Of all the madnesses of the early 21st century, nothing is more bizarre than our relationship with food. Almost every woman I know has developed a fetish around eating, and of course, not eating, until we are so tied in knots that white tea, some days, is pretty much the only option.
Madness, that is, unless you are growing your own food, and know the name of the chicken you are eating. There lies sterling virtue — and safety. “If the world goes to hell,” said a country friend the...