Journal articles on the topic 'Summer Sausage'

A 1:1 mixture of Leuconostoc and Lactobacillus plantarum and of L. plantarum alone were used as starter-cultures in making two batches of summer sausage. Sausage samples were evaluated for volatile flavor compounds and by sensory evaluation. Ethanol was the primary volatile flavor compound in the sausage from mixed culture while acetaldehyde predominated in the single culture sausage. Sensory evaluation indicated a significant difference (p≤0.01) between the two types of sausages with 66% of the panelists preferring sausage prepared with L. plantarum alone.

A bacteriocin-producing Pediococcus species inhibitory to Listeria monocytogenes was used to manufacture fermented semidry sausage. Separate 13.6 kg batches of a commercial summer sausage formulation were inoculated to contain an initial level of 106 cells/g of Listeria monocytogenes Scott A. In each of two independent studies, an ca. 2 log10 CFU/g reduction of L. monocytogenes occurred over the fermentation period, as compared to a less than 1 log10 CFU/g reduction in sausage fermented with a non-inhibitory Pediococcus strain. Inactivation of L. monocytogenes was also observed in one study where adequate acid production did not occur (pH>5.5), indicating that bacteriocin production occurred independently of carbohydrate fermentation. Following heating to an internal temperature of 64.4°C and storage up to 2 weeks, 9 of 90 sausages sampled were positive for Listeria. Recovery was intermittent and did not indicate that the bacteriocin was effective in eliminating L. monocytogenes that had survived the heating process.

Aim: The first aim was to assess the quality and determine the prevalence and antibiotic susceptibility of Staphylococcus aureus contamination of raw sausage sold in ten municipalities in the Northeast of Algeria. Second, a consumer sausage purchasing survey was designed to investigate potential risk factors that have a significant association with the occurrence of foodborne poisoning among sausage consumers' behavior and its relationship with independent variables. Materials and Methods: A total of 230 butcheries from ten departments (Daira) of Algiers with more than 40 municipalities were included randomly in these studies to collect raw sausage samples and to distribute 700 structured questionnaires to meat consumers. Our two studies were conducted at the same time, between June 2016 and April 2018. Sausage samples were taken once per butchery to estimate the prevalence of S. aureus contamination and therefore deduct the quality assessment of raw sausage (Merguez) sold in Algiers, Algeria. All isolated strains were tested for their antimicrobial resistance. Furthermore, questionnaires were distributed and used to collect information on various aspects of sausage consumption and foodborne disease. The data collected were analyzed with different statistical approaches, such as the Chi-square test and the odds ratio (OR) univariable logistic model. All the risk factors were analyzed by studying their association with the occurrence of consumers who claimed to have food poisoning after consuming sausage. Results: The overall prevalence of S. aureus contamination from sausages was 25.22% (n=58/230). Over 83.33% of strains showed resistance to at least one of the antibiotics tested. The most important was for tetracycline (58%) followed by fosfomycin (33%), penicillin G (25%), and oxacillin (36%). Moreover, the multiple antibiotic resistance (MAR) index include 20 profiles with MAR >0.2. Out of the 440 meat consumers, 22.16% revealed having food poisoning after sausage consumption. The risk factors recorded were: Consumption outside of home (24.30%, OR=1.769, p=0.040), during the summer season (24.30%, OR=1.159) and during lunch (26.50%, OR=1.421). Conclusion: Our study highlights a high prevalence of S. aureus contamination in Merguez, especially in some departments of Algiers, and the high multidrug resistance of S. aureus isolates against tetracycline and oxacillin; thus, S. aureus contamination in sausage is considered a potential risk to public health. Therefore, to reduce and prevent the spread of resistant strains, robust management and monitoring of antibiotic use should be established. Therefore, it is necessary to improve the sanitation conditions and education regarding personal hygiene and change certain consumption habits of Algerian consumers to ensure food safety. Finally, it can be concluded that the application of the HACCP system is essential either in butcheries producing sausage and/or slaughterhouses. From this perspective, studies might be performed to characterize Staphylococcus spp. and S. aureus to investigate their virulence factors. Keywords: consumers, quality assessment, risk factors, sausages, Staphylococcus aureus.

The population of inoculated Escherichia coli O157:H7 was monitored during the manufacture and storage of a semidry beef summer sausage processed by fermentation and cooking at a low temperature by heating to an internal temperature of 130°F (54°C). The all-beef batter (11% fat and nonmeat ingredients) was inoculated with the commercial starter culture Pediococcus acidilactici HP (≥8.6 log CFU/g of batter) and a five-strain mixture of E. coli O157:H7 (≥7 log CFU/g) and then hand stuffed into 2.5-inch (64-mm) diameter fibrous casings. The sausages were fermented at an initial temperature of 85°F (29°C) to a final temperature of 105°F (41°C) over ca. 13 h at 80% relative humidity (RH) to pH 4.6 or pH 5.0. After fermentation to pH 4.6, the internal temperature of the chubs was raised to 130°F (54°C) instantaneous over 3.6 h at 60% RH. After fermentation to pH 5.0, the internal temperature of the chubs was raised to 130°F (54°C) over 3.6 h at 60% RH and the chubs were maintained under these conditions for 0, 30, or 60 min. he chubs were cold water showered for 15 min and then chilled at 39°F (4°C) for 6 h before being vacuum packaged and stored at 39°F (4°C) or 77°F (25°C) for 7 days. Regardless of the target pH, fermentation alone resulted in only a 1.39-log CFU/g decrease in pathogen numbers. However, fermentation to pH 4.6 and heating to an internal temperature of 130°F (54°C) instantaneous reduced counts of E. coli O157:H7 by ≥7.0 log units to below detection levels (<10 CFU/g). Pathogen numbers remained below levels detectable by direct plating, but viable E. coli O157:H7 cells were recovered by enrichment of samples during sausage storage at either refrigeration or abuse temperatures. In contrast, fermentation to pH 5.0 and heating to an internal temperature of 130°F (54°C) instantaneous resulted in a 3.2-log-unit decrease in counts of E. coli O157:H7. No appreciable reductions in pathogen numbers were observed thereafter following storage at either 39°F (4°C) or 77°F (25°C) for 7 days. Fermentation to pH 5.0 and heating to an internal temperature of 130°F (54°C) instantaneous followed by holding for 30 or 60 min resulted in about a 5- or 7-log reduction, respectively, in pathogen numbers. For chubs held for 30 min at 130°F (54°C), pathogen numbers decreased to 2.02 and <1.0 log CFU/g at 39°F (4°C) and 77°F (25°C), respectively, after 7 days; viable cells were only observed by enrichment after storage at 77°F (25°C). For chubs held for 60 min at 130°F (54°C), pathogen numbers remained below levels detectable by direct plating, but viable cells were recoverable by enrichment after 7 days at both storage temperatures. These data will be useful guidelines to manufacturers for developing processing conditions to further ensure the safety of this category of fermented sausages relative to food-borne pathogens such as serotype O157:H7 strains of E. coli.

Thirty strains of lactic acid bacteria from different meat sources (bologna, summer sausage, thurlinger sausage, chicken loaf and bacon) were tested for nisin sensitivity. The maximum concentration of nisin permitting growth for 20 strains was 50 IU/ml. Lactobacilli classified as atypical were sensitive to <5 IU nisin/ml. These strains could not be induced to increase resistance by five transfers to media with increased nisin concentrations. The ten strains with the higher resistance to nisin were checked for nisinase activity. One strain, Lactobacillus brevis, showed weak nisinase activity and the rest were negative.

This paper aims: summer sausages technology improving in sinbiotic starter cultures “Almi 2”, trehalose and electromagnetic influence on meat. When researching this work, we investigated the following objects: raw meat, treated with an electromagnetic pulse, samples of meat products. The samples were examined on the following parameters: the mass fraction of moisture, protein, fat, pH, number of mesophilic aerobic and facultative anaerobic microorganisms, organoleptic characteristics. In this paper we used the following research methods: moisture content – Russian State Standard P 51479-99, the protein content - Russian State Standard 25011-81, fat content - Russian State Standard 23042-86, pH - Russian State Standard 51478-99, number of mesophilic aerobic and facultative anaerobic microorganisms - Russian State Standard 10444.15-94, organoleptic characteristics - Russian State Standard 9959-91. The research results have shown that the use of pre-processing electromagnetic treatment and trehalose in sausage production technology have a positive impact on the qualitative characteristics of the finished product and reduce production time.

Streptococcus pyogenes causes septic sore throat in millions of Americans each year and may be transmitted from food handlers to food contact surfaces, foods, and consumers. This study examined the individual survival of six S. pyogenes strains on food contact surfaces (plastic and ceramic plates, plastic cups, and stainless steel utensils) held at 21°C for 2 h and on tomatoes stored aerobically at 21°C for 2 h and at 5°C for 24 h. Survival of a cocktail of the six S. pyogenes strains was also evaluated on vacuum-packaged ready-to-eat meats and cheeses held at 21°C for 8 h and at 5°C for 24 h. Populations generally did not change on tomatoes, cheeses, or beef bologna; however, there were small (0.1 to 0.7 log CFU) but statistically significant decreases (P < 0.05) in average S. pyogenes populations on turkey luncheon meat and beef summer sausage stored for 8 h at 21°C and on beef summer sausage stored for 24 h at 5°C. On food contact surfaces, average populations either decreased slightly (P ≥ 0.05) or remained constant, with the exception of three strains that significantly decreased in number on ceramic plates (P < 0.05; average decreases, 0.3 log CFU). Results of this study suggest the importance of preventing the contamination of foods and food contact surfaces with S. pyogenes by infected workers.

This study was undertaken to supplement existing information on the survival of Listeria monocytogenes in Italian salami. The fact that Italian salami is frequently consumed by a large number of people poses some serious health implications. Some raw materials have been found to be microbiologically contaminated, for their production occurs without any thermic treatment, and these are in circulation throughout Italy all year round. We selected the product for its microbiological, technological, and commercial characteristics. We analyzed 1,020 samples taken during the autumn and winter 2002 and spring and summer 2003 periods and immediately before selling. The samples were collected from 17 plants with an annual production of between 1 and 2,000 metric tons and with a distribution of products in over 80% of Italy in geographic terms. To detect and enumerate L. monocytogenes, we followed International Organization for Standardization (ISO) 11290 part 1 and 2: 1996 (modified using chromogenic medium Agar Listeria according to Ottarviani and Agosti [ALOA]). L. monocytogenes was found in 22.7% of samples, but the contamination level was less than 10 CFU/g. Contamination prevalence ranged from 1.6 to 58.3% and was lower than 10% in 5 of the 17 plants checked. The most frequently isolated serotypes were 1/2c, 1/2a, 1/2b, and 4b. Additional studies are necessary to establish if the exposure to a small number of L. monocytogenes cells through the consumption of salami represents a significant health risk and, in light of the future introduction of the SANCO/4198/2001 revision 21 “Commission Regulation on Microbiological Criteria for Foodstuffs,” is a necessary investigation.

Prerigor lean and adipose beef carcass tissues were artificially inoculated individually with stationary-phase cultures of five nonpathogenic Escherichia coli cultures that had been previously identified as surrogates for E. coli O157:H7 or a mixture of five Salmonella strains in a fecal inoculum. Each tissue sample was processed with microbial interventions comparable with those used in the meat industry. The log reductions of the E. coli isolates were generally not statistically different from the salmonellae inoculum within a specific treatment. Inoculation experiments were also conducted with ground beef stored at either 4 or −20°C. When compared with the Salmonella inoculum, at least three of the five E. coli strains survived in a manner that was not statistically different from the salmonellae. The E. coli strains and the Salmonella mixed culture were also inoculated into summer sausage batter, and the population enumerated both before and after fermentation. Four of the E. coli strains showed a lower population reduction (higher survival) than the Salmonella mixed culture. The five nonpathogenic E. coli strains may be used as individually or collectively for specific process validation indicators for Salmonella.

Monoglycerides (MCs) including MC10, MC12, and coconut MCs were tested for inhibitory activity against Listeria monocytogenes strain Scott A in culture media and in several foods. MCs were inhibitory to L. monocytogenes in certain foods including beef frank slurries (pH 5.0 and 5.5) and seafood salad (pH 4.9) at 4°C, but were less active at 12 than at 4°C. MCs were less inhibitory to L. monocytogenes in other foods tested including turkey frank slurries (pH 5.5), imitation crabmeat, cooked shrimp, summer sausage, yogurt, cottage cheese, and Camembert cheese. Combinations of MCs, particularly MC10 and MC12, showed increased activity in certain foods. The combination of MC10 (250 to 500 μg/ml) and MC12 (250 to 500 μg/ml) or a mixture of coconut-derived MCs (500 to 1,000 μg/ml) were inhibitory against L. monocytogenes in beef and turkey frank slurries. Certain Chemical factors affected the degree of inhibition by the lipid compounds including pH, acidulants such as lactic acid, certain antioxidants, and lipid carriers. The results suggest that MCs could be used as preservatives in certain classes of minimally processed refrigerated foods when intrinsic antimicrobial activity is inadequate.

The survival of Listeria monocytogenes was evaluated on 15 ready-to-eat meat products made using drying, fermentation, and/or smoking. The products were obtained from six processors and included summer sausage, smoked cured beef, beef jerky, snack stick, and pork rind and crackling products. The water activity of the products ranged from 0.27 (pork rinds and cracklings) to 0.98 (smoked cured beef slices). Products were inoculated with a five-strain cocktail of L. monocytogenes, repackaged under either vacuum or air, and then stored either at room temperature (21°C) or under refrigeration (5°C) for 4 to 11 weeks. Numbers of L. monocytogenes fell for all products during storage, ranging from a decrease of 0.8 log CFU on smoked cured beef slices during 11 weeks under vacuum at 5°C to a decrease of 3.3 log CFU on a pork rind product stored 5 weeks under air at 21°C. All of the products tested could be produced under alternative 2 of the U.S. Department of Agriculture regulations mandating control of L. monocytogenes on ready-to-eat meat and poultry products. For many of the products, 1 week of postprocessing storage prior to shipment would act as an effective postlethality treatment and would allow processors to operate under alternative 1 of these regulations.

Research was aimed to determine the effect of margarine application on the physicochemical and sensory properties of culled layer hens sausages. In addition to utilizing the culled layer hens meat as a source of animal protein, as well as to diversify food, so that the resulting product can be accepted by consumers. This study was conducted in a completely randomized experimental design with four treatments unidirectional pattern with margarine giving addition 0.0 %; 2.5 %; 5.0 % and 7.5 % with four replications. The data obtained were statistically tested by analysis of variance (ANOVA), if there is a noticeable difference, then it continued to Duncan's multiple range test. The analysis showed that the water content, fat content, and pH sausage has significant effect, but the protein content was not significantly between the sausages were not given margarine (P-1) and the sausages are given margarine (P-2, P-3 and P-4). The sausage produced will increase the protein content, fat content, and pH with increasing percentage of margarine given, otherwise the moisture content will decrease. Based on sensory testing (appearance, color, flavor, texture and total acceptance), culled layer hens sausage can be accepted by consumers. Sausages were given margarine value ranges between 7.0 to 8.4 (just like - really like) and were not given margarine has lower value ranging from 5.2 to 6.9 (neutral - just like). ABSTRAKPenelitian mengenai pengaruh pemberian margarin terhadap sifat fisiko kimiawi dan sensoris sosis ayam petelur afkir adalah untuk mengetahui penambahan margarin terhadap kualitas sosis ayam petelur afkir, selain itu untuk memanfaatkan daging ayam petelur afkir sebagai sumber protein hewani, dan untuk melakukan penganekaragaman pangan, sehingga produk yang dihasilkan dapat diterima oleh konsumen. Penelitian ini dilakukan secara eksperimental dengan rancangan acak lengkap pola searah dengan empat perlakuan pemberian margarin 0,0 %; 2,5 %; 5,0 % dan 7,5 % dengan empat kali ulangan. Data yang diperoleh diuji secara statistik dengan analisa varian (ANOVA), apabila terdapat perbedaan yang nyata dilakukan Uji jarak berganda Duncan. Hasil analisis menunjukkan bahwa kadar air dan kadar lemak dan pH sosis berpengaruh nyata namun kadar protein tidak berpengaruh nyata antara sosis yang tidak diberikan margarin (P-1) dan sosis yang diberikan margarin (P-2, P-3, dan P-4). Sosis yang dihasilkan akan semakin meningkat kadar protein, kadar lemak dan pH dengan bertambahnya persentasi margarin yang diberikan, sebaliknya kadar airnya akan menurun. Berdasarkan uji sensoris (tampilan, warna, flavor, tekstur dan total penerimaan), maka sosis ayam petelur afkir dapat diterima oleh konsumen. Sosis yang diberi margarin nilainya berkisar antara 7,0 – 8,4 (cukup suka – sangat suka) dan yang tidak diberi margarin nilainya lebih rendah yaitu berkisar antara 5,2 – 6,9 (netral – cukup suka). Kata kunci: Ayam petelur afkir; sifat fisik; sifat kimiawi; margarin; sosis; sifat sensorik

Five Escherichia coli biotype I isolates were compared with E. coli O157:H7 under four common meat processing conditions. The processes that were evaluated were freezing, refrigerating, fermentation, and thermal inactivation. For each study, at least one surrogate organism was not statistically different when compared with E. coli O157:H7. However, the four studies did not consistently show the same isolate as having this agreement. The three studies that involved temperature as a method of controlling or reducing the E. coli population all had at least one possible surrogate in common. In the fermentation study, only one isolate (BAA-1429) showed no statistical difference when compared with E. coli O157:H7. However, the population reductions that were observed indicated the isolates BAA-1427 and BAA-1431 would overestimate the surviving E. coli O157:H7 population in a fermented summer sausage. When all of the data from all of the surrogates were examined, it was found that isolates BAA-1427, BAA-1429, and BAA-1430 would be good surrogates for all four of the processes that were examined in this study. There was no statistical difference noted between these three isolates and E. coli O157:H7 in the refrigeration study. These isolates resulted in smaller population reductions than did E. coli O157:H7 in the frozen, fermentation, and thermal inactivation studies. This would indicate that these isolates would overpredict the E. coli O157:H7 population in these three instances. This overprediction results in an additional margin of safety when using E. coli biotype 1 as a surrogate.

Abstract Heat stress (HS) has depletory effects on intestinal morphology, induces metabolic changes, and disposes pigs to oxidative stress. Zinc has roles in gut health, nutrient and insulin mediated metabolism. To better understand the effects of cyclic heat and dietary Zn supplementation on gut integrity, carcass composition, and pork quality, commercial crossbred mixed-sex pigs (n = 400; initially 72.2 kg) were housed under either thermoneutral (TN; 18.9–16.7°C) or cycling HS conditions simulating chronic summer heat (30°C/26.7°C for 12h:12h on days 24–65) with acute heat periods of 32-33°C/29-30°C for 12h:12h on days 21–24, 42–45, and 63–65. Treatments were arranged in a 2×2×2 factorial with main effects of environment (HS vs. TN), added Zn level (50 vs. 130 mg/kg available Zn), and added Zn source (inorganic from ZnO vs. organic from Availa®Zn; Zinpro Corp, Eden Prairie, MN). Relative to TN, HS elevated (P < 0.050) body temperatures during the growing period. Heat stress was correlated with ileal villus height (r=-0.51, P = 0.015) and HSP-70 expression (r=0.46, P = 0.041). Growth was reduced such that carcasses from HS pigs were lighter (P = 0.011) and exhibited improved carcass quality with higher (P = 0.001) 24-hour loin pH, decreased (P = 0.034) drip loss, and greater (P < 0.050) subjective color and firmness scores compared to TN carcasses. Relative to TN, loin chops and sausage patties manufactured from the HS carcasses had similar oxidative stability (CIE L*a*b* color, 2-thiobarbituric acid reactive substances) throughout a 10-day simulated retail display. The HS induced fatty acid profile differences in the pork product but were not sufficient to shift IV (P > 0.10). Belly firmness and slice lean were also unaffected (P > 0.10) by HS. Zinc supplementation had minimal impact on the carcass quality characteristics studied. Further research is necessary to better understand the impact of HS duration, combination with additional stressors, and refine the ability to utilize thermal monitoring to manage negative impacts of HS.

Four hundred meat samples (134 meat cubes, 133 minced meat, 133 fresh sausages) were collected from 15 supermarkets and butcheries in Gaborone, Botswana, between the summer months of October 2002 and March 2003. Samples were assayed for Escherichia coli O157 by selective enrichment in modified E. coli broth containing novobiocin, followed by immuno-magnetic separation and plating onto sorbitol MacConkey agar supplemented with potassium tellurite. The isolates were biochemically and serologically confirmed by API 20E and O157 antisera, respectively. The prevalence rates for E. coli O157 were 5.22% in meat cube samples, 3.76% in minced meat samples, and 2.26% in fresh sausages. The isolates showed single, double, and triple antibiotic resistance. Fifty-three percent of them were resistant to cephalothin. Resistance was also recorded for sulphatriad (33%), colistin sulphate (26%), streptomycin (0.7%), and tetracycline (26%). It is recommended that the cause for antibiotic resistance be investigated using a larger number of samples from cattle, especially from ranching areas of the country.

Since the early 20th century, the Buzzio family has been making and selling traditional Piedmontese charcuterie and fresh sausages out of an unassuming Manhattan storefront. Marc Buzzio, whose father Ugo founded the business, provides all manner of salamis to famous chefs and neighborhood regulars alike. Buzzio works in small batches, crafting his product out of heritage pork, and curing it in his low-tech drying room, the same way it has been done for centuries. But in the summer of 2002, disaster struck in the form of new USDA regulations for dry aged, ready-to-eat products. The regulations were written with industrial producers in mind, not mom-and-pop operations, and certainly not this beloved neighborhood store where dry-cured sausages have been made in the same careful way for nearly eighty years. This story chronicles the struggles of a small producer to adapt to regulations that are increasingly designed for mass-market food production.

When do Salps bloom? In this MBIE Curious Minds funded project we sought to address the growing need to involve people at a young age in learning involving active scientific research, to enhance societal understanding of science and technology and promote careers in STEM/STEAM to groups traditionally less represented. We engaged Leigh Primary School children with Salp research led by Dr Moira Decima from NIWA, and with citizen science through involvement in the co-design of a mobile app to report salp (marine invertebrate) sightings in coastal and underwater environments in our case study site: Goat Island Marine Reserve. The goal of the project was to engage students in cutting-edge marine science research and conservation; and in technological development through the co-design of a mobile app to report salps sightings in local coastal environments. Salps constitute essential prey items for multiple species of fish (including commercially important species like Hoki and Oreos), and can play a major role in ocean biogeochemistry by enhancing carbon (CO2) sequestration. In addition, the presence and extent of population blooms has increased in some parts of the world, presumably as a consequence of global warming, making these organisms sentinels of climate change. They are also unique in New Zealand because they seem to predictably bloom during the summer in coastal areas, yet this information is anecdotal and hence constituted a real opportunity to involve Leigh School to contribute to globally-relevant marine research. Important to local communities, the presence and abundance of these organisms affects tourist and local enjoyment of marine habitats, as low densities can result in attractive items for underwater experiences, but high densities render diving, fishing, boating and other water activities problematic. Students participated in a series of face-to-face events, including two visits to the Goat Island Marine Discovery Centre (University of Auckland); vlogging with Dr Decima while leading the RV Tangaroa on the #SalpPOOP (Salp Particle expOrt and Oceanic Production) research voyage; snorkelling at Goat Island Marine Reserve; and learning presentations by Leigh School children during SeaWeek 2019, where students presented their learning, enjoyed a sausage BBQ, and tried out virtual reality experiences designed to learn about salp research and marine conservation in general. We also engaged with Goat Island Dive & Snorkel dive instructors and selected customers during the app co-design phase to gain app prototype feedback. A mobile application (salpcount.nz) following a citizen science engagement framework that will allow data collection of salps in New Zealand was created with input from Leigh School students and selected Goat Island Dive & Snorkel customers and instructors, and with the engagement of multiple partners and through a hands-on educational program. Leigh School students were able to learn about an interesting marine biology topic relevant to them, while contributing to an application that will hopefully produce data through citizen science on the patterns and frequency of salp blooms around New Zealand. Here we report on this case study project highlighting what worked and what we learned, and some implications for future practice.

Previous epidemiological studies have demonstrated relationships between individual nutrients and glucose intolerance and type 2 diabetes, but the association with the overall pattern of dietary intake has not previously been described. In order to characterize this association, 802 subjects aged 40–65 years were randomly selected from a population-based sampling frame and underwent a 75 g oral glucose-tolerance test. Principal component analysis was used to identify four dietary patterns explaining 31·7 % of the dietary variation in the study cohort. These dietary patterns were associated with other lifestyle factors including socio-economic group, smoking, alcohol intake and physical activity. Component 1 was characterized by a healthy balanced diet with a frequent intake of raw and salad vegetables, fruits in both summer and winter, fish, pasta and rice and low intake of fried foods, sausages, fried fish, and potatoes. This component was negatively correlated with central obesity, fasting plasma glucose, 120 min non-esterified fatty acid and triacylglycerol, and positively correlated with HDL-cholesterol. It therefore appears to be protective for the metabolic syndrome. Component 1 was negatively associated with the risk of having undiagnosed diabetes, and this association was independent of age, sex, smoking and obesity. The findings support the hypothesis that dietary patterns are associated with other lifestyle factors and with glucose intolerance and other features of the metabolic syndrome. The results provide further evidence for the recommendation of a healthy balanced diet as one of the main components of chronic disease prevention.

Between April 1996 and March 1997 we examined 5093 samples of raw beef and lamb products for the presence of E. coli O157. Samples were purchased from 81 small butchers' shops in south Yorkshire. In March 1997 we also examined five samples of dried mint for the presence of E. coli O157.Strains of E. coli O157 were isolated by enrichment culture in modified buffered peptone water followed by immunomagnetic separation and culture of magnetic beads onto cefixime tellurite sorbitol MacConkey agar. Strains were characterized by phage typing, toxin genotyping and plasmid analysis.Strains of E. coli O157 were isolated from 72 (1·4%) of 5093 samples; it was isolated from 36 (1·1%) of 3216 samples of beef products and from 29 (2·9%) samples of lamb products. The highest prevalence was found in lamb sausages and lamb burgers where E. coli O157 was isolated from 3 (4·1%) of 73 and 18 (3·7%) of 484 samples respectively. Strains of E. coli O157 were isolated most frequently during early summer. Strains of E. coli O157 were also isolated from 2 of 5 samples of dried mint although we did not determine how the mint had become contaminated.All isolates of E. coli O157 were Verocytotoxin-producing as determined by both Vero cell assay and DNA hybridization for the genes encoding Verocytotoxin and all were positive for the eaeA gene. A combination of phage typing, toxin genotyping and plasmid profile subdivided the 72 strains of E. coli isolated into 20 different subtypes, of which 18 were indistinguishable from strains isolated previously from cattle and sheep; of these 18 strains, 8 were indistinguishable from strains isolated from human cases of infection during the study period.

Song is a work of art created from the creation of events that the author has seen, felt, heard, and experienced. Likewise, the parlinary song "Meraih Bintang" by Burman Siburian has a meaning that contains a million messages and messages for listeners. This study aims to determine the values of the meaning of motivation contained in the lyrics of the song "Meraih Bintang". This research is a qualitative descriptive with a semiotic approach according to Ferdinand de Saussure. Sources of data in this study are the lyrics of the song "Meraih Bitang. Researchers applied reading and note-taking techniques to collect data. The data analysis technique used is based on the Miles and Huberman model. The results showed that the lyrics of the song "Meraih Bintang" have a motivational value as shown in the first verse, namely the songwriter specifically dedicates this song to athletes to compete with enthusiasm and never give up. In the second verse, the meaning is found in order to achieve a dream, we must have strong faith and pray to the Creator. The third verse by the songwriters says that in order to reach our dreams, we must focus on one goal. The fourth stanza is that the songwriter tries not to give up easily in achieving dreams. The fifth stanza is conveyed that we must cooperate with determination, sportsmanship and solidarity in a competition.Lagu merupakan karya seni yang tercipta dari hasil kreasi terhadap peristiwa yang dilihat, dirasa, didengar, dan juga pernah dialami langsung oleh penulis. Sama halnya dengan lagu “Meraih Bintang” karya Parlin Burman Siburian memiliki makna yang mengandung sejuta pesan dan amanat untuk para pendengar. Penelitian ini bertujuan untuk mengetahui nilai-nilai makna motivasi yang terdapat pada lirik lagu “Meraih Bintang”. Penelitian ini merupakan kualitatif deskriptif dengan pendekatan semiotika menurut Ferdinand de Saussure. Sumber data dalam penelitian ini adalah lirik lagu “Meraih Bitang”. Peneliti menerapkan teknik baca dan catat untuk mengumpulkan data. Teknik analisis data yang digunakan berdasarkan model Miles dan Huberman. Hasil penelitian menunjukkan bahwa lirik lagu “Meraih Bintang” memiliki nilai motivasi yang ditunjukan pada bait pertama yaitu pencipta lagu secara khusus mempersembahkan lagu ini untuk para atlet agar berkompetisi dengan semangat dan pantang menyerah. Pada bait kedua ditemukan makna demi meraih suatu mimpi, kita harus mempunyai keyakinan yang kuat serta berdoa kepada sang Khalik. Bait ketiga pencipta lagu menyampaikan untuk menggapai mimpi, kita harus fokus pada satu tujuan. Bait keempat disini pencipta lagu mencoba mengajak untuk tidak mudah berputus asa dalam meraih mimpi. Bait kelima disampaikan bahwa tekad, sportifitas dan solidaritas harus kita gandeng dalam suatu kompetisi.

Listeria monocytogenes represents one of the most serious threats to food safety. Several studies have shown that Ready-To- Eat (RTE) meats are an important vehicle responsible for listeriosis in human. In Vietnam, little is known about the occurrence and molecular characteristics of L. monocytogenes in meat products, which are essential for developing monitoring plans and control measures. In the present study, we investigated the occurrence of L. monocytogenes in 258 sausage and sliced meat samples collected during the period of 2013-2015 and determined the genetic diversity of the isolates using multi-locus sequence typing (MLST). Overall, L. monocytogenes was present in 19/129 (14.7 %) and 40/129 (31.0 %) sausage and sliced meat samples respectively, with the peak of occurrence being in summer. Furthermore, a minimum spanning tree was constructed based on MLST data of 47 isolates. A total of 15 sequence types were found, with five being novel. Notably, the majority of the isolates (34/47) belonged to the hypervirulent clonal complexes 1, 2, and 3.

During World War II, the Soviet Union’s food supply was in a state of crisis. Hitler’s army had occupied the agricultural heartlands of Ukraine and Southern Russia in 1941 and, as a result, agricultural production for the entire nation had plummeted. Soldiers in Red Army, who easily ate the best rations in the country, subsisted on a daily allowance of just under a kilogram of bread, supplemented with meat, tea, sugar and butter when and if these items were available. The hunger of the Red Army and its effect on the morale and strength of Europe’s eastern warfront were causes for concern for the Soviet government and its European and American allies. The one country with a food surplus decided to do something to help, and in 1942 the United States agreed to send thousands of pounds of meat, cheese and butter overseas to help feed the Red Army. After receiving several shipments of the all-American spiced canned meat SPAM, the Red Army’s quartermaster put in a request for a more familiar canned pork product, Russian tushonka. Pound for pound, America sent more pigs overseas than soldiers during World War II, in part because pork was in oversupply in the America of the early 1940s. Shipping meat to hungry soldiers and civilians in war torn countries was a practical way to build business for the U.S. meat industry, which had been in decline throughout the 1930s. As per a Soviet-supplied recipe, the first cans of Lend-Lease tushonka were made in the heart of the American Midwest, at meatpacking plants in Iowa and Ohio (Stettinus 6-7). Government contracts in the meat packing industry helped fuel economic recovery, and meatpackers were in a position to take special request orders like the one for tushonka that came through the lines. Unlike SPAM, which was something of a novelty item during the war, tushonka was a food with a past. The original recipe was based on a recipe for preserved meat that had been a traditional product of the Ural Mountains, preserved in jars with salt and fat rather than by pressure and heat. Thus tushonka was requested—and was mass-produced—not simply as a convenience but also as a traditional and familiar food—a taste of home cooking that soldiers could carry with them into the field. Nikita Khrushchev later claimed that the arrival of tushonka was instrumental in helping the Red Army push back against the Nazi invasion (178). Unlike SPAM and other wartime rations, tushonka did not fade away after the war. Instead, it was distributed to the Soviet civilian population, appearing in charity donations and on the shelves of state shops. Often it was the only meat product available on a regular basis. Salty, fatty, and slightly grey-toned, tushonka was an unlikely hero of the postwar-era, but during this period tushonka rose from obscurity to become an emblem of socialist modernity. Because it was shelf stable and could be made from a variety of different cuts of meat, it proved an ideal product for the socialist production lines where supplies and the pace of production were infinitely variable. Unusual in a socialist system of supply, this product shaped production and distribution lines, and even influenced the layout of meatpacking factories and the genetic stocks of the animals that were to be eaten. Tushonka’s initial ubiquity in the postwar Soviet Union had little to do with the USSR’s own hog industry. Pig populations as well as their processing facilities had been decimated in the war, and pigs that did survive the Axis invasion had been evacuated East with human populations. Instead, the early presence of tushonka in the pig-scarce postwar Soviet Union had everything to do with Harry Truman’s unexpected September 1945 decision to end all “economically useful” Lend-Lease shipments to the Soviet Union (Martel). By the end of September, canned meat was practically the only product still being shipped as part of Lend-Lease (NARA RG 59). Although the United Nations was supposed to distribute these supplies to needy civilians free of cost, travelers to the Soviet Union in 1946 spotted cans of American tushonka for sale in state shops (Skeoch 231). After American tushonka “donations” disappeared from store shelves, the Soviet Union’s meat syndicates decided to continue producing the product. Between its first appearance during the war in 1943, and the 1957 announcement by Nikita Khrushchev that Soviet policy would restructure all state animal farms to support the mass production of one or several processed meat products, tushonka helped to drive the evolution of the Soviet Union’s meat packing industry. Its popularity with both planners and the public gave it the power to reach into food commodity chains. It is this backward reach and the longer-term impacts of these policies that make tushonka an unusual byproduct of the Cold War era. State planners loved tushonka: it was cheap to make, the logistics of preparing it were not complicated, it was easy to transport, and most importantly, it served as tangible evidence that the state was accomplishing a long-standing goal to get more meat to its citizenry and improving the diet of the average Soviet worker. Tushonka became a highly visible product in the Soviet Union’s much vaunted push to establish a modern food regime intended to rival that of the United States. Because it was shelf-stable, wartime tushonka had served as a practical food for soldiers, but after the war tushonka became an ideal food for workers who had neither the time nor the space to prepare a home-cooked meal with fresh meat. The Soviet state started to produce its own tushonka because it was such an excellent fit for the needs and abilities of the Soviet state—consumer demand was rarely considered by planners in this era. Not only did tushonka fit the look and taste of a modern processed meat product (that is, it was standard in texture and flavor from can to can, and was an obviously industrially processed product), it was also an excellent way to make the most of the predominant kind of meat the Soviet Union had the in the 1950s: small scraps low-grade pork and beef, trimmings leftover from butchering practices that focused on harvesting as much animal fat, rather than muscle, from the carcass in question. Just like tushonka, pork sausages and frozen pelmeny, a meat-filled pasta dumpling, also became winning postwar foods thanks to a happy synergy of increased animal production, better butchering and new food processing machines. As postwar pigs recovered their populations, the Soviet processed meat industry followed suit. One official source listed twenty-six different kinds of meat products being issued in 1964, although not all of these were pork (Danilov). An instructional manual distributed by the meat and milk syndicate demonstrated how meat shops should wrap and display sausages, and listed 24 different kinds of sausages that all needed a special style of tying up. Because of packaging shortages, the string that bound the sausage was wrapped in a different way for every type of sausage, and shop assistants were expected to be able to identify sausages based on the pattern of their binding. Pelmeny were produced at every meat factory that processed pork. These were “made from start to finish in a special, automated machine, human hands do not touch them. Which makes them a higher quality and better (prevoskhodnogo) product” (Book of Healthy and Delicious Food). These were foods that became possible to produce economically because of a co-occurring increase in pigs, the new standardized practice of equipping meatpacking plants with large-capacity grinders, and freezers or coolers and the enforcement of a system of grading meat. As the state began to rebuild Soviet agriculture from its near-collapse during the war, the Soviet Union looked to the United States for inspiration. Surprisingly, Soviet planners found some of the United States’ more outdated techniques to be quite valuable for new Soviet hog operations. The most striking of these was the adoption of competing phenotypes in the Soviet hog industry. Most major swine varieties had been developed and described in the 19th century in Germany and Great Britain. Breeds had a tendency to split into two phenotypically distinct groups, and in early 20th Century American pig farms, there was strong disagreement as to which style of pig was better suited to industrial conditions of production. Some pigs were “hot-blooded” (in other words, fast maturing and prolific reproducers) while others were a slower “big type” pig (a self-explanatory descriptor). Breeds rarely excelled at both traits and it was a matter of opinion whether speed or size was the most desirable trait to augment. The over-emphasis of either set of qualities damaged survival rates. At their largest, big type pigs resembled small hippopotamuses, and sows were so corpulent they unwittingly crushed their tiny piglets. But the sleeker hot-blooded pigs had a similarly lethal relationship with their young. Sows often produced litters of upwards of a dozen piglets and the stress of tending such a large brood led overwhelmed sows to devour their own offspring (Long). American pig breeders had been forced to navigate between these two undesirable extremes, but by the 1930s, big type pigs were fading in popularity mainly because butter and newly developed plant oils were replacing lard as the cooking fat of preference in American kitchens. The remarkable propensity of the big type to pack on pounds of extra fat was more of a liability than a benefit in this period, as the price that lard and salt pork plummeted in this decade. By the time U.S. meat packers were shipping cans of tushonka to their Soviet allies across the seas, US hog operations had already developed a strong preference for hot-blooded breeds and research had shifted to building and maintaining lean muscle on these swiftly maturing animals. When Soviet industrial planners hoping to learn how to make more tushonka entered the scene however, their interpretation of american efficiency was hardly predictable: scientifically nourished big type pigs may have been advantageous to the United States at midcentury, but the Soviet Union’s farms and hungry citizens had a very different list of needs and wants. At midcentury, Soviet pigs were still handicapped by old-fashioned variables such as cold weather, long winters, poor farm organisation and impoverished feed regimens. The look of the average Soviet hog operation was hardly industrial. In 1955 the typical Soviet pig was petite, shaggy, and slow to reproduce. In the absence of robust dairy or vegetable oil industries, Soviet pigs had always been valued for their fat rather than their meat, and tushonka had been a byproduct of an industry focused mainly on supplying the country with fat and lard. Until the mid 1950s, the most valuable pig on many Soviet state and collective farms was the nondescript but very rotund “lard and bacon” pig, an inefficient eater that could take upwards of two years to reach full maturity. In searching for a way to serve up more tushonka, Soviet planners became aware that their entire industry needed to be revamped. When the Soviet Union looked to the United States, planners were inspired by the earlier competition between hot-blooded and big type pigs, which Soviet planners thought, ambitiously, they could combine into one splendid pig. The Soviet Union imported new pigs from Poland, Lithuania, East Germany and Denmark, trying valiantly to create hybrid pigs that would exhibit both hot blood and big type. Soviet planners were especially interested in inspiring the Poland-China, an especially rotund specimen, to speed up its life cycle during them mid 1950s. Hybrdizing and cross breeding a Soviet super-pig, no matter how closely laid out on paper, was probably always a socialist pipe dream. However, when the Soviets decided to try to outbreed American hog breeders, they created an infrastructure for pigs and pig breeding that had a dramatic positive impact of hog populations across the country, and the 1950s were marked by a large increase in the number of pigs in the Soviet union, as well as dramatic increases in the numbers of purebred and scientific hybrids the country developed, all in the name of tushonka. It was not just the genetic stock that received a makeover in the postwar drive to can more tushonka; a revolution in the barnyard also took place and in less than 10 years, pigs were living in new housing stock and eating new feed sources. The most obvious postwar change was in farm layout and the use of building space. In the early 1950s, many collective farms had been consolidated. In 1940 there were a quarter of a million kolkhozii, by 1951 fewer than half that many remained (NARA RG166). Farm consolidation movements most often combined two, three or four collective farms into one economic unit, thus scaling up the average size and productivity of each collective farm and simplifying their administration. While there were originally ambitious plans to re-center farms around new “agro-city” bases with new, modern farm buildings, these projects were ultimately abandoned. Instead, existing buildings were repurposed and the several clusters of farm buildings that had once been the heart of separate villages acquired different uses. For animals this meant new barns and new daily routines. Barns were redesigned and compartmentalized around ideas of gender and age segregation—weaned baby pigs in one area, farrowing sows in another—as well as maximising growth and health. Pigs spent less outside time and more time at the trough. Pigs that were wanted for different purposes (breeding, meat and lard) were kept in different areas, isolated from each other to minimize the spread of disease as well as improve the efficiency of production. Much like postwar housing for humans, the new and improved pig barn was a crowded and often chaotic place where the electricity, heat and water functioned only sporadically. New barns were supposed to be mechanised. In some places, mechanisation had helped speed things along, but as one American official viewing a new mechanised pig farm in 1955 noted, “it did not appear to be a highly efficient organisation. The mechanised or automated operations, such as the preparation of hog feed, were eclipsed by the amount of hand labor which both preceded and followed the mechanised portion” (NARA RG166 1961). The American official estimated that by mechanizing, Soviet farms had actually increased the amount of human labor needed for farming operations. The other major environmental change took place away from the barnyard, in new crops the Soviet Union began to grow for fodder. The heart and soul of this project was establishing field corn as a major new fodder crop. Originally intended as a feed for cows that would replace hay, corn quickly became the feed of choice for raising pigs. After a visit by a United States delegation to Iowa and other U.S. farms over the summer of 1955, corn became the centerpiece of Khrushchev’s efforts to raise meat and milk productivity. These efforts were what earned Khrushchev his nickname of kukuruznik, or “corn fanatic.” Since so little of the Soviet Union looks or feels much like the plains and hills of Iowa, adopting corn might seem quixotic, but raising corn was a potentially practical move for a cold country. Unlike the other major fodder crops of turnips and potatoes, corn could be harvested early, while still green but already possessing a high level of protein. Corn provided a “gap month” of green feed during July and August, when grazing animals had eaten the first spring green growth but these same plants had not recovered their biomass. What corn remained in the fields in late summer was harvested and made into silage, and corn made the best silage that had been historically available in the Soviet Union. The high protein content of even silage made from green mass and unripe corn ears prevented them from losing weight in the winter. Thus the desire to put more meat on Soviet tables—a desire first prompted by American food donations of surplus pork from Iowa farmers adapting to agro-industrial reordering in their own country—pushed back into the commodity supply network of the Soviet Union. World War II rations that were well adapted to the uncertainty and poor infrastructure not just of war but also of peacetime were a source of inspiration for Soviet planners striving to improve the diets of citizens. To do this, they purchased and bred more and better animals, inventing breeds and paying attention, for the first time, to the efficiency and speed with which these animals were ready to become meat. Reinventing Soviet pigs pushed even back farther, and inspired agricultural economists and state planners to embrace new farm organizational structures. Pigs meant for the tushonka can spent more time inside eating, and led their lives in a rigid compartmentalization that mimicked emerging trends in human urban society. Beyond the barnyard, a new concern with feed-to weight conversions led agriculturalists to seek new crops; crops like corn that were costly to grow but were a perfect food for a pig destined for a tushonka tin. Thus in Soviet industrialization, pigs evolved. No longer simply recyclers of human waste, socialist pigs were consumers in their own right, their newly crafted genetic compositions demanded ever more technical feed sources in order to maximize their own productivity. Food is transformative, and in this case study the prosaic substance of canned meat proved to be unusually transformative for the history of the Soviet Union. In its early history it kept soldiers alive long enough to win an important war, later the requirements for its manufacture re-prioritized muscle tissue over fat tissue in the disassembly of carcasses. This transformative influence reached backwards into the supply lines and farms of the Soviet Union, revolutionizing the scale and goals of farming and meat packing for the Soviet food industry, as well as the relationship between the pig and the consumer. References Bentley, Amy. Eating for Victory: Food Rationing and the Politics of Domesticity. Where: University of Illinois Press, 1998. The Book of Healthy and Delicious Food, Kniga O Vkusnoi I Zdorovoi Pishche. Moscow: AMN Izd., 1952. 161. Danilov, M. M. Tovaravedenie Prodovol’stvennykh Tovarov: Miaso I Miasnye Tovarye. Moscow: Iz. Ekonomika, 1964. Khrushchev, Nikita. Khrushchev Remembers. New York: Little, Brown & Company, 1970. 178. Long, James. The Book of the Pig. London: Upcott Gill, 1886. 102. Lush, Jay & A.L. Anderson, “A Genetic History of Poland-China Swine: I—Early Breed History: The ‘Hot Blood’ versus the ‘Big Type’” Journal of Heredity 30.4 (1939): 149-56. Martel, Leon. Lend-Lease, Loans, and the Coming of the Cold War: A Study of the Implementation of Foreign Policy. Boulder: Westview Press, 1979. 35. National Archive and Records Administration (NARA). RG 59, General Records of the Department of State. Office of Soviet Union affairs, Box 6. “Records relating to Lend Lease with the USSR 1941-1952”. National Archive and Records Administration (NARA). RG166, Records of the Foreign Agricultural Service. Narrative reports 1940-1954. USSR Cotton-USSR Foreign trade. Box 64, Folder “farm management”. Report written by David V Kelly, 6 Apr. 1951. National Archive and Records Administration (NARA). RG 166, Records of the Foreign Agricultural Service. Narrative Reports 1955-1961. Folder: “Agriculture” “Visits to Soviet agricultural installations,” 15 Nov. 1961. Skeoch, L.A. Food Prices and Ration Scale in the Ukraine, 1946 The Review of Economics and Statistics 35.3 (Aug. 1953), 229-35. State Archive of the Russian Federation (GARF). Fond R-7021. The Report of Extraordinary Special State Commission on Wartime Losses Resulting from the German-Fascist Occupation cites the following losses in the German takeover. 1948. Stettinus, Edward R. Jr. Lend-Lease: Weapon for Victory. Penguin Books, 1944.

Oyster mushroom ( Pleurotus ostreatus ) is one of the edible mushroom because it has a relatively high content of nutrients , delicious taste , easy cultivation , and relatively cheap , and easily available in the market . The specialty is the oyster mushrooms contain beta - glucans and has antioxidant activity . Beta - glucans can be as immunomodulators , by stimulating the body's defense system by activating macrophages to capture and destroy foreign substances in the body such as viruses , bacteria , fungi and parasites .Oyster mushrooms processed food than as an alternative of nutrition because it contains fiber , protein / amino acids , carbohydrates , minerals , fats and beta - glucan . Processed foods as well as oyster mushrooms can be an alternative source of income because it can increase the value added . For example dumplings , nuggets , sausages , flavor, shredded, crackers, a health drink etc. Oyster mushrooms processed foods deserve to be disseminated to the public in an effort to meet nutrition for promote health.Jamur tiram (Pleurotus ostreatus) merupakan salah satu jamur yang dapat dimakan karena memiliki kandungan nutrisi yang cukup tinggi, lezat rasanya, mudah budidayanya, dan relatif murah harganya, serta mudah diperoleh di pasaran. Keistimewaan jamur tiram adalah mengandung beta-glukan dan mempunyai aktifitas antioksidan. Beta-glukan dapat sebagai immunomodulator, dengan cara menstimulasi sistem pertahanan tubuh dengan mengaktifasi makrofag untuk menangkap dan menghancurkan benda asing dalam tubuh seperti virus, bakteri, fungi dan parasit. Pangan olahan jamur tiram selain sebagai alternatif pemenuhan nutrisi karena mengandung serat, protein/asam amino, karbohidrat, mineral, lemak serta beta-glukan . Pangan olahan jamur tiram dapat juga sebagai alternatif sumber pendapatan karena dapat meningkatkan nilai tambah. Contohnya pangan olahan jamur tiram adalah siomay, nugget, sosis, penyedap rasa, abon, kerupuk, minuman kesehatan dan lain-lain. Berbagai pangan olahan jamur tiram layak disosialisasikan kepada masyarakat dalam upaya pemenuhan nutrisi untuk meningkatkan kesehatan.Keywords: Pleurotus ostreatus, nutrition, processed food, beta glucans

In Ireland today, we eat more pigmeat per capita, approximately 32.4 kilograms, than any other meat, yet you very seldom if ever see a pig (C.S.O.). Fat and flavour are two words that are synonymous with pig meat, yet scientists have spent the last thirty years cross breeding to produce leaner, low-fat pigs. Today’s pig professionals prefer to use the term “pig finishing” as opposed to the more traditional “pig fattening” (Tuite). The pig evokes many themes in relation to cuisine. Charles Lamb (1775-1834), in his essay Dissertation upon Roast Pig, cites Confucius in attributing the accidental discovery of the art of roasting to the humble pig. The pig has been singled out by many cultures as a food to be avoided or even abhorred, and Harris (1997) illustrates the environmental effect this avoidance can have by contrasting the landscape of Christian Albania with that of Muslim Albania.This paper will focus on the pig in Irish cuisine and culture from ancient times to the present day. The inspiration for this paper comes from a folklore tale about how Saint Martin created the pig from a piece of fat. The story is one of a number recorded by Seán Ó Conaill, the famous Kerry storyteller and goes as follows:From St Martin’s fat they were made. He was travelling around, and one night he came to a house and yard. At that time there were only cattle; there were no pigs or piglets. He asked the man of the house if there was anything to eat the chaff and the grain. The man replied there were only the cattle. St Martin said it was a great pity to have that much chaff going to waste. At night when they were going to bed, he handed a piece of fat to the servant-girl and told her to put it under a tub, and not to look at it at all until he would give her the word next day. The girl did so, but she kept a bit of the fat and put it under a keeler to find out what it would be.When St Martin rose next day he asked her to go and lift up the tub. She lifted it up, and there under it were a sow and twelve piglets. It was a great wonder to them, as they had never before seen pig or piglet.The girl then went to the keeler and lifted it, and it was full of mice and rats! As soon as the keeler was lifted, they went running about the house searching for any hole that they could go into. When St Martin saw them, he pulled off one of his mittens and threw it at them and made a cat with that throw. And that is why the cat ever since goes after mice and rats (Ó Conaill).The place of the pig has long been established in Irish literature, and longer still in Irish topography. The word torc, a boar, like the word muc, a pig, is a common element of placenames, from Kanturk (boar’s head) in West Cork to Ros Muc (headland of pigs) in West Galway. The Irish pig had its place in literature well established long before George Orwell’s English pig, Major, headed the dictatorship in Animal Farm. It was a wild boar that killed the hero Diarmaid in the Fenian tale The Pursuit of Diarmaid and Gráinne, on top of Ben Bulben in County Sligo (Mac Con Iomaire). In Ancient and Medieval Ireland, wild boars were hunted with great fervour, and the prime cuts were reserved for the warrior classes, and certain other individuals. At a feast, a leg of pork was traditionally reserved for a king, a haunch for a queen, and a boar’s head for a charioteer. The champion warrior was given the best portion of meat (Curath Mhir or Champions’ Share), and fights often took place to decide who should receive it. Gantz (1981) describes how in the ninth century tale The story of Mac Dathó’s Pig, Cet mac Matach, got supremacy over the men of Ireland: “Moreover he flaunted his valour on high above the valour of the host, and took a knife in his hand and sat down beside the pig. “Let someone be found now among the men of Ireland”, said he, “to endure battle with me, or leave the pig for me to divide!”It did not take long before the wild pigs were domesticated. Whereas cattle might be kept for milk and sheep for wool, the only reason for pig rearing was as a source of food. Until the late medieval period, the “domesticated” pigs were fattened on woodland mast, the fruit of the beech, oak, chestnut and whitethorn, giving their flesh a delicious flavour. So important was this resource that it is acknowledged by an entry in the Annals of Clonmacnoise for the year 1038: “There was such an abundance of ackornes this yeare that it fattened the pigges [runts] of pigges” (Sexton 45). In another mythological tale, two pig keepers, one called ‘friuch’ after the boars bristle (pig keeper to the king of Munster) and the other called ‘rucht’ after its grunt (pig keeper to the king of Connacht), were such good friends that the one from the north would bring his pigs south when there was a mast of oak and beech nuts in Munster. If the mast fell in Connacht, the pig-keeper from the south would travel northward. Competitive jealousy sparked by troublemakers led to the pig keepers casting spells on each other’s herds to the effect that no matter what mast they ate they would not grow fat. Both pig keepers were practised in the pagan arts and could form themselves into any shape, and having been dismissed by their kings for the leanness of their pig herds due to the spells, they eventually formed themselves into the two famous bulls that feature in the Irish Epic The Táin (Kinsella).In the witty and satirical twelfth century text, The Vision of Mac Conglinne (Aisling Mhic Conglinne), many references are made to the various types of pig meat. Bacon, hams, sausages and puddings are often mentioned, and the gate to the fortress in the visionary land of plenty is described thus: “there was a gate of tallow to it, whereon was a bolt of sausage” (Jackson).Although pigs were always popular in Ireland, the emergence of the potato resulted in an increase in both human and pig populations. The Irish were the first Europeans to seriously consider the potato as a staple food. By 1663 it was widely accepted in Ireland as an important food plant and by 1770 it was known as the Irish Potato (Mac Con Iomaire and Gallagher). The potato transformed Ireland from an under populated island of one million in the 1590s to 8.2 million in 1840, making it the most densely populated country in Europe. Two centuries of genetic evolution resulted in potato yields growing from two tons per acre in 1670 to ten tons per acre in 1800. A constant supply of potato, which was not seen as a commercial crop, ensured that even the smallest holding could keep a few pigs on a potato-rich diet. Pat Tuite, an expert on pigs with Teagasc, the Irish Agricultural and Food Development Authority, reminded me that the potatoes were cooked for the pigs and that they also enjoyed whey, the by product of both butter and cheese making (Tuite). The agronomist, Arthur Young, while travelling through Ireland, commented in 1770 that in the town of Mitchelstown in County Cork “there seemed to be more pigs than human beings”. So plentiful were pigs at this time that on the eve of the Great Famine in 1841 the pig population was calculated to be 1,412,813 (Sexton 46). Some of the pigs were kept for home consumption but the rest were a valuable source of income and were shown great respect as the gentleman who paid the rent. Until the early twentieth century most Irish rural households kept some pigs.Pork was popular and was the main meat eaten at all feasts in the main houses; indeed a feast was considered incomplete without a whole roasted pig. In the poorer holdings, fresh pork was highly prized, as it was only available when a pig of their own was killed. Most of the pig was salted, placed in the brine barrel for a period or placed up the chimney for smoking.Certain superstitions were observed concerning the time of killing. Pigs were traditionally killed only in months that contained the letter “r”, since the heat of the summer months caused the meat to turn foul. In some counties it was believed that pigs should be killed under the full moon (Mahon 58). The main breed of pig from the medieval period was the Razor Back or Greyhound Pig, which was very efficient in converting organic waste into meat (Fitzgerald). The killing of the pig was an important ritual and a social occasion in rural Ireland, for it meant full and plenty for all. Neighbours, who came to help, brought a handful of salt for the curing, and when the work was done each would get a share of the puddings and the fresh pork. There were a number of days where it was traditional to kill a pig, the Michaelmas feast (29 September), Saint Martins Day (11 November) and St Patrick’s Day (17 March). Olive Sharkey gives a vivid description of the killing of the barrow pig in rural Ireland during the 1930s. A barrow pig is a male pig castrated before puberty:The local slaughterer (búistéir) a man experienced in the rustic art of pig killing, was approached to do the job, though some farmers killed their own pigs. When the búistéirarrived the whole family gathered round to watch the killing. His first job was to plunge the knife in the pig’s heart via the throat, using a special knife. The screeching during this performance was something awful, but the animal died instantly once the heart had been reached, usually to a round of applause from the onlookers. The animal was then draped across a pig-gib, a sort of bench, and had the fine hairs on its body scraped off. To make this a simple job the animal was immersed in hot water a number of times until the bristles were softened and easy to remove. If a few bristles were accidentally missed the bacon was known as ‘hairy bacon’!During the killing of the pig it was imperative to draw a good flow of blood to ensure good quality meat. This blood was collected in a bucket for the making of puddings. The carcass would then be hung from a hook in the shed with a basin under its head to catch the drip, and a potato was often placed in the pig’s mouth to aid the dripping process. After a few days the carcass would be dissected. Sharkey recalls that her father maintained that each pound weight in the pig’s head corresponded to a stone weight in the body. The body was washed and then each piece that was to be preserved was carefully salted and placed neatly in a barrel and hermetically sealed. It was customary in parts of the midlands to add brown sugar to the barrel at this stage, while in other areas juniper berries were placed in the fire when hanging the hams and flitches (sides of bacon), wrapped in brown paper, in the chimney for smoking (Sharkey 166). While the killing was predominantly men’s work, it was the women who took most responsibility for the curing and smoking. Puddings have always been popular in Irish cuisine. The pig’s intestines were washed well and soaked in a stream, and a mixture of onions, lard, spices, oatmeal and flour were mixed with the blood and the mixture was stuffed into the casing and boiled for about an hour, cooled and the puddings were divided amongst the neighbours.The pig was so palatable that the famous gastronomic writer Grimod de la Reyniere once claimed that the only piece you couldn’t eat was the “oink”. Sharkey remembers her father remarking that had they been able to catch the squeak they would have made tin whistles out of it! No part went to waste; the blood and offal were used, the trotters were known as crubeens (from crúb, hoof), and were boiled and eaten with cabbage. In Galway the knee joint was popular and known as the glúiníns (from glún, knee). The head was roasted whole or often boiled and pressed and prepared as Brawn. The chitterlings (small intestines) were meticulously prepared by continuous washing in cool water and the picking out of undigested food and faeces. Chitterlings were once a popular bar food in Dublin. Pig hair was used for paintbrushes and the bladder was occasionally inflated, using a goose quill, to be used as a football by the children. Meindertsma (2007) provides a pictorial review of the vast array of products derived from a single pig. These range from ammunition and porcelain to chewing gum.From around the mid-eighteenth century, commercial salting of pork and bacon grew rapidly in Ireland. 1820 saw Henry Denny begin operation in Waterford where he both developed and patented several production techniques for bacon. Bacon curing became a very important industry in Munster culminating in the setting up of four large factories. Irish bacon was the brand leader and the Irish companies exported their expertise. Denny set up a plant in Denmark in 1894 and introduced the Irish techniques to the Danish industry, while O’Mara’s set up bacon curing facilities in Russia in 1891 (Cowan and Sexton). Ireland developed an extensive export trade in bacon to England, and hams were delivered to markets in Paris, India, North and South America. The “sandwich method” of curing, or “dry cure”, was used up until 1862 when the method of injecting strong brine into the meat by means of a pickling pump was adopted by Irish bacon-curers. 1887 saw the formation of the Bacon Curers’ Pig Improvement Association and they managed to introduce a new breed, the Large White Ulster into most regions by the turn of the century. This breed was suitable for the production of “Wiltshire” bacon. Cork, Waterford Dublin and Belfast were important centres for bacon but it was Limerick that dominated the industry and a Department of Agriculture document from 1902 suggests that the famous “Limerick cure” may have originated by chance:1880 […] Limerick producers were short of money […] they produced what was considered meat in a half-cured condition. The unintentional cure proved extremely popular and others followed suit. By the turn of the century the mild cure procedure was brought to such perfection that meat could [… be] sent to tropical climates for consumption within a reasonable time (Cowan and Sexton).Failure to modernise led to the decline of bacon production in Limerick in the 1960s and all four factories closed down. The Irish pig market was protected prior to joining the European Union. There were no imports, and exports were subsidised by the Pigs and Bacon Commission. The Department of Agriculture started pig testing in the early 1960s and imported breeds from the United Kingdom and Scandinavia. The two main breeds were Large White and Landrace. Most farms kept pigs before joining the EU but after 1972, farmers were encouraged to rationalise and specialise. Grants were made available for facilities that would keep 3,000 pigs and these grants kick started the development of large units.Pig keeping and production were not only rural occupations; Irish towns and cities also had their fair share. Pigs could easily be kept on swill from hotels, restaurants, not to mention the by-product and leftovers of the brewing and baking industries. Ed Hick, a fourth generation pork butcher from south County Dublin, recalls buying pigs from a local coal man and bus driver and other locals for whom it was a tradition to keep pigs on the side. They would keep some six or eight pigs at a time and feed them on swill collected locally. Legislation concerning the feeding of swill introduced in 1985 (S.I.153) and an amendment in 1987 (S.I.133) required all swill to be heat-treated and resulted in most small operators going out of business. Other EU directives led to the shutting down of thousands of slaughterhouses across Europe. Small producers like Hick who slaughtered at most 25 pigs a week in their family slaughterhouse, states that it was not any one rule but a series of them that forced them to close. It was not uncommon for three inspectors, a veterinarian, a meat inspector and a hygiene inspector, to supervise himself and his brother at work. Ed Hick describes the situation thus; “if we had taken them on in a game of football, we would have lost! We were seen as a huge waste of veterinary time and manpower”.Sausages and rashers have long been popular in Dublin and are the main ingredients in the city’s most famous dish “Dublin Coddle.” Coddle is similar to an Irish stew except that it uses pork rashers and sausage instead of lamb. It was, traditionally, a Saturday night dish when the men came home from the public houses. Terry Fagan has a book on Dublin Folklore called Monto: Murder, Madams and Black Coddle. The black coddle resulted from soot falling down the chimney into the cauldron. James Joyce describes Denny’s sausages with relish in Ulysses, and like many other Irish emigrants, he would welcome visitors from home only if they brought Irish sausages and Irish whiskey with them. Even today, every family has its favourite brand of sausages: Byrne’s, Olhausens, Granby’s, Hafner’s, Denny’s Gold Medal, Kearns and Superquinn are among the most popular. Ironically the same James Joyce, who put Dublin pork kidneys on the world table in Ulysses, was later to call his native Ireland “the old sow that eats her own farrow” (184-5).The last thirty years have seen a concerted effort to breed pigs that have less fat content and leaner meat. There are no pure breeds of Landrace or Large White in production today for they have been crossbred for litter size, fat content and leanness (Tuite). Many experts feel that they have become too lean, to the detriment of flavour and that the meat can tend to split when cooked. Pig production is now a complicated science and tighter margins have led to only large-scale operations being financially viable (Whittemore). The average size of herd has grown from 29 animals in 1973, to 846 animals in 1997, and the highest numbers are found in counties Cork and Cavan (Lafferty et al.). The main players in today’s pig production/processing are the large Irish Agribusiness Multinationals Glanbia, Kerry Foods and Dairygold. Tuite (2002) expressed worries among the industry that there may be no pig production in Ireland in twenty years time, with production moving to Eastern Europe where feed and labour are cheaper. When it comes to traceability, in the light of the Foot and Mouth, BSE and Dioxin scares, many feel that things were much better in the old days, when butchers like Ed Hick slaughtered animals that were reared locally and then sold them back to local consumers. Hick has recently killed pigs for friends who have begun keeping them for home consumption. This slaughtering remains legal as long as the meat is not offered for sale.Although bacon and cabbage, and the full Irish breakfast with rashers, sausages and puddings, are considered to be some of Ireland’s most well known traditional dishes, there has been a growth in modern interpretations of traditional pork and bacon dishes in the repertoires of the seemingly ever growing number of talented Irish chefs. Michael Clifford popularised Clonakilty Black Pudding as a starter in his Cork restaurant Clifford’s in the late 1980s, and its use has become widespread since, as a starter or main course often partnered with either caramelised apples or red onion marmalade. Crubeens (pigs trotters) have been modernised “a la Pierre Kaufman” by a number of Irish chefs, who bone them out and stuff them with sweetbreads. Kevin Thornton, the first Irish chef to be awarded two Michelin stars, has roasted suckling pig as one of his signature dishes. Richard Corrigan is keeping the Irish flag flying in London in his Michelin starred Soho restaurant, Lindsay House, where traditional pork and bacon dishes from his childhood are creatively re-interpreted with simplicity and taste.Pork, ham and bacon are, without doubt, the most traditional of all Irish foods, featuring in the diet since prehistoric times. Although these meats remain the most consumed per capita in post “Celtic Tiger” Ireland, there are a number of threats facing the country’s pig industry. Large-scale indoor production necessitates the use of antibiotics. European legislation and economic factors have contributed in the demise of the traditional art of pork butchery. Scientific advancements have resulted in leaner low-fat pigs, many argue, to the detriment of flavour. Alas, all is not lost. There is a growth in consumer demand for quality local food, and some producers like J. Hick & Sons, and Prue & David Rudd and Family are leading the way. The Rudds process and distribute branded antibiotic-free pig related products with the mission of “re-inventing the tastes of bygone days with the quality of modern day standards”. Few could argue with the late Irish writer John B. Keane (72): “When this kind of bacon is boiling with its old colleague, white cabbage, there is a gurgle from the pot that would tear the heart out of any hungry man”.ReferencesCowan, Cathal and Regina Sexton. Ireland's Traditional Foods: An Exploration of Irish Local & Typical Foods & Drinks. Dublin: Teagasc, 1997.C.S.O. Central Statistics Office. Figures on per capita meat consumption for 2009, 2010. Ireland. http://www.cso.ie.Fitzgerald, Oisin. "The Irish 'Greyhound' Pig: an extinct indigenous breed of Pig." History Ireland13.4 (2005): 20-23.Gantz, Jeffrey Early Irish Myths and Sagas. New York: Penguin, 1981.Harris, Marvin. "The Abominable Pig." Food and Culture: A Reader. Eds. Carole Counihan and Penny Van Esterik. New York: Routledge, 1997. 67-79.Hick, Edward. Personal Communication with master butcher Ed Hick. 15 Apr. 2002.Hick, Edward. Personal Communication concerning pig killing. 5 Sep. 2010.Jackson, K. H. Ed. Aislinge Meic Con Glinne, Dublin: Institute of Advanced Studies, 1990.Joyce, James. The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, London: Granada, 1977.Keane, John B. Strong Tea. Cork: Mercier Press, 1963.Kinsella, Thomas. The Táin. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1970.Lafferty, S., Commins, P. and Walsh, J. A. Irish Agriculture in Transition: A Census Atlas of Agriculture in the Republic of Ireland. Dublin: Teagasc, 1999.Mac Con Iomaire, Liam. Ireland of the Proverb. Dublin: Town House, 1988.Mac Con Iomaire, Máirtín and Pádraic Óg Gallagher. "The Potato in Irish Cuisine and Culture."Journal of Culinary Science and Technology 7.2-3 (2009): 1-16.Mahon, Bríd. Land of Milk and Honey: The Story of Traditional Irish Food and Drink. Cork:Mercier, 1998.Meindertsma, Christien. PIG 05049 2007. 10 Aug. 2010 http://www.christienmeindertsma.com.Ó Conaill, Seán. Seán Ó Conaill's Book. Bailie Átha Cliath: Bhéaloideas Éireann, 1981.Sexton, Regina. A Little History of Irish Food. Dublin: Gill and Macmillan, 1998.Sharkey, Olive. Old Days Old Ways: An Illustrated Folk History of Ireland. Dublin: The O'Brien Press, 1985.S.I. 153, 1985 (Irish Legislation) http://www.irishstatutebook.ie/1985/en/si/0153.htmlS.I. 133, 1987 (Irish Legislation) http://www.irishstatuebook.ie/1987/en/si/0133.htmlTuite, Pat. Personal Communication with Pat Tuite, Chief Pig Advisor, Teagasc. 3 May 2002.Whittemore, Colin T. and Ilias Kyriazakis. Whitmore's Science and Practice of Pig Production 3rdEdition. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2006.

She leant lazily across the picnic hamper and reached for my hearing aid in my open-palmed hand. I jerked away from her, batting her hand away from mine. The glare of the summer sun blinded me. I struck empty air. Her tendril-fingers seized the beige seashell curve of my hearing aid and she lifted the cargo of sound towards her eyes. She peered at the empty battery-cage before flicking it open and shut as if it was a cigarette lighter, as if she could spark hearing-life into this trick of plastic and metal that held no meaning outside of my ear. I stared at her. A band of horror tightened around my throat, strangling my shout: ‘Don’t do that!’ I clenched my fist around the new battery that I had been about to insert into my hearing aid and imagined it speeding like a bullet towards her heart. This dream arrived as I researched my anthology of memoir-style essays on deafness, The Art of Being. I had already been reflecting and writing for several years about my relationship with my deaf-self and the impact of my deafness on my life, but I remained uneasy about writing about my deaf-life. I’ve lived all my adult life entirely in the hearing world, and so recasting myself as a deaf woman with something pressing to say about deaf people’s lives felt disturbing. The urgency to tell my story and my anxiety to contest certain assumptions about deafness were real, but I was hampered by diffidence. The dream felt potent, as if my deaf-self was asserting itself, challenging my hearing persona. I was the sole deaf child in a family of five muddling along in a weatherboard war commission house at The Grange in Brisbane during the nineteen fifties and nineteen sixties. My father’s resume included being in the army during World War Two, an official for the boxing events at the 1956 Melbourne Olympic Games and a bookie with a gift for telling stories. My mother had spent her childhood on a cherry orchard in Young, worked as a nurse in war-time Sydney and married my father in Townsville after a whirlwind romance on Magnetic Island before setting up home in Brisbane. My older sister wore her dark hair in thick Annie-Oakley style plaits and my brother took me on a hike along the Kedron Brook one summer morning before lunchtime. My parents did not know of any deaf relatives in their families, and my sister and brother did not have any friends with deaf siblings. There was just me, the little deaf girl. Most children are curious about where they come from. Such curiosity marks their first foray into sexual development and sense of identity. I don’t remember expressing such curiosity. Instead, I was diverted by my mother’s story of her discovery that I was deaf. The way my mother tells the story, it is as if I had two births with the date of the diagnosis of my deafness marking my real arrival, over-riding the false start of my physical birth three years earlier. Once my mother realized that I was deaf, she was able to get on with it, the ‘it’ being to defy the inevitability of a constrained life for her deaf child. My mother came out swinging; by hook or by crook, her deaf daughter was going to learn to speak and to be educated and to take her place in the hearing world and to live a normal life and that was that. She found out about the Commonwealth Acoustics Laboratory (now known as Australian Hearing Services) where, after I completed a battery of auditory tests, I was fitted with a hearing aid. This was a small metal box, to be worn in a harness around my body, with a long looping plastic cord connected to a beige ear-mould. An instrument for piercing silence, it absorbed and conveyed sounds, with those sounds eventually separating themselves out into patterns of words and finally into strings of sentences. Without my hearing aid, if I am concentrating, and if the sounds are made loudly, I am aware of the sounds at the deeper end of the scale. Sometimes, it’s not so much that I can hear them; it’s more that I know that those sounds are happening. My aural memory of the deep-register sounds helps me to “hear” them, much like the recollection of any tune replays itself in your imagination. With and without my hearing aids, if I am not watching the source of those sounds – for example, if the sounds are taking place in another room or even just behind me – I am not immediately able to distinguish whether the sounds are conversational or musical or happy or angry. I can only discriminate once I’ve established the rhythm of the sounds; if the rhythm is at a tearing, jagged pace with an exaggerated rise and fall in the volume, I might reasonably assume that angry words are being had. I cannot hear high-pitched sounds at all, with and without my hearing aids: I cannot hear sibilants, the “cees” and “esses” and “zeds”. I cannot hear those sounds which bounce or puff off from your lips, such as the letters “b” and “p”; I cannot hear that sound which trampolines from the press of your tongue against the back of your front teeth, the letter “t”. With a hearing-aid I can hear and discriminate among the braying, hee-hawing, lilting, oohing and twanging sounds of the vowels ... but only if I am concentrating, and if I am watching the source of the sounds. Without my hearing aid, I might also hear sharp and sudden sounds like the clap of hands or crash of plates, depending on the volume of the noise. But I cannot hear the ring of the telephone, or the chime of the door bell, or the urgent siren of an ambulance speeding down the street. My hearing aid helps me to hear some of these sounds. I was a pupil in an oral-deaf education program for five years until the end of 1962. During those years, I was variously coaxed, dragooned and persuaded into the world of hearing. I was introduced to a world of bubbles, balloons and fingers placed on lips to learn the shape, taste and feel of sounds, their push and pull of air through tongue and lips. By these mechanics, I gained entry to the portal of spoken, rather than signed, speech. When I was eight years old, my parents moved me from the Gladstone Road School for the Deaf in Dutton Park to All Hallows, an inner-city girls’ school, for the start of Grade Three. I did not know, of course, that I was also leaving my world of deaf friends to begin a new life immersed in the hearing world. I had no way of understanding that this act of transferring me from one school to another was a profound statement of my parents’ hopes for me. They wanted me to have a life in which I would enjoy all the advantages and opportunities routinely available to hearing people. Like so many parents before them, ‘they had to find answers that might not, for all they knew, exist . . . How far would I be able to lead a ‘normal’ life? . . . How would I earn a living? You can imagine what forebodings weighed on them. They could not know that things might work out better than they feared’ (Wright, 22). Now, forty-four years later, I have been reflecting on the impact of that long-ago decision made on my behalf by my parents. They made the right decision for me. The quality of my life reflects the rightness of their decision. I have enjoyed a satisfying career in social work and public policy embedded in a life of love and friendships. This does not mean that I believe that my parents’ decision to remove me from one world to another would necessarily be the right decision for another deaf child. I am not a zealot for the cause of oralism despite its obvious benefits. I am, however, stirred by the Gemini-like duality within me, the deaf girl who is twin to the hearing persona I show to the world, to tell my story of deafness as precisely as I can. Before I can do this, I have to find that story because it is not as apparent to me as might be expected. In an early published memoir-essay about my deaf girlhood, I Hear with My Eyes (in Schulz), I wrote about my mother’s persistence in making sure that I learnt to speak rather than sign, the assumed communication strategy for most deaf people back in the 1950s. I crafted a selection of anecdotes, ranging in tone, I hoped, from sad to tender to laugh-out-loud funny. I speculated on the meaning of certain incidents in defining who I am and the successes I have enjoyed as a deaf woman in a hearing world. When I wrote this essay, I searched for what I wanted to say. I thought, by the end of it, that I’d said everything that I wanted to say. I was ready to move on, to write about other things. However, I was delayed by readers’ responses to that essay and to subsequent public speaking engagements. Some people who read my essay told me that they liked its fresh, direct approach. Others said that they were moved by it. Friends were curious and fascinated to get the inside story of my life as a deaf person as it has not been a topic of conversation or inquiry among us. They felt that they’d learnt something about what it means to be deaf. Many responses to my essay and public presentations had relief and surprise as their emotional core. Parents have cried on hearing me talk about the fullness of my life and seem to regard me as having given them permission to hope for their own deaf children. Educators have invited me to speak at parent education evenings because ‘to have an adult who has a hearing impairment and who has developed great spoken language and is able to communicate in the community at large – that would be a great encouragement and inspiration for our families’ (Email, April 2007). I became uncomfortable about these responses because I was not sure that I had been as honest or direct as I could have been. What lessons on being deaf have people absorbed by reading my essay and listening to my presentations? I did not set out to be duplicitous, but I may have embraced the writer’s aim for the neatly curved narrative arc at the cost of the flinty self-regarding eye and the uncertain conclusion. * * * Let me start again. I was born deaf at a time, in the mid 1950s, when people still spoke of the ‘deaf-mute’ or the ‘deaf and dumb.’ I belonged to a category of children who attracted the gaze of the curious, the kind, and the cruel with mixed results. We were bombarded with questions we could either not hear and so could not answer, or that made us feel we were objects for exploration. We were the patronized beneficiaries of charitable picnics organized for ‘the disadvantaged and the handicapped.’ Occasionally, we were the subject of taunts, with words such as ‘spastic’ being speared towards us as if to be called such a name was a bad thing. I glossed over this muddled social response to deafness in my published essay. I cannot claim innocence as my defence. I knew I was glossing over it but I thought this was right and proper: after all, why stir up jagged memories? Aren’t some things better left unexpressed? Besides, keep the conversation nice, I thought. The nature of readers’ responses to my essay provoked me into a deeper exploration of deafness. I was shocked by the intensity of so many parents’ grief and anxiety about their children’s deafness, and frustrated by the notion that I am an inspiration because I am deaf but oral. I wondered what this implied about my childhood deaf friends who may not speak orally as well as I do, but who nevertheless enjoy fulfilling lives. I was stunned by the admission of a mother of a five year old deaf son who, despite not being able to speak, has not been taught how to Sign. She said, ‘Now that I’ve met you, I’m not so frightened of deaf people anymore.’ My shock may strike the average hearing person as naïve, but I was unnerved that so many parents of children newly diagnosed with deafness were grasping my words with the relief of people who have long ago lost hope in the possibilities for their deaf sons and daughters. My shock is not directed at these parents but at some unnameable ‘thing out there.’ What is going on out there in the big world that, 52 years after my mother experienced her own grief, bewilderment, anxiety and quest to forge a good life for her little deaf daughter, contemporary parents are still experiencing those very same fears and asking the same questions? Why do parents still receive the news of their child’s deafness as a death sentence of sorts, the death of hope and prospects for their child, when the facts show – based on my own life experiences and observations of my deaf school friends’ lives – that far from being a death sentence, the diagnosis of deafness simply propels a child into a different life, not a lesser life? Evidently, a different sort of silence has been created over the years; not the silence of hearing loss but the silence of lost stories, invisible stories, unspoken stories. I have contributed to that silence. For as long as I can remember, and certainly for all of my adult life, I have been careful to avoid being identified as ‘a deaf person.’ Although much of my career was taken up with considering the equity dilemmas of people with a disability, I had never assumed the mantle of advocacy for deaf people or deaf rights. Some of my early silence about deaf identity politics was consistent with my desire not to shine the torch on myself in this way. I did not want to draw attention to myself by what I did not have, that is, less hearing than other people. I thought that if I lived my life as fully as possible in the hearing world and with as little fuss as possible, then my success in blending in would be eloquence enough. If I was going to attract attention, I wanted it to be on the basis of merit, on what I achieved. Others would draw the conclusions that needed to be drawn, that is, that deaf people can take their place fully in the hearing world. I also accepted that if I was to be fully ‘successful’ – and I didn’t investigate the meaning of that word for many years – in the hearing world, then I ought to isolate myself from my deaf friends and from the deaf culture. I continued to miss them, particularly one childhood friend, but I was resolute. I never seriously explored the possibility of straddling both worlds, despite the occasional invitation to do so. For example, one of my childhood deaf friends, Damien, visited me at my parents’ home once, when we were both still in our teens. He was keen for me to join him in the Deaf Theatre, but I couldn’t muster the emotional dexterity that I felt this required. Instead, I let myself to be content to hear news of my childhood deaf friends through the grape-vine. This was, inevitably, a patchy process that lent itself to caricature. Single snippets of information about this person or that person ballooned into portrait-size depictions of their lives as I sketched the remaining blanks of their history with my imagination as my only tool. My capacity to be content with my imagination faltered. * * * Despite the construction of public images of deafness around the highly visible performance of hand-signed communication, the ‘how-small-can-we-go?’ advertorials of hearing aids and the cochlear implant with its head-worn speech processor, deafness is often described as ‘the invisible disability.’ My own experience bore this out. I became increasingly self-conscious about the singularity of my particular success, moderate in the big scheme of things though that may be. I looked around me and wondered ‘Why don’t I bump into more deaf people during the course of my daily life?’ After all, I am not a recluse. I have broad interests. I have travelled a lot, and have enjoyed a policy career for some thirty years, spanning the three tiers of government and scaling the competitive ladder with a reasonable degree of nimbleness. Such a career has got me out and about quite a bit: up and down the Queensland coast and out west, down to Sydney, Melbourne, Canberra, Adelaide and Hobart, and to the United Kingdom. And yet, not once in those thirty years did I get to share an office or a chance meeting or a lunch break with another deaf person. The one exception took place in the United Kingdom when I attended a national conference in which the keynote speaker was the Chairman of the Audit Commission, a man whose charisma outshines his profound deafness. After my return to Australia from the United Kingdom, a newspaper article about an education centre for deaf children in a leafy suburb of Brisbane, prompted me into action. I decided to investigate what was going on in the world of education for deaf children and so, one warm morning in 2006, I found myself waiting in the foyer for the centre’s clinical director. I flicked through a bundle of brochures and newsletters. They were loaded with images of smiling children wearing cochlear implants. Their message was clear: a cochlear implant brought joy, communication and participation in all that the world has to offer. This seemed an easy miracle. I had arrived with an open mind but now found myself feeling unexpectedly tense, as if I was about to walk a high-wire without the benefit of a safety net. Not knowing the reason for my fear, I swallowed it and smiled at the director in greeting upon her arrival. She is physically a small person but her energy is large. Her passion is bracing. That morning, she was quick to assert the power of cochlear implants by simply asking me, ‘Have you ever considered having an implant?’ When I shook my head, she looked at me appraisingly, ‘I’m sure you’d benefit from it’ before ushering me into a room shining with sun-dappled colour and crowded with a mess of little boys and girls. The children were arrayed in a democracy of shorts, shirts, and sandals. Only the occasional hair-ribbon or newly pressed skirt separated this girl from that boy. Some young mothers and fathers, their faces stretched with tension, stood or sat around the room’s perimeter watching their infant children. The noise in the room was orchestral, rising and falling to a mash of shouts, cries and squeals. A table had been set with several plastic plates in which diced pieces of browning apple, orange slices and melon chunks swam in a pond of juice. Some small children clustered around it, waiting to be served. When they finished their morning fruit, they were rounded up to sit at the front of the room, before a teacher poised with finger-puppets of ducks. I tripped over a red plastic chair – its tiny size designed to accommodate an infant’s bottom and small-sausage legs – and lowered myself onto it to take in the events going on around me. The little boys and girls laughed merrily as they watched their teacher narrate the story of a mother duck and her five baby ducks. Her hands moved in a flurry of duck-billed mimicry. ‘“Quack! Quack! Quack!” said the mother duck!’ The parents trilled along in time with the teacher. As I watched the children at the education centre that sunny morning, I saw that my silence had acted as a brake of sorts. I had, for too long, buried the chance to understand better the complex lives of deaf people as we negotiate the claims and demands of the hearing world. While it is true that actions speak louder than words, the occasional spoken and written word must surely help things along a little. I also began to reflect on the apparent absence of the inter-generational transfer of wisdom and insights born of experience rather than academic studies. Why does each new generation of parents approach the diagnosis of their newborn child’s disability or deafness with such intensity of fear, helplessness and dread for their child’s fate? I am not querying the inevitability of parents experiencing disappointment and shock at receiving unexpected news. I accept that to be born deaf means to be born with less than perfect hearing. All the same, it ought not to be inevitable that parents endure sustained grief about their child’s prospects. They ought to be illuminated as quickly as possible about all that is possible for their child. In particular, they ought to be encouraged to enjoy great hopes for their child. I mused about the power of story-telling to influence attitudes. G. Thomas Couser claims that ‘life writing can play a significant role in changing public attitudes about deafness’ (221) but then proceeds to cast doubt on his own assertion by later asking, ‘to what degree and how do the extant narratives of deafness rewrite the discourse of disability? Indeed, to what degree and how do they manage to represent the experience of deafness at all?’ (225). Certainly, stories from the Deaf community do not speak for me as my life has not been shaped by the framing of deafness as a separate linguistic and cultural entity. Nor am I drawn to the militancy of identity politics that uses terms such as ‘oppression’ and ‘oppressors’ to deride the efforts of parents and educators to teach deaf children to speak (Lane; Padden and Humphries). This seems to be unhelpfully hostile and assumes that deafness is the sole arbitrating reason that deaf people struggle with understanding who they are. It is the nature of being human to struggle with who we are. Whether we are deaf, migrants, black, gay, mentally ill – or none of these things – we are all answerable to the questions: ‘who am I and what is my place in the world?’ As I cast around for stories of deafness and deaf people with which I could relate, I pondered on the relative infrequency of deaf characters in literature, and the scarcity of autobiographies by deaf writers or biographies of deaf people by either deaf or hearing people. I also wondered whether written stories of deafness, memoirs and fiction, shape public perceptions or do they simply respond to existing public perceptions of deafness? As Susan DeGaia, a deaf academic at California State University writes, ‘Analysing the way stories are told can show us a lot about who is most powerful, most heard, whose perspective matters most to society. I think if we polled deaf/Deaf people, we would find many things missing from the stories that are told about them’ (DeGaia). Fighting my diffidence in staking out my persona as a ‘deaf woman’ and mustering the ‘conviction as to the importance of what [I have] to say, [my] right to say it’ (Olsen 27), I decided to write The Art of Being Deaf, an anthology of personal essays in the manner of reflective memoirs on deafness drawing on my own life experiences and supported by additional research. This presented me with a narrative dilemma because my deafness is just one of several life-events by which I understand myself. I wanted to find fresh ways of telling stories of deaf experiences while fashioning my memoir essays to show the texture of my life in all its variousness. A.N.Wilson’s observation about the precarious insensitivity of biographical writing was my guiding pole-star: the sense of our own identity is fluid and tolerant, whereas our sense of the identity of others is always more fixed and quite often edges towards caricature. We know within ourselves that we can be twenty different persons in a single day and that the attempt to explain our personality is doomed to become a falsehood after only a few words ... . And yet ... works of literature, novels and biographies depend for their aesthetic success precisely on this insensitive ability to simplify, to describe, to draw lines around another person and say, ‘This is she’ or ‘This is he.’ I have chosen to explore my relationship with my deafness through the multiple-threads of writing several personal essays as my story-telling vehicle rather than as a single-thread autobiography. The multiple-thread approach to telling my stories also sought to avoid the pitfalls of identity narrative in which I might unwittingly set myself up as an exemplar of one sort or another, be it as a ‘successful deaf person’ or as an ‘angry militant deaf activist’ or as ‘a deaf individual in denial attempting to pass as hearing.’ But in seeking to avoid these sorts of stories, what autobiographical story am I trying to tell? Because, other than being deaf, my life is not otherwise especially unusual. It is pitted here with sadness and lifted there with joy, but it is mostly a plateau held stable by the grist of daily life. Christopher Jon Heuer recognises this dilemma when he writes, ‘neither autobiography nor biography nor fiction can survive without discord. Without it, we are left with boredom. Without it, what we have is the lack of a point, a theme and a plot’ (Heuer 196). By writing The Art of Being Deaf, I am learning more than I have to teach. In the absence of deaf friends or mentors, and in the climate of my own reluctance to discuss my concerns with hearing people who, when I do flag any anxieties about issues arising from my deafness tend to be hearty and upbeat in their responses, I have had to work things out for myself. In hindsight, I suspect that I have simply ignored most of my deafness-related difficulties, leaving the heavy lifting work to my parents, teachers, and friends – ‘for it is the non-deaf who absorb a large part of the disability’ (Wright, 5) – and just got on with things by complying with what was expected of me, usually to good practical effect but at the cost of enriching my understanding of myself and possibly at the cost of intimacy. Reading deaf fiction and memoirs during the course of this writing project is proving to be helpful for me. I enjoy the companionability of it, but not until I got over my fright at seeing so many documented versions of deaf experiences, and it was a fright. For a while there, it was like walking through the Hall of Mirrors in Luna Park. Did I really look like that? Or no, perhaps I was like that? But no, here’s another turn, another mirror, another face. Spinning, twisting, turning. It was only when I stopped searching for the right mirror, the single defining portrait, that I began to enjoy seeing my deaf-self/hearing-persona experiences reflected in, or challenged by, what I read. Other deaf writers’ recollections are stirring into fresh life my own buried memories, prompting me to re-imagine them so that I can examine my responses to those experiences more contemplatively and less reactively than I might have done originally. We can learn about the diversity of deaf experiences and the nuances of deaf identity that rise above the stock symbolic scripts by reading authentic, well-crafted stories by memoirists and novelists. Whether they are hearing or deaf writers, by providing different perspectives on deafness, they have something useful to say, demonstrate and illustrate about deafness and deaf people. I imagine the possibility of my book, The Art of Being Deaf, providing a similar mentoring role to other deaf people and families.References Couser, G. Thomas. Recovering Bodies: Illness, Disablity, and Life Writing. Wisconsin: University of Wisconsin Press, 1997. Heuer, Christopher Jon. ‘Deafness as Conflict and Conflict Component.’ Sign Language Studies 7.2 (Winter 2007): 195-199. Lane, Harlan. When the Mind Hears: A History of the Deaf. New York: Random House, 1984 Olsen, Tillie. Silences. New York: Delta/Seymour Lawrence. 1978. Padden, Carol, and Tom Humphries. Deaf in America: Voices from a Culture. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1998. Schulz, J. (ed). A Revealed Life. Sydney: ABC Books and Griffith Review. 2007 Wilson, A.N. Incline Our Hearts. London: Penguin Books. 1988. Wright, David. Deafness: An Autobiography. New York: Stein and Day, 1969.