on that later).

Later that morning, we were finally out on the range. And our trainers told us to do EXACTLY as we were told.

Got it, trainers. I’ll do exactly as I’m told.

We don’t have any bullets in our guns yet, by the way.

“Take your gun out of your holster and aim it down range.”

I do as I’m told. I take my gun from its holster and I aim it down range.

We all hear several clicks up and down the range.

The lead trainer walks slowly to the front of the group.

“WHO TOLD YOU TO PULL THAT TRIGGER?!” he screamed.

I had not pulled my trigger. After all, I had only been told to take the gun from the holster and point it down range. I’m no Cowboy. I’m a Latin student from Wisconsin getting certified on this gun so I can go to Iraq.

He screamed at us for several more minutes and told us that we were all now to put our guns back in the holster and we were going to repeat this exercise. And further he told us that anyone who ever again pulled their trigger without permission would be sent home without the certification.

We again, on orders, pulled our guns from the holster and pointed them down range. Now no one pulled the trigger.

We repeated that exercise several more times. Then came the order to pull the guns from the holster and pull the trigger.

We comply. And we do that several more times. Remember, we don’t have bullets in our guns yet. We’re just practicing the moves. The trainers keep telling us that we are doing these moves and repeating these moves so laboriously because we are building muscle memory. We will never fire that gun without first pulling it from the holster because, in the field, that’s exactly what would happen.

It was late in that first morning. My stomach was growling. We knew a box lunch was waiting for us back at the shed.

“Release your clips!” the lead trainer shouted.

He then walked the length of the line and handed each of us a single bullet.

“Load that into your clip and insert it.”

I did as I was told.

“Pull back on the gun to chamber that shot.”

I did as I was told.

“Put your guns back in  their holsters.”

“When I give the order, you will draw your guns from their holsters and then line up the target with the sight at the end of the barrel. Remember. This is not a race. When you have the sight on the target, take a breath and then release it and pull the trigger.”

We stood looking down range at the paper targets set up roughly twenty yards away.

“Fire!”

I pulled my gun from the holster.

I aimed it down range and put that sight on the target. My nervous hand was flying all over the place. I took several deep breaths as I heard others taking their shots. But this was no race.

I placed the sight carefully over the target and then slowly squeezed the trigger.

The blast and recoil of the gun shocked me. But I squinted down range to see what had happened. A tiny black dot had appeared just to the left of the center of the target.

And I knew in that moment how to correct for that left-ward drift.

A few more agents took their shots.

“Time for lunch, people!” the trainer shouted.

Over the next several days we would fill those clips and fire out all the bullets countless times. But I never departed from the basics I was being taught. Put that front sight on the target.

When it was all over, I was ranked for accuracy just below a guy who had been an air marshal before joining the CIA. He still had to recertify here to go to Iraq. I had told the others I was the NSA’er on Day 3. They were very surprised.

On Day 4, we practiced with perfect simulations of our Glocks that fired paint bullets. This was primarily to remove from us any psychological block from pulling our guns and then firing them on an actual human target.

And those human targets were each other. And those paint bullets hurt! But your chance of survival is dramatically increased if we can get off a shot even after taking in a shot. So being able to pull off a shot after getting the wind knocked out of you by a paint bullet was an important exercise.

We practiced scenarios where we were in a car and ambushed. We practiced shooting from behind cover. And I was totally understanding why the other NSA’ers would be jealous that I got in on this training!

[In my novel A Place of Brightness, I use my expertise on the Glock to accurately describe a scene in which a Romanian intelligence officer recertifies on her Glock, little knowing that she was days away from actually needing this training in the field.]

Day 5 saw us practicing firing various guns we may accidentally find in the field. I fired an AK-47. Imagine firing a gun and then as a bonus someone hits you full force in the shoulder with a sledge hammer. That’s an AK. Damned accurate, though. We fired massive shotguns. We fired rifles that could kill an elephant.

And thus I got certified. And so, here I was in Iraq, fully certified to be wearing a gun and I didn’t have one. Shortly after my arrival, we were all summoned to a central hall and told that in the event of a security incident there would be an alarm and we were all to report to this spot to be counted. I had arrived just in time to eat dinner in the main cafeteria. It was good food. Not that I needed it. I was about thirty pounds overweight and was hoping to both lose weight and get in shape during my three months in Iraq. Even so, one’s first night in Iraq was no time to start a draconian program. So I ate everything in sight, which included burgers, french fries, and ice cream for dessert.

I was tired enough at nine o’clock that I went and laid down in my bunk. Sleep followed quickly.

I’m hearing a loud blaring noise! The fog of sleep is still blurring my brain as I see guys getting out of their bunks and starting down the hall toward…the central area. Oh my God! This is a security call.

Even just a week with that Glock had conditioned me in this crisis to put my hand toward a holster that wasn’t there yet. My heart was racing as I thought through the potential that we were in an attack scenario and I was defenseless.

And in that moment, I felt utterly defeated to think that I was less than twenty-four hours into an experience slated to last for three months. As I quickly made my way down the hall, toward the assembled group, I repeated to myself “Three months, Three months.”

We were told that an Army jeep had been found on the premises of BIAP with no soldiers in it but blood all over the seats. We were therefore to stand in an alert mode until the military in charge of BIAP issued an all clear.

The all clear came about an hour later. I never did find out exactly what had happened in this incident.

I was surprised that I fell asleep quickly after this scare.

One can’t really sleep in when you’re in a room with thirty other guys. There came a point where the sound of one, then three, then seven other men getting up made it impossible to keep trying to catch more sleep.

The cafeteria meant the coffee I have lived for since I was fifteen. I had a breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausage, and even a bowl of Lucky Charms to boot. One’s second day in Iraq is also no time to start a diet.

It was Eight O’clock! This meant that the armory was open and I could finally get my side arm.

There were already two guys in line when I arrived.  Unfortunately, the one just before me faced a sadly typical problem within the government system. He had managed to get to Iraq. He was certainly supposed to be here. And I didn’t really doubt that he had completed the necessary certifications to be issued the gun we were all required to wear here. But the CIA agent who issued guns at the armory simply had no record of him in his computer. And without a computer record, he had no authority to give him so much as a pea shooter. They attempted multiple searches for a record on various identifications. But no deal. The man finally left, understandably upset, with the plan to call his boss back in the States to see who screwed up and how to fix this crisis.

My turn. And after watching that whole scene, I was now very nervous about whether I was on that computer. A strike against me was that I was with the NSA. A strike for me was that I had done my weapons training with the CIA. I was cringing as I told the man my Social Security Number. I heard him slapping keys on his computer. Just as I was about to despair this could work, he smiles.

“Gotcha,” he said.

Just then there’s a low thud somewhere. I had both heard it and felt it.

“What was that?” I asked.

He looked up. “That was a mortar landing somewhere. Not very close though. Don’t worry.”

He hands me a plastic holster to slip on my belt. Next followed an empty magazine.

“Fill it up from the bowl behind you,” he says.

I turn around and start fishing out cartridges and I’m filling my clip.

“And here’s your Glock,” he says. “Your site will have replacement bullets if you need them.”

“Thank you,” I said. “When do I get my M-4?”

“Only your boss at your site is authorized to issue you one of those. Good luck. How long are you in country?”

“Three months,” I said.

He raises an eyebrow. “I won’t be here when you’re back here to hand this thing in.”

“Thanks for your help.”

He smiles and nods.

You’re probably wondering at this point how all this related to my claim that Three Months is a proven time slot in which to accomplish great things. Bear with me. It pulls together pretty quickly for here.

Paleo Does Paris!

We got on the plane for Paris in the best weight since we had started the Paleo Diet, two years ago. I’ve lost now forty pounds. Adriana is fifteen pounds lighter than when we started. We are both very happy with our weight and we are not actively planning dramatically further weight loss. We are, of course, planning further progress at RedShed CrossFit, where we lift weights greater than we ever could have imagined two years ago.

Now, we had no intention of spending four days in Paris living strictly Paleo. But we’re pretty strict at home. In March, via a Paleo challenge at our Crossfit Box, we stopped eating any dairy products. Coming from Wisconsin, I never imagined I could give up milk and cheese, but I was amazed how little I missed them. The only thing we continue to consume that Paleo Purists would not allow is dry red wine, which is pretty low in carbs anyway.

So our plan in Paris was simple. We were going to indulge in carbs that we would never eat at home. But at the same time, we would load up on meat whenever possible to at least minimize how many carbs our stomachs might demand.

And so, after our arrival, we slept. Before the first day of exploration, we headed down to Le Petit Dejeuner, The Breakfast.

It’s so funny, when you’ve lived Paleo for two years you approach a bank of food with just a different set of eyes. Where other people see a pile of muffins, you see a horrid problem. And then, we saw it. Oh Glory! A platter of ham.

Now, I knew this was not the nitrate-free meats that we consume back in the States. But even so, this was better than eating a piece of bread.

And then we also spied hard boiled eggs. I’ve admitted that I wasn’t trying to stay strict. So I indulged in a single croissant, which I slathered with Nutella.

OMG!!!! It was helpful to me to remember just how seductive sugar can be. I enjoyed it, I’m not going to lie. But there’s no way I’m going back to the habits that made me fat.

Adriana was better than me. She had eaten several eggs and multiple slices of the ham, when she realized there were only two pieces left on the platter.

“Will you eat more ham?” she asks.

“Absolutely,” I answer.

And then we entered upon a cultural divide. We Americans, we Paleo-Americans, approached the wait staff to inform them that we wanted more ham. Now, we had the best of intentions. But here’s what happened next.

The attendant walked to the platter and then looked at us as if we were insane. “There’s still ham here!” she says bewildered.

What she had not understood is that we are Paleo-Americans. Yes, there’s still ham there. But not for long, Madame. What we were trying to prevent is exactly what happened next.

We took the last two pieces of ham. If there had been five pieces, we would have taken them all. So there’s now officially no ham on the platter. A new family comes down to Le Petit Dejeuner. They took what was available. They took no ham because, well, there was none on the platter. They looked at the empty platter. I saw them do it. They had eaten muffins and left when the attendants saw the empty ham platter and repopulated it. We loaded up for some more.

We headed into our day of exploration. I’m not going to lie. They’re not called French Fries for nothing. The French created Pomme Frites. I’ve eaten them in America, Egypt, Romania, Qatar, Turkey, the Czech Republic, Canada, even Iraq, and finally now France. It matters not, they’re simply awesome. And I know they are a big part of what once made me fat. So I eat them with fear and trembling. But I wasn’t going to leave France without eating them.

Now, at our second Petit Dejeuner, we also faced another cultural divide. Our first morning, we had arrived and an attendant asked us if we wanted coffee or tea. We asked for coffee and she brought it to us in a metal beaker.

This second morning, upon entering the room, no attendant was there. Now, Americans didn’t invent coffee. But I think we did invent the coffee addiction. I see several families sitting there, no coffee or tea on their tables because, well, the attendant was not there.

Well, sorry, I am simply not able to sit down in the morning and merely hope for coffee. I need my f*&^%ng coffee.

I went into the attendants’ area and saw the metal beakers. I took one and filled it from one of the full pots of coffee sitting right there.

As I sat down and poured myself and my wife a coffee, they all looked at me as if I had killed a man. Sorry, folks.  Several minutes later, as they all looked longingly upon my coffee, an attendant appeared and met their needs.

Now, if you thought this was going to be a post about how I carefully tried to negotiate my way through two more days in France while trying to stay Paleo, I am sorry to disappoint you. Far from attempting a Paleo Lifestyle, we utterly abandoned that diet. The following morning I had two croissants with Nutella. I ordered food off menus that I have not eaten for months or even now years.

But if you are Paleo you also know that all you have to do after such indulgences is just to get back on track. We’re in Romania now for two months. Tomorrow we go to the big market. We shop like typical Crossfitters/Paleo Enthusiasts. We go to the Produce Section. We go to the Meat Market. We check out. We’ll be back at our fighting weight soon, my friends…

In Need of Paleo Comfort...

A stressful week ended in a horribly busy day. It's the kind of time when you're liable to just run out, buy a chocolate cake, eat it all and then feel even more horrible.

That's where Paleo comfort food comes in.

You get to the end of this day's duties and then you indulge yourself in a meal that will soothe your tattered soul.

You saute mushrooms, caramelize onions, deep fry sweet potatoes in coconut oil, and fry two pounds of ground bison meat.

And here's dinner.

 

I feel a thousand times better. And for dessert, no chocolate cake, of course. A handful of almonds will now satisfy.

Paleo Chili!

This meal was so simple and yet so delicious!

Here's what you need:

Two 14 oz cans of diced tomatoes

Three pounds of ground beef (personally one of ours was Bison)

Three large peppers

Two large onions.  Two packets of chili powder (one for each pound of meat). We use Simply Organic brand, which I can heartily endorse.

 If you can't find this product in your supermarket, you can order it through Amazon by clicking on the image.

Okay, so even though the chili powder packets said one per pound of meat, we added an extra pound of meat to the concoction. We're Paleo, afterall.

Cut up the peppers and onions into small shapes and sautee them separately, cooking them down so there's little water in them.

Cook the meat (personally I cooked the meat in two pans, since it was so much). Drain the oil off well.

Into a saucepan, I put the meat, the two cans of diced tomatoes, and the chili powder.
 
After you've cooked down the peppers and onions and combined the meat, diced tomatoes, and the chili powder, here's what you've got:
We then mixed everything together and simmered until it was thick. We did add a few dollops of non-Paleo sour cream (a luxury we won't have in our strict Paleo March).
Enjoy, people!

The Paleo Diet: Take Magnesium for Better Sleep

I've experienced much better sleep since beginning magnesium supplements. In this video, I explore the reasons why, based on Paleo Diet principles, humans may require more magnesium than our foods generally contain. (To the right is the product I personally take daily.)
 

It all goes back to the fact that our ancestors cooked meat directly on fire for millions of years.

Photographer Nick Riley graciously gave me permission to use one of his photos which illustrates the cooking methods of modern hunter gatherers. Please visit his beautiful website and explore the world through his talent.

Getting Back to Proto-Human

It's been an exciting last couple years for people, like myself, who are deeply interested in paleolinguistics. I've already blogged about research that demonstrates that all languages are or once were of the basic structure Subject-Object-Verb, suggesting a common ancestor to all.

There is also now the assertion that the reduction in phonology as you move farther away from Africa points to a common ancestor.

I've coupled this observation, which I feel actually demonstrates that the ancient peoples who left Africa didn't have the phonological diversity that later developed in Africa, with the findings that Aborigines in Australia represent possibly the oldest people and culture outside of Africa itself.

I put it all together and argue in this video that traces of the original human language can be recovered.

What words from the original Proto-Human language might have survived in three major language families for 70,000 years?

Fire, eagle, and dead.

Paleo Detox!

If you're like me, you ate a few more carbs on Christmas than you usually like to. And if you eat Paleo, that means you may have eaten forty where you usually eat ten! No matter, we're ready for what we call Paleo Detox. But the good news is--that means we just spend a few days eating strictly Paleo.
 

Now, personally, I need to wean off the bad foods. So here's what I came up with for a good fairly strict meal that still managed to give me the savory sensations of a carb-loaded experience. First I chop up and sautee onions and mushrooms. Here they are in the pan, awaiting their marching orders.
 

Then I steam some broccoli. Broccoli is just always a good vegetable to throw next to a piece of meat.

Then, because I need something extravagant and savory, I broil ribeye steaks. Here they are before I put them under the fire.


 

And here's the meal on my plate. Broiled Ribeyes, smothered in sauteed mushrooms and onions. The mushrooms are the only thing here that contribute any measurable carbs.

And that's okay. Tomorrow we'll be even stricter.

Paleo Christmas Beef Hash!

One of the problems that will come up from time to time when you eat Paleo is, what am I going to do with all this left over steak?!

Last night I had a T-Bone, my wife had one of two filet mignon steaks, all broiled.

So we just got back from Liturgy and we needed a lunch of some sort until tonight's roast turkey.

I decided to quickly make up a concoction using up the steak, some organic non-nitrate bacon we have, and an onion.
I call it Paleo Beef Hash.
First, I cut the steak into small cubes. I cut up about five strips of bacon, removing much of the pure fat. I diced a small onion.

I fried the bacon just until it started to brown and then mixed in the onion. 
  Since I had removed much of the fat, I didn't need to strain any oil off. I let the onions become very soft and begin to caramelize. Then I mixed in the steak cubes and stirred until the meat was fully reheated.

I served this with two chicken sausages, with a shot of vodka on the side to celebrate the Nativity. This hash tasted so good!

Merry Christmas, everyone! And have a Happy and Healthy New Year!

Scrambled Quail Eggs!

Paleolithic humans didn't raise birds for their eggs. But we, like many species, were opportunistic consumers of whatever eggs we could find. We probably didn't make a habit of climbing high into trees looking for the things. But birds like geese, ducks, chickens, and quail make their nests on the ground and were prime pickings for us.
So in the spirit of egg variety, I picked up a carton of quail eggs. I'd seen them for years and always wondered what they're like.

Here's eighteen quail eggs (the whole carton) ready to be whipped up.

I side it with bacon and put some caramelized onions atop.

 They taste perhaps a little lighter than a chicken egg, but virtually the same. I've not fully researched the matter, but quail eggs were considered medicinal in ancient cultures and they apparently do contain substantially better nutritional benefits than chicken eggs.

They only drawback was that cracking all those little eggs was a bit of a nuisance. But the final product was delicious.

Paleo 102

Still energized by eating nothing but fish for two weeks, Ozzie just won individual immunity!

Paleo Rules!

Paleo 101

On Survivor, Ozzie spent the last 15 days eating nothing but fish. The rest of them, including Brandon, ate lots of stuff, including the rice they provide at the main camp.

And in a challenge of sheer physical endurance, of course Ozzie wins!

Paleo Proves it!

Why the Paleo Diet is Awesome: Reason #79

Bacon, with Eggs Fried in Bacon Grease. Nuff' Said.

Paleo Taco Salad!

I love Mexican Food! And when, maybe just twice a year, I have a hankering for Non-Paleo Mexican, I have a cheat day at Taco Bell.

But on a weekly basis, we have what we call "Paleo Taco Salad."

And it's quite simple.

One head of lettuce, rip it up, wash it, spin it, put it in the fridge to await the meal.

One pound of hamburger. We also use Bison meat for this. Brown in a pan. Strain.

We have found a nice organic Taco Seasoning made by Simply Organic. If it's not available at your supermarket, you can order it on Amazon by clicking on the image.

 When the meat is all done, we serve it on top of a bed of the lettuce, with organic salsa, mexican cheese, and sour cream along side.

Here's the meal:



If you've been told that Paleo means you don't eat Dairy, at least watch my video on the topic.

Enjoy!