Mountain wind, whirling snow
crushed forebears deep below
before the grassy highway gave
itself to history.
Massive heights and continents
together we traverse
trading ties between tribes,
caravans, centuries.

Eastward first then thundering
gusts of horsefire wild beyond
our ancient roots and north,
we sailing forth upon gray waves
Or weaving tentside tales with
dung-fed heated hosting between
dunes, and dunes are oceans endless
bending back to dance with moons.

Ancestral shepherds
not bucolic, flocks a feast for
blood beasts when once we stray
daydreaming milky celestial
distances. Clouds commute across,
sometimes shielding stars from
sight of scouts plotting
path and pasture.

The rains and oh the rains
we welcome changes, leafy
camel thorns, their tired humps
to fatten higher hauling; Leaving
villages and cities sprout
about, we wend the wild
uncharted ways of vastness,
visions and Beyond.

Dr. D'Adamo states that the GT-6/Nomad is particularly "sensitive" to changes in barometric pressure. I confess I haven't understood what he means. But when I consider my tremendous zest for wind and fog, and penchant for weather others consider lugubrious (cf. my 7/20/06 blog: "Lugubreity"), I think I get it. "Sensitive" in a positive way! Boredom with long stretches of unchanging blue California skies. Give me a thunderstorm, by gum!

Here in the San Francisco Bay Area, the temperature is almost always between 50 and 70 degrees Fahrenheit. We have no snow, almost no thundershowers, very low humidity -- in short, few of what most consider "extremes". But within the spectrum we do experience, there are marvellous phenomena.

The first and my favorite is Fog. Great billowing clouds of it blasting eastward from the Pacific. To suffer a July or August 3-day heatwave (read: Temperature over 75F) is to look westward, scanning the low skies, the Bay surface, for a hint of that blessed sheet of downy whiteness sure to blanket the city with its chill. Talk about a pressure change!

The second is: Post-Rain: The dark slate-skyed backdrop to an afternoon sun-bathed ivory cityscape, when all is clear, sharp, and brisk: Perfect for rainbow watching: The Major Kind that arches over the entire city, sometimes double- or even triple- or (I kid you not) quadruple-arched. Another pressure change.

Sometimes we get hail, and sometimes a quake, but within our narrow temperature parameters, it's generally fog and rain that punctuate barometric shifts. Hence we learn to "be sensitive to" those shifts, and by "we", maybe I mean we Nomads! Most people aren't as soul-bound to the phenomena as I am, but I have met quite a few who fell under the spell of them while visiting and decided to relocate here.

The indigenous bloodtype maps show something I've often wondered about: The strange surge in the incidence of B bloodtype in Scotland, as opposed to England, Ireland and Scandinavia. Scots will confirm the greyness and drear of their homeland's climate, but also the thrill of the pounding surf on rocky crags, and the bracing gusty gales across the heath, and you wonder: Why the Nomad taste for such barometric drama? And why the little B outpost in Scotland?

And here's another conundrum for you: Dr. D'Adamo says that multiple sclerosis is more prevalent among those of bloodtype B. Anyone studying that disease locationally has been puzzled about the veritable MS hotbed in the Faeroe Islands (62N, 6-8E) way north of Scotland, north even of the Shetlands.

It may now be apposite for me to have a look at the barometric/weather patterns of the Eurasian steppe, Caucasus and Carpathians, whence My People migrated to America, and where B is customarily found.

B in Scotland?
MS in the Faeroes?
This B and the moody heath?
Melancholy weather, shrouded in mystery: And you thought this was just a diet.

Posted by Peter D'Adamo for Sante_J.

I won't mince words: I'm on a junk jag. I'm feeling lazy and choose to order in or go for quick meals. I'll touch upon four "avoid" foods I've tasted -- truly tasted -- recently.

The first is popcorn. I've gone many years in a row with no popcorn. I don't miss it. But now that I've had some, I've discovered that it has a powerful taste with which I'm no longer familiar: It's CORNY! There's just no other way to describe it. The interesting thing about popcorn is: It's easy to eat without tasting it. You can focus on your movie or TV show. You can perceive it mostly texturally (a sensual marvel in itself). You can enjoy the butter or the salt or the herb-sprinkle. You can mindlessly scarf it down by the handful. But if you stop and focus, there's just no way around its sheer corniness. It's quite miraculous, really, that corn, burst from its kernel, tastes the way corn on the cob tastes, the way ground corn in chips tastes: Corny. And nothing else in the world does, or comes close.

The second is root beer. This is a subject worthy of its very own blog. I "discovered" root beer this spring. I'm sipping one right now. It's rather a delicacy for me, as an "avoid", and I relish it. A good root beer (this one is "Barq's Famous Olde Tyme...Since 1898")(it also contains corn syrup - I know - and it doesn't taste corny) brings out my inner perfumer. It has a dark, musty patchouli-like base, the requisite hint of birch, a vanilla roundness, and a spiking of clove. A sophisticated cordial, if well blended and properly appreciated. A top-notch root beer syrup could be a cocktail ingredient, extended, perhaps, with rum or certain whiskies.

Third is arabbiata or "fra diavolo" tomato sauce. The "diavolo" is in the peppers, and they're essential to complexifying a good marinara base, especially if undergirded by such suitable foils as crustaceans or a beneficial ocean fish such as halibut. Linguine marinara is fine, but just as easy is a jar of Rao's Arabbiata or Classico Spicy Pepper tomato sauce. Another way to add interest is to do as my Nana so masterfully did: Go Garlicky.

Fourth is vanilla ice cream or frozen yogurt. No: I don't like them lately. Haagen-Dasz vanilla frozen yogurt, Breyer's vanilla ice cream. Taste: Sugar, sugar, sugar (and probably corn syrup too, again!). A single note with no complexity. These might silkily enrich a fine root beer (as a "float") or take a brandy- or rum-based saucing, but alone they are no longer (Hooray!) a temptation. They'd do well to take on a textural garnish component, such as particularly raspy walnuts, with that rum sauce, or to be founded upon a spiced cake. Of the four recent avoids, solitary vanilla ice cream is the low scorer, by a wide margin (Then again, I'm not exactly advocating solitary tomato sauce!).

I could easily have hidden from you my little vices. But what I wanted to share was the art of fully experiencing one's food. Avoids are foods we may be better qualified to truly taste, for their being relative rarities in our long-term programs. And if you're going to "cheat", make it good!

Dr. D'Adamo says he waits all year for his wife Martha's stuffed cabbage, an avoid for him. I'll bet he really tastes it, too.

Once upon a time in Oriental climes, there languished huge populations of exhausted progeny of migrants and nomads. Now largely settled in China, Korea, SE Asia, Siam, and India, they received travelers from the West hungry for their silks and spices, curious about their ancient and enigmatic ways. The West was in temporary ascendancy, crossing the high seas using largely eastern technologies.

In their lust for routes to the East, Europeans sailed westward to the Americas, bringing to these virgin cultures their bacteria and sugar cane, dogs and horses, trading these for gold, silver, emeralds, cacao, vanilla, potatoes, tomatoes, and hot peppers. Their hosts were decimated.

You see, the Western Hemisphere, certainly South of the Rio Grande, was populated exclusively by those of bloodtype O, with no immunity to the yellow fever and malaria carried relatively easily by their A "discoverers". Surely it baffled the Europeans that these natives were so strangely fragile and short-lived.

Arriving back in Europe, the New World's bounty was appreciated. "Che bello frutta!" exclaimed the Italians over the pomodoro/tomato. "OLaLa! Les pommes--de terre!" marvelled the French over potatoes. Dessert was certainly never the same after chocolate's and vanilla's arrival. But --- What to do with this succulent spicy vegetable? "Too hot!" gasped alarmed Europeans, choking on peppers large and small.

In Europe's fringe areas of North Africa andHungary/Balkans, however, where Oriental/Arab/Black influence was stronger, the flavor was found intriguing, even marvelous. Turks, Persians, all were excited, but the Great Awakening took place in Goa, South India, when the Portuguese for the first time brought the new discovery for trade in the early 16th century. The Indians bought America's hot peppers from these Europeans, and the cuisines of south India, of Siam, Burma and China were forever changed. A fire was lit under an introspective culture in preparation for its re-emergence on the world -- global -- scene.

Peppers. The B bloodgroup, of specifically Asian provenance, though represented moderately in Africa, Western Russia and the Balkans via westward migrations, began to thrive on them, but had lived for thousands of years without them. European A's, finding themselves in possession of a food item so nourishing to the native O population whence it had come, found that they themselves simply could not stomach it! Probably recognizing that the Easterners in their midst seemed to have no problems digesting peppers, these A's cannily carried them to the Asian market as a (hot) novelty item. (And how many Spaniards and Portuguese died of scurvy on their return voyages in the 15th-17th centuries because this amazing vitamin C source burned their throats!)

As a B myself, I'm quite grateful to the O's and A's who gave their lives, whether on their own soil or on the high seas, that I and my outlying people might be delightfully energized.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

You may not (yet) understand the role of the hot pepper in the inevitable Asian/B-allele's ascendancy. That's fine with us. We don't mind a cloak of mystique; we can see over the next dune.

I've come to the realization that I find the 3-meals-per-day model oppressive. And I think it may be bloodtype-related.

We B's are outsiders, not settled village folk. Gathering 'round the breakfast and lunch tables may be ideal for farmers and shopkeepers, and even for some trappers and gatherers, but those of us on the move just reach down into our mounts' saddlebags - whenever - and grab a stick of jerky or a few dates or fermented milk.At day's end there's the more sociable fire, and, if the saluki dispatched a gazelle, there's a feast around the platter, otherwise a bunny, a lamb chop, or, most often, just some grain/bread and curds/whey and, later, coffee.

If you run the demographic numbers, you'll find that modern Bs are far less likely to be 9-to-5'ers than are As or Os. Bearing this in mind, you'll understand why those of us who do adapt to the standard workday struggle with what's called "meal skipping" until we (fitfully)adapt to essentially alien ways. But those of us out in the open pasture, the mountains, the deserts, aren't stopping the caravan midday to throw together what you'd call a meal.

So if you're type B and this is your (modern) situation, you might want to experiment with reconnoitering the portions into two real meals and a snack, or one real meal and two light ones. You may not be shepherding cattle down from the highlands or seeking an oasis in the Sahara, but maybe you're a freelance consultant visiting clients or an artist in a studio on your own natural timeclock with no mandated schedule. It's only my opinion and B-experience, but maybe, like this seasoned B, you've found yourself maladapting to the sit-down Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner standard on a permanent basis.

I float the hypothesis for you bloodtype health practitioners: Scan your files for B cases with meal-skipping tendencies. And bear this in mind: A number of ABO personality theorists remark that many B's are driven to focus on a project/task ( I call it "burrowing") for very long uninterrupted stretches, hours on end. Rather than simply notice it and smile about it, maybe we should be respecting it, not expecting Bs to break for a workout, as an O might, or a nap or yogic pose, as would an A, let alone for a meal.

I posit that Bs mealskip because of deeply rooted anthropologic-genetic factors, and that diets, and especially portions, should take this gene-linked tendency, this ingrained adaptation of a small percent of our population, into account. From my B point of view, we're not skipping anything. Though devotees of the currently dominant cultus chastise us ("You call that breakfast?!" or "Don't you want to stop for lunch now?"), it's only because they haven't eyes for the vast steppe we're traversing.