Since when do you eat meat?

Only a few days into our stay here in Pamplona, Elliot and I were bar-hopping during the siesta, drinking some beers and munching on some pintxos. After we ordered our second round of cured ham with green pepper, Elliot turned to me and said:

"So I guess we're not vegetarians anymore."

Fresh chicken legs from the carnicería ecológica (organic butcher) in an indoor market in Pamplona

Now, that's not to say we didn't eat meat occasionally before we came to Spain. Carnivorous consumption had been steadily increasing, however. And it became almost second-nature within 48 hours of being in Spain.

We've known for a while that our minds were changing. Not because vegan or vegetarian lifestyles are baseless, but because our reasons for leading such lifestyles were baseless. And it sure didn't help that a huge part of Navarran cuisine is pork.

Red bell peppers stuffed with brown rice, chorizo, onion, garlic; steamed borrajas and potatoes on the side

For several years, I followed a pretty strict anti-meat diet. I wanted humane animal treatment and less waste. At the time, with a limited scope of knowledge, I chose soy over flesh, or nuts over dairy as a way of saying that I was unsatisfied with animal products and the consumption of them.

Then I started becoming more preoccupied about food origins, regional agriculture, native species, and local communities. These concerns all led me to start consuming more meat, whether it was the very rare chicken dinner at White Dog Cafe, or the frequent hamburger from my parents' cow-share supply of red meat.

I'm not trying to lay my food politics down on the table for debate, but rather I'm trying to paint a picture. Believe it or not, giving up a vegetarian diet was harder than trying to follow one. When avoiding animal products was my only principle, approaching the "should I eat it?" question wasn't very hard. Widening my diet to include animal products made that question more difficult to answer at times. Maybe that's why a lot of people either go veggie or stop questioning.

Chicken curry with cauliflower, peas, peppers, garlic, and onion, over rice

Living in the US, this question came up every day. "Should I eat this?" And due to the previously mentioned concerns, as well as my own tendency to investigate, I researched US food production pretty heavily. This wasn't that difficult, mainly because of the resurgence of locavore movements that criticize the huge industry that is American food production. Various scholarly articles, movies, zines, books, and magazines exist to discuss US food politics, as well as how to circumvent the industry giants that dominate both knowledge and production.

Ever since we arrived in Pamplona, I've had my eye on food -- wondering where it came from, why it's there, how it was grown, etc. I was googling anything I could think of, in any language I could speak, that might lead me to that pivotal piece of literature that tells me everything that is wrong with Spanish food production.

Roasted chicken with seasoned rice and broccoli

And I have to say, I've had no luck. I cracked several books that looked promising at first, but then just went on to say how backwards the US is concerning GMO use or industrial meat production. I'm hesitant to give up my pessimistic search, but I might just have to accept that food production here is not like it is at home.

Some might even say I'm in the best region of Spain, as far as the region's gastronomy goes. The autonomous community of Navarra has three main elements that contribute to this reputation: the mountain, the river, and the plains. Much like parts of northern California, the varying landscapes of Navarra make it known for its food and drink -- mainly pork, cheese, wine, cider, and vegetables -- all grown/produced within approximately 4,000 square miles!

So no, we're not vegetarians anymore. And I don't think this really matters. I'm still not going to eat a McDonald's hamburger, even though I really would like to. And I'm still going to drink almond milk, because I think it tastes way better than cow's milk.

Ultimately, I'm learning to use the resources that are around me at any given time.

Broete de San Fermin: soup-style dish with chorizo, cured ham, green beans, cauliflower,
lettuce, carrots, and garlic, topped with a fried egg

Yes, all those pictures are meals Elliot and I cooked and ate. Yes, they were delicious.

Baby research

I thought it would be neat to write a post on what my post-graduation job entails. The real one, as opposed the one on the side. (Just kidding)

For some of you, this might be interesting because you're interested in developmental psychology, jobs that resemble careers, babies, etc.

For me, this post not only reflects what I do five days out of the week, but also provides some insight as to what I went to school for in the first place. Especially since I'm currently in the process of paying back my dues.
 

I am the lab coordinator for the Developmental Science Lab, a psychology research facility, at Temple University. Behind me in the picture to the left, is the lab -- half kindergarten classroom, half high school chemistry lab.

What's more interesting about this picture is that this is what a parent sees when they visit our website and browse the members page. So that's me, trying to look friendly, approachable, and smart! The hand on the hip implies that I'm serious about my job, but I can have fun, too.



Most of my job responsibilities are routine: checking emails, answering phone calls, signing for packages, filing receipts, organizing data, managing undergrad researchers, and stuffing envelopes.

The reason I have this job, though, is more complicated. For those of you not familiar with academic fields that rely heavily on research, research, research, psychology is one of these fields. Most people imagine the whole therapist & couch scenario when they think of psychologists, but most of us (yes, I'm including myself because I've got a fuckin' degree) are researchers. That's how universities get money, and it's also how the field progresses (sort of).

Research, if done right, involves a lot of writing, planning, hypothesizing, and recruiting. Thus, research implicates the contributions of many different people: investigators (tenured professors, grad students, post-docs), interns, student researchers, and volunteers. All these people help to carry out studies, analyze results, and publish anything significant.

In short, my job is to keep all of this going. And the incentive is that if I don't keep all of this going, the lab's projects won't be funded, and I'm out of a job.

Ok, so that was kind of boring. I'll try to talk more about babies.

Yes, my research mainly involves 14-month-old infants! Basically, I invite them and their parents in (usually a mom, but sometimes a dad or a grandma), obtain consent (very important), and then try to put an EEG cap on the child's head.

I wish I could use a picture from our lab, but I'm pretty sure the photo consent form didn't say anything about use on a researcher's blog. This interweb picture does the cap justice, though.

You should know that this process is a challenge. While EEG is used worldwide as a way of collecting data, not many labs attempt to use the technique with children, especially those as young as 14-months.

You can't explain anything to the child about what you're going to do; all you can do is wave the cap in front of them and smile really big so they think it's OK. And it is -- I promise it is.

The first time I put an EEG cap on a baby, she cried. She frowned and buried her head in her mom's chest every time I came near her. I don't know if I can do this, I thought. I'm tormenting her.

But I did do it. And continued to do it. Approximately one out of two babies cry when we put on the cap.

Why? Because it's weird.
They don't want the cap on.
They don't know who I am.
Their mom is almost two feet away.
They haven't had their morning nap.
They have a tummy ache.

Most parents get this -- that babies cry for lots of reasons. Some don't. The mom's face starts to look worried and the baby can sense that and so she wails harder.

I've gotten used to the crying. Not that I don't know the difference between a whine and a get-the-fuck-away-from-me cry. But I'm not going to wince at every whimper.

The more shocking/awkward stuff I see is from the parents:

- One mom consistently bit her son's hand whenever he grabbed for something
- Another chose to start breastfeeding while the study was in session
- There was a dad who lied to me twice about his daughter's age
- A mom who brought four other kids with her, two that weren't hers
- A grandma who left in a huff because she totally disapproved of her daughter and granddaughter participating
- Several parents who disciplined their (14-month-old) son for playing with "girl" toys

Anyway, having worked in this lab for 3 years, I don't think I want to do research.

This job was great; it provided me with invaluable experience. I have sincerely enjoyed it. But seeing the research process in action has discouraged me. There are exceptions, sure, but most studies take at least a few years to plan, carry out, and publish. And it takes far longer for the information learned from these results to trickle down and benefit those concerned.

This bothers me. Especially when I get a rash of calls from parents seeking out an expert who can explain why their child isn't walking, talking, smiling yet. The point of research is to expand resources, but the chain of events is too spread out to be truly effective.

I still maintain that research is an important element for the field of psychology -- still enjoy reading about it. Just don't want to have a role in it. I'm not patient enough.