Deborah Salomon

Since fire happened before the written word, nobody knows when Wilma Flintstone began searing Fred’s catch over dry branches. Only this is for sure: Fire made the possum taste better. And the aroma … divine. That appreciation survives. The methods? Would you believe statuesque propane behemoths costing in the thousands with names like The Big Green Egg? kAmx?

As July nears, Americans face a tsunami of Americana celebrating 250 years as an independent nation. Since world conditions offer little to celebrate, better dig up other categories. How about food? We assume that the hot, sweaty men signing the Declaration of Independence broke for lunch at Philadelphia’s City Tavern. Choices included chowder, oysters, rabbit, lamb testicles, fruit tarts, pound cake and beer, lotsa beer.

Food insecurity is a frightening concept. Unthinkable, that a nation known for amber fields of waving grain and big-breasted Butterball turkeys is home to children with bony limbs and sallow cheeks, toddlers who cry themselves to sleep with stomach cramps and wake up to diluted milk on a spoonful of cereal. Their eyes … sad, haunting. kAm"F:4<[ >2<6 2 5@?2E:@? 367@C6 >@G:?8 @?]k^Am kAmp 5@?2E:@? H2D?’E DF77:4:6?E 7@C 7@FC 72D9:@?23=6 D6?:@CW:D9X =25:6D H9@ 6?;@J 7@@5\D64FC6 =:G6D :?