Spice Up Your Life

Where to begin? What are little girls made of? Well 'sugar and spice and all things nice' of course. Not boring old herbs - they are growing at the bottom of every ordinary garden.  When spices were first traded they were very expensive commodities: So expensive that the people who unloaded the cargoes from ships were often paid in cloves. Nutmeg was literally worth its weight in gold and the island of Run where it was grown had the most expensive real estate on earth. 

The Spice Routes were maritime routes linking the East to the West. Pepper, cloves, cinnamon, and nutmeg were all hugely sought-after commodities in Europe, but before the 15th century access to trade with the East was controlled by North African and Arab middlemen, making such spices extremely costly and rare.

Exploration between the 15th and 17th centuries brought about by new navigation technology made sailing long distances possible, Europeans took to the seas to forge direct trading relationships with Indonesia, China, and Japan. Some have argued that it was the spice trade that fuelled the development of faster boats, encouraged the discovery of new lands, and fostered new diplomatic relationships between East and West. It was probably with the discovery of new sources of spice in mind, that Christopher Columbus set out in 1492 and ended up finding America.



The blue line shows the extent of the maritime Spice Route: The red line - the Silk Road. 

The Dutch and English especially profited from the control of the spice trade in the East Indies—modern-day Indonesia, especially the area known as the Moluccas, or Spice Islands, which were the only source of nutmeg and cloves at that time. Wars were fought, lands colonized, and fortunes made on the back of the spice trade, making this trade route one of the most significant in terms of globalization.

These days the chocolate industry thrives on spicing up our lives. I am a chocolate ginger girl myself, but think nothing of throwing cinnamon into chocolate cake, or indeed a stew.   I love the taste of and colour of saffron and recently went up into the hills near Alicante to sample saffron honey - the taste is really incredible.

I grew up with spice. I cannot imagine how food would taste without. I love to smell a baked egg custard, warm from the oven, smothered with freshly grated nutmeg, (even though I can't eat eggs). I mull my own wine at Christmas and bake a strudel full of spice, nuts and mincemeat. I love spice. I even put black pepper on my strawberries.

One of my all-time favourite things in life,  is popping cloves into the scored fat of a ham -  coating with brown sugar - the smell of it cooking makes my mouth water, filling the house with a warming smile and evoking happy memories of family, childhood and love. Spice is an adventure. Go on - I dare you - spice up your life.

Cargoes
Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir
Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine,
With a cargo of ivory.
And Apes and peacocks.
Sandalwood, cedarwood and sweet white wine.

Stately Spanish galleon, coming from the Isthmus,
Dipping through the Tropics by the palm-green shores,
With a cargo of diamonds,
Emeralds, amethysts,
Topazes and cinnamon and gold moidores.

Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack
Butting through the Channel in the mad March days,
With a cargo of Tyne coal,
Road-rail, pig-lead,
Firewood, iron-ware and cheap tin trays.
                                                       
                                              by John Masefield (1878-1967)

Thanks for reading

Read More

A Very Private Place

Since reading an article about Indonesian orang-utans in 2008, I have shopped politically, written poems and talked to everyone that I can about a terrible threat to the population of this most private creature. Baby orang-utans have endearing features and are poached to be sold as pets. This trade usually involves killing the mother: They are very protective of their off-spring, just like we human mothers.  Removing the baby from a population is one thing but removing a female and the potential for further babies, is a devastating blow. 

In Borneo, a female orang-utan only reproduces every 9 years and although the reason that it is the least frequently reproduction mammal is as yet unclear, recent studies show that trees in the region where they live, only fruit every four years.  Scientists believe that in times of plenty the orang-utans are fatter and that this is when they become fertile. This makes sense to me. Many anorexic young women do not menstruate.  There is a link in mammals between female weight and fertility.

As dreadful as poaching mothers and babies may be  this is nothing compared to the loss of orang-utans that happening every day because of the global demand for palm oil.  Orang-utans are very private and usually solitary individuals, unlike gorillas and chimpanzees who live in groups and are easier to study.  These magnificent creatures live in the highest part of the rain forest canopy in Sumatra, Borneo and Indonesia.  In the last two decades, with the help of GPS tracking, scientists have at last been able to assess populations but have also discovered that there may be three distinct species of Orang-utan.

The decimation of rainforest, to grow palm oil, is lucrative for growers, governments and indeed global suppliers but devastating for these very private creatures.  In 2008, I made a conscious choice to avoid all palm-oil products.  It has been a surprising and confusing journey.  I set out with the view that palm-oil was just in cosmetics.  I couldn't have been more wrong.  Palm oil is in thousands of food-stuffs.  Years ago I switched to vegetable suet for puddings only to discover that it is made from palm oil and only today, I read the label on some high end organic stock cubes, only to discover that they too contain palm-oil.  On some Sainsbury's packaging, I have found the words, 'contains sustainable palm-oil'.  What I really want to know is, who is sustaining the orang-utans that have died so that the palm-oil can be grown over thousands of hectares of land that was previously vital orang-utan habitat?

I wrote the poem in 2008 when orang-utans were judged to be on the brink of extinction. I performed it at the first Dead Good Poets open mic that I attended. At the time I hoped to get the message out there and perhaps with your help today, I finally will. Recent population counts are not so bleak but if we keep demanding more and more palm-oil, then Asian governments with burgeoning populations, looking for a quick fix may cost us one of our most private and precious creatures. Orang-utans use tools, they are problem-solving and caring. We have shared ancestry - perhaps that is something that the palm-oil industry forgot.

Last man of the forest

Let me take you on a journey to the not so far off future,
Hold my hand and walk with me, it takes a little trust.
Destination Borneo.  Time zone 2030.
Once a teeming forest, now a barren isle of dust.
There remains a small oasis. One green and luscious belt,
with a solitary occupant who is seldom ever seen.
They say he is the last of those who dwelt in this dominion
His nightly piercing cries are mourning for what might have been.
Then call him the Orang-utan. The old man of the forest.
His fleeting rusted, redness sometimes glimpsed from down below.
If we're lucky, we may see him, deftly swinging through the branches
as he searches for the mate, he'll never find but cannot know.

The natives say the canopy was infinite last century,
greed has ripped the trees away far faster than then grew.
It seems the palm-oil industry was proving highly lucrative,
without regard for conservation, bulldozers powered through.
The Indonesian government brokered five million hectares.
Greedy 'cruel oil' barons reaped their profit as they may.
The scourging of the forest was relentless for two decades
Ecological disaster looming closer every dreadful day.
Many adult females died before they reached maturity,
most of them lay crushed beneath the excavated trees.
The sanctuary worked tirelessly to nurture and protect them
but no ears were tuned to listening, though they pleaded on their knees.

Palm-oil for cosmetics, on the ugly face of vanity
worn by a throw away society oblivious to cost.
Washed in soap extracted from blood of dead orang-utans.
a stain indelibly imprinted for what the world has lost.
His upturned leathered palms have done no human any harm.
Can you see his doleful eyes and hopeful tender smile.
Look closer, with your heart - regard the last man of the forest,
hold his portrait in your mind forever - in Da Vinci style.
This handsome, gentle creature is the last one of his species
and we, like him are hollow vessels, weeping for the tree.
So return now to the present day and tell of what you witness,
his demise may be prevented if all nations can agree.
Make them strike a balance to prevent this bleak prediction,
tell your governments to intervene to save the canopy.
He's the last man of the forest,
the Orang-utan of Indonesia.
His survival is dependent on the voice of you and me.

Thanks for reading. Please share, please read the packaging and please lobby MPs. Adele

Read More