Guate, Aguacate!

Today has been one of those days where I have had very few moments of feeling good, or warm and fuzzy inside. Basically, it was a stressful, sad, frustrating day, and that emotional state caused other stressful things to happen piling everything on top of itself to make a big day of yuck.

The highlights: the family goes to EMS to buy our 40 freeze dried meals for our backpacking trip. Frances and I share a shopping basket, and I leave it in the middle of the women's clothes section on the floor, meanwhile my mom checks out and we don't realize we don't have any food until we try to pack later that evening. I drive all the way back, lose my wallet, find it again, and on the way home see a dog wandering down the road. Somehow I decide it would be a good idea to help this wandering dog (an example of how my stress was clouding my rationality) and it begins to attack me! I was attacked by a dog! No cuts or bites thank god, otherwise I would have rabies needles in my stomach right now, but it charged me 3 times on this road that is in the middle of nowhere, crashing into me with its shoulder and snarling at me. I just started screaming my head off, not that anyone could hear me, but then a man drove by and rolled down his window.
"Are you ok?"
"Um, yeah, I just stopped to help this dog, but it's attacking me, so I think I'm just going to leave"
"Uh, I think that's a good idea"
"Yeah, ok, thanks"... I leave and just go home, slowly backing away fro the dog and jumping in the car. And life goes on. It was really weird to be charged by something, that is just a weird feeling, and gives me the shivers to think back on.

But all of this is ok, because now I get to blog about Guatemala. I have been looking forward to this/trying to do this for 2 weeks since I got back, but haven't had an ounce of energy left after 12 and 14 hour work days on Camp Roxaboxen, our homemade day camp. Now I have no choice because we are leaving tomorrow for 10 days in the wilderness of northern Maine to backpack on the Appalachian Trail! So, no more internet for a while.

I went to Guatemala!!!! It still makes me smile so much to think about... not only all of the fun that I had but I smile because of how small my world was before I went and how much more I feel as though I understand after coming back. And I smile because I got to hang out in the house of one of my closest friends from K College, Luisa, in her home country, something I had never thought I would be able to do. I never thought I would be able to experience her family life like I m able to with my other friends, but I did!

One thing that I now understand more about, is what it is like to be a speaker of a second language. Communicating was definitely the hardest thing for me on this trip. I thought I spoke spanish... took it for my whole life, took the AP level my senior year... but I don't. I was so lucky to be visiting my friend Luisa at her home and hanging out with her family, and my experience was invaluable because of this. She was infinitely kind, always making sure I understood what was going on, and catching me up in conversations. But I was in a hard place because I knew the words for simple things that I wanted to say, but when I tried to say them I was suddenly paralyzed, blubbery and clumsy. I felt so incapable. It was really hard not being able to easily say exactly what I wanted to say when I wanted to say it. Especially when I was having incredible new experiences... I just couldn't formulate sentences that would do justice to my emotions, and because it felt useless to say something in English, I would often just not say anything. Ugh, it was s crazy and hard, I have compiled a list of some things to keep in mind when learning a new language that I want to remind myself of for Spanish, and also Thai soon!:

1) Don't try to directly translate between languages. Many times I would ask Luisa how I could say a certain colloquial phrase from english in spanish, and she would suggest a very simple word that I kew how to use, but hadn't connected as a synonym. I wish I had focused more on absorbing the pattens of the language, and trying to repeat them in the context of things I wanted to say. I wish I had acknowledged earlier that spanish is its own pattern and sequence of words and phrases that have no orientation around English whatsoever. We can translate to draw connections, but sentence structure does not match.

2) Just go for it! So many times I felt myself recoil when I started to tell a story, or say something complicated that I was unsure about, because it felt weird to hear myself say new words in a new language. But it couldn't have sounded weird to them, because I was using words that are familiar to them... so what if they are in a jumbled mess, saying them in a jumbled mess is better than being too scared to say them at all for fear of being wrong. I now know that I sounded stupider kind of fizzing out and shying away from saying something rather than saying something incorrectly but with confidence and charisma. Making mistakes is the only way to learn, and luckily for me I was always being corrected :)

3) There is a certain part of our second language that we will never understand. Language is something that socializes you, and establishes a network and foundation off of which many hoer "slang" or "colloquial" phrases are built. Being on the receiving end of so many phrases and words that strayed from the unrealistic rigidness of my spanish education gave me so much perspective with which to think about the English language and how many small phrases or groups of words we just throw around, but that don't have any structural significance, only social significance. But so, so many people who speak English as a second language participate in these colloquialisms! This is mind blowing to me, and incredibly impressive! It represents an incredibly literate level of proficiency in the language, a level that I feel will take an eternity for me to get to in Spanish.

Gosh, there are so many cool things to write about... I wish I could make this post 100 pages long... maybe I can add later...

The highlights were definitely getting to see Luisa's neighborhood, school, and country. We also went to Peten, the northern region of Guatemala and saw the Mayan Ruins there... wow. They were absolutely mind blowing, and so HUGE and old! We went to Antigua, the colonial city, and Panajachel, a lake surrounded by volcanos. The last thing we did was spend the weekend at an amusement park in the south, I forget the name :( but it was super, super fun, like a resort, except way nicer and way less crowded than anything I have seen here! I was definitely in a winning situation getting more value for my dollar down there, because everything was so cheap.

Oh, and the FOOD. Oh man, I don't even know where to start... well maybe with the avocados, and mangos, and pretty much every other "tropical", as they were known to me, fruit that I got to eat and try. I loved the amount of coffee we drank (pretty much with every meal), and all of the staple foods (eggs, beans, plantains, tortillas <3). There was a lot of salt, and lemon/lime, but these foods just make your life better. To be honest, I really, really enjoyed everything that I ate. It was all just so different. For example, if I cookie was sweet it had a different twinge of sweetness than I am used to. My degree of familiarity with everything that I put in my mouth was just far more removed than I am used to. For example, plantains are everywhere, you eat them with everything, and I had barely heard of them before. It took me a while to really be able to imagine what it would be like to eat them every day, but for someone who that is all they know, it sounds so weird not to. I LOVED the meat. Life lesson #43: season your food (rarely happens in our house). Marinate it, shake something on top of it, or put sauce on it, but season it... it's so much better!

Finally, I feel as though now I truly understand the meaning of culture. Culture has been so ambiguous for me in my life, and in the communities I am a part of... my family and region does not really have a culture. In Guatemala, the culture was so real and strong, I feel like only now do I understand more about what culture is, even though it seemed to be such an elementary concept. It can be as simple as tradition, food, and historical influence over the trajectory of a society and how culture developed from that, or religion, but it can also be the way people relate to one another. Everyone in Guatemala was so warm and compassionate, always incredibly polite and friendly, even when interacting with other strangers. Being a part of such a warm environment really gave me a change of heart about the way I relate to people around me, especially my family. It's the difference between independence and interdependence. I want to set more of an exempt of interdependence in my life, and create stronger every day bonds with people I care about.

As Luisa told me, and I agree, it was so SO good to do this before study abroad, and in such a warm, supportive family environment!

Things I want to remember:
-That I want to go back
-That culture is such a strong, real thing, and I want to experience it more!
-That the little things matter so much more than the big ones

"When I'm around people I love and I want to socialize with I get his high... I feel emotionally charged and excited to hang out with them"

This is something I think a lot if people experience and I love Allison Tinsey for putting words to it.

Allison wore Rayban Wayfarers before you were a hipster. She's pretty awesome... Happy Birthday <3

It's been a great day all around... one of those days where I could't possibly do everything I wanted to, but still got a lot of awesome stuff done, like went to class, had lunch with my birthday friend, booked a flight to Guatemala, gave a presentation, passed on my Farms to K responsibilities, ate dinner with the coolest women on campus, made a frickin awesome cake, and ate it to celebrate Allison. Now I have to go and write about my journey confronting my racism. Maybe you can read it when I'm done... we'll see.

How Deep is Your Oil Well?

"Everyone has their own reservoir. Some are just easy to tap into, more surface-dwelling. Others you need to drill really deep to get to the oil. See for me, I would say I'm pretty close to the surface, but for some people it takes a lot of drilling to get deep enough... that's where the alcohol comes in. I think we should live with the friendly instincts of drunken people all the time."
-Emily Rose Walsh, Surface Dweller (she thinks that makes her sound like a hobbit)

Yes, we used photo booth, don't judge- we didn't have any pictures together!

SO TRUE. Gotta love her.

My Ice is Melting...

I'm excited to speak to this title both literally and figuratively... ahh metaphors...

So, MY ICE IS MELTING! Literally. But it's the coolest ice ever... its coffee cube ice. I'm back at Waterstreet (can you tell this is where I'm the most productive? [at blogging])... just sippin' on my "Daily Special" (what I get ever time I come which I love because
a. it's different every time
b. it's always so much better than anything I could have picked out for myself
c. It's only $3.00!)
Today that daily special was iced coffee with coffee cubes in it. Yes, that's right, ice cubes of frozen coffee... what intelligence! Ice ruins every drink... lemonade, ice tea (the most anxiety-causing drink ever, because its hot and then you add ice and it just basically becomes water- too stressful), and coffee!!! BUT, now that I have finished all of the actual coffee in my cup, and the ice is sitting at the bottom, it is slowly melting so every 5 minutes I have a new puddle of coffee in the bottom, instead of weird coffee-tasting water. Genius!

And... on a sadder note... my ice skating ice in my life is also melting. Today I drove away from tryouts for the 2012-2013 Synchronized Skating season... something I never thought I would do when I started this sport. I will be studying abroad in Thailand next year! Although it hasn't really hit me yet, this is a real turning point in my life. Skating has defined who I am: my individuality, my schedule, the person I have become, and my physical fitness. It has kept me from so many other things I have wanted to do, caused so many heart wrenching sacrifices, but has been such a positive influence on my emotions and sense of contribution to a team environment, my microcosm for the larger world.

Synchronized Skating is more than a sport, it's a lifestyle. It has shaped the way I live, how I act, and who I spend my time around, and has been everything I need until now. But I think I'm ready for something else. I'm ready to take on the world, starting in Thailand. I'm ready to use all of the hours and hours of energy that I disciplined myself into improving my skills and taking tests towards something else- maybe changing the world?

I can attribute most of my emotional development to Bronco Skating, and Precisely Right, the most supportive team atmospheres I could ever have asked for during those five years in my life, bringing myself to a place where I can be selfless, supportive and understanding of what I like to think is anyone I encounter. I have a good start on my six pack, some decent guns in my upper arms, and lifelong friends. Skating has shown me discipline, and the true meaning of being a champion. It was never for the medals, or for being the best, it was for coming the farthest, for giving it my all. Who knows what will happen from here... I feel kind of empty, but there are pitchers and pitchers of other fulfillment waiting for me to fill this void.

Courage, passion, hard work... that's what it's all about, it doesn't take much else to make yourself proud.

Waterstreet Wonders

So, this is the wonderful woman sitting next to me at Waterstreet Coffee Joint in Kalamazoo, MI. We have the same shoes.... they're like my most comfortable pair, but I don't wear them that much because, well, I'm not like her. When I describe them to people I always say you would find them in a "Hearthsong" or "Acorn" catalogue, or on a sixth grade teacher who wears brooches and has a sweater for every single holiday.

I feel really sketchy having photographed the innocent people having coffee next to us, but you just don't see those shoes every day! It was actually my best friend Jordan who pointed them out to me, only because I have analyzed the fact that I own them over and over again. I bet this lady knits, maybe she is a librarian... I hope she has grandchildren! Most of all, I hope those shoes reduce her risk of arthritis or osteoporosis.

Life is good, I'm loving being back in Kzoo, and making friends two generations older than I am because we have the same shoes.

Caps Off to Capitalsim?

Greetings from Jupiter Island Florida!

I love my grandparents more than anything in the world, they're sweet, respectful, transparent, and want what is best for us and are willing to support us though whatever, whenever we need them. My grandfather worked exceptionally hard for what he has, and they are living, what many would call "The American Dream". My grandfather is an entrepreneur who built his life's work to support his family off of the free enterprise system in our "exemplary" and standard-setting country. This was all made possible by his ancestors who worked hard in agriculture building their income into family money that would then be passed through the generations in order to support our younger family members as my Grandfather's parents did for him, as he has done for my father, and as my father will do for me. Not to mention all of the cultural capital and high family expectations that have helped each new generations to achieve the success of or predecessors. This is the privilege that I come from about as watered down as I have ever looked at it, and it evolved into a massive "mind ^&%$".

Edward Cutahee Steele <3

It started out with a simple question: "So Charlotte, tell me about your frustrations with our agricultural system?" Wow. I didn't know where to start... and I certainly had not summed up everything I had learned in college thus far for someone... ever... so I was pretty uneloquent...

Naturally I started talking about corn, then CAFOs, then high fructose corn syrup, then "sustainability" and soil erosion, and then cheap food and McDonalds, and then food access, childhood obesity, diabetes... everything.

He came back with: "But then how do you explain all of the successful athletes and long-living people that we have today? Many of them are from black families that probably ate McDonalds (arg). If all of this food is bad for you, how do you explain all of the medical success we have today?"

And there it began, his perspective of success versus my perspective of failure. I was sweating now... started talking about how medicine and food are evolving simultaneously, and how its all very complicated and different for different generations.

"But really its not complicated, as the world evolves, we will be able to solve all of these problems through science. Are you saying that the food that you go to buy in a grocery stores isn't good for us?"

Well no, but it could be a lot better. I am not denying that grocery stores have evolved into enormously plentiful ways to access food... (ahhhh I wanted to start talking about food waste and portion size, and just go nuts but I had started backing down...)

"It's also really important to remember that the free enterprise system is driven by people's ability to choose what they want to buy and exercise their purchasing power, if this is what people want to eat are you saying we should take that away from them?"

From here I started talking about what people want to eat versus what they are able to eat and financially able to afford... but was realizing how socialist and ignorant I was sounding which made me feel smaller and smaller :(

And to top it all off we started talking about the disparities of capitalism, and how I wished that every baby had equal opportunities in this world, because a child's resilience is largely determined by their family situation, but of course our family situation is largely determined by our ancestors.

The fuel for all of my grievances

"So if you work hard and get A's and another student is getting C-'s do you think that for both of your amount of effort you should each get B's?"

And then I said yes and I was afraid because I didn't want to insult his hard work. I told him we need more scholarships, that student loans surpassed credit card debt, and he said that we have so many more scholarships than we did 50 years ago, we are doing so well. It was a constant battle for his appreciation of everything that he didn't have before, and my skepticism and dissatisfaction with everything we do have. Is it possible that as skeptics we have lost sight of everything we have to be thankful for? But who am I to say that... I have everything I need.

So there I was (feeling ignorant and selfish, realizing I have taken my entire life for granted) arguing my liberal-arts-student perspective staring across the table at him, someone who looks back on the way our country has grown with wonder and awe, resulting in his 100% faith and endorsement of the system.

I was feeling ashamed of the lack of consideration and education I have had about seeing the world from his point of view, and confused about if I still believe in mine... it was so hard to have a mirror held up to my liberal-arts-student face. What is this even called anyways? Talking about capitalism? free enterprise? the agricultural system? our country's system? But for me, its talking about life, and its really hard. Will I ever get better or smarter at this?

A snapshot of food handling in the Steele family household... this is what I came home to today.

Writing about writing...

For those of my followers, (maybe they are imaginary?) who are reading this out of context, I am now going to write and reflect about my writing.

Writing about food seems fairly easy. Finding the right language to use in order to provoke the same feelings in someone else that I experienced myself was incredibly challenging. Writing for this class really illustrated for me the power of words and using effective language to provoke mutual connotations and feelings surrounding food. Everybody eats, and values their eating experience very individually, but through all of our writing assignments I began to value more importantly the power of communication and unification through food, and to be consciously growing my capabilities of articulating my experiences with food. It was striking to me how plain this seemed in our readings. There were many sentences that made me want to jump up and down because I felt such a connection with a moment or scene in a story because of word choice. Setting out on our writing assignments, I wanted to create those moments for my readers.

Transporting someone else through food is challenging, especially when it is through our own personal experiences. The authors we read were admirably well-versed and polished in their communication of such universal feelings surrounding food. I often feel as though food is such an internal experience, it is difficult to reproduce that for someone else as something that will be mutually meaningful. Reading the works of others helped to infuse these skills and understand the potential for my writing. However, it was surprisingly hard to find just the right word or phrase, and many times it took more than one try… coming back to the piece after taking a long break. But other times in the moment, the language just came to me. Most of the time it was born from saying something out loud that sounded right or got a positive reaction from someone else. My primary struggle was definitely finding the right words to use.

After I had patched together what seemed to be some language we could work with as a class, I was always struck with how much my organization needed rethinking after a workshop. As with many drafts for my other classes I felt as though during the first draft I was able to get down raw ideas that would build the framework for my final draft. Playing with structure and organization was FUN! Again, I really felt like I had a lot of power to be really careful about how I conveyed what I was talking about to the reader… deciding how to open or close a piece, and deciding if certain parts should go together. I felt that the organization of my pieces set a rhythm and cadence to the flow that translated into the pace and climax of the concepts for the reader, and these qualities enhance the ideas as they are presented. This segment was an important part of my revisions.

Finally I am infinitely more comfortable using a journalistic style: short paragraphs, fluid changes in subject or idea throughout a piece, and finding my identity or voice within a piece. Through our three forms, memoir, personal essay and criticism and laboring over each, I realize how much of a process my writing became. Though process seemed overwhelming, by the end of the quarter I saw it as an opportunity to improve… even if only by a few words with each read through, every time I looked at a piece again I would get a new idea or gain insight from a new angle. There were many things the words said about one another when they were in close proximity, shedding light on unexpected angles of my experiences. In a way I don’t think I could ever really feel like a piece was perfect, but I felt as though some of them came pretty close.

The Day Julia Child and I Became One [final]

“Don’t crowd the mushrooms! Otherwise they won’t brown!”

I could here Julie Powell in a scene from the movie Julie and Julia, teaching herself out of Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French cooking. I looked down at the mass of mushrooms on the cutting board, envisioning the sin I was about to commit. I carefully cooked them in small batches, and they quickly browned into utter perfection.

So there I was, trying to emulate my own fondness for Julia Child, Julie Powell style- by cooking her recipes. It was not as picture perfect as I had imagined it: I was wearing her signature strand of pearls underneath my lumberjack flannel with bunchy corduroys. The cookbook was faded, the pages thick with wear but sturdy and informative. My library copy was perched above the mess of activity with worn sticky notes marking the pages of attempt: the oh so famous Boeuf Bourguignon, always declared in a deep boisterous voice (which I did my best to imitate), Artichokes with Hollandaise Sauce, Rice Pilaf, Rockfort Cheese Quiche, and of course, Chocolate Souflee. These recipes are signature of Julia’s life’s work, and I wanted to capture the essence of Julia in my “perfect meal”. To me, the perfect meal means seeing every dish from start to finish, communicating a labor of love. The fact that these particular recipes have represented these things to so many people around the world made it even more meaningful.

Julia Child is legendary among aspiring American cooks. Her recipes represent many characteristics of perfection: that of a mastered elaborate, intent, and genuine approach to “French” cooking. To me, Julia Child represents the perfection in cooking as an art because she shares her love: she has not only mastered recipes that connect people around the world, but dedicated much of her life to sharing them.

Though I normally value buying foods that support the local community and were sustainable in their production, for the preparation of my Julia Child meal my first priority was to follow her directions exactly, buying the ingredients that she specified. I was prepared to venture outside my local comfort zone if it meant a more successful execution of her expertise. However, this did not change my grocery shopping approach: local businesses first, were I found grass-fed beef, eggs and butter, and commercial grocery stores for all that remained on my shopping list. Procuring ingredients was nothing short of a Grocery Store tour through Kalamazoo: The Park St. Market, Meijer, People’s Food Co-op, Sawall Health Food, and D&W. It turns out artichokes are hard to come by in the middle of winter, and Roquefort Cheese can only be found at D&W. Nonetheless, I found all of my “French” ingredients in Kalamazoo, Michigan.

Although I tried to channel every aspect of Julia, her charm and her methods, certain parts of the meal resorted to conventionality as opposed to her manual, old-fashioned impressiveness. I couldn’t help but use the microwave, and lacked ramekin cups for the Chocolate Souflee, so I scrounged up a collection of matching school-cafeteria mugs. I was nervous about the risk of using the misshapen, tall porcelain for something so testy, but, I conquered a souflee, beautifully, successfully, and without ramekins!

The Hollandaise Sauce was the most intensive: not a second to breathe in the whole recipe, and so many opportunities to blow the whole thing. Hollandaise sauce requires consistent attention: constant whipping for 20 minutes or more. It is basically butter, with egg yolk and flavored with lemon. The idea is to heat the egg yolks, but not cook them, constantly aerating them with a vigorous whisking motion. If you are to stop or slow down, the eggs will scramble or curdle, ruining the sauce. I alternated whisking with one of my housemates, thinking of Julia Child’s man biceps and determination to persevere through any recipe. I learned that Hollendaise Sauce is justanother food myth: “impossible” in perception, but like poaching an egg, if you follow the directions it turns out just fine.

The most useful tool in the kitchen ended up being our onion goggles, as onions were used in almost every dish! The cooking was intensive, and time consuming, taking nearly five hours of straight mixing, prepping, baking and warming of finished dishes. The countertops were covered in dirty bowls abandoned in the midst of time-sensitive recipes. As we were mixing the last of the souflee, my housemates descended upon the kitchen, diligently picking up the slack on dishes that had accumulated. Once the souflee was in the oven, and the artichokes were on the table I was stunned by the resonating stillness of the previously kinetic meal, after constant chaos, it was finally time to eat.

The most important ingredient to a fantastic meal is an appetite, which everyone brought to our 9:30 PM meal. The artichokes were a tease for growling stomachs, so little meat with each bite, but the Hollendaise Sauce was hypnotic, sending each of us into a trance. Next came the Bouef, Rice, and Quiche. The quiche was punchy and strong with flavor, and light like warm cheesecake. The Roquefort cheese transported us beyond the simple idea of quiche, to impressively French technique and ingredients. The Pilaf was nothing more than rice cooked in onions, and of course, butter. It was the perfect counterpart to the melting, flavorful beef and vegetables that had soaked up red wine and herbs for the past four hours. The flavors communicated the design behind the recipe: the fusion of so many flavors into melt-in-your-mouth meat. The souflee followed, the most impressive of everything, with homemade whipped cream on top. Not only were they saturated with delicious chocolate, but they did not collapse!

There are strange expectations that come with preparing such a labor and love infused meal, the moment of enjoyment was more statically climactic than I had expected. Like everything edible, the food came and went. But for all that I put into each dish, I wanted more than just the hour that passed surrounded by exquisite flavors and people I love. The time the food spent in my mouth was not extensive enough to celebrate the process of the meal. But the memories and skills that I learned will remain… and I’ll probably make it again.

The Day Julia Child and I Became One

“Don’t crowd the mushrooms! Otherwise they won’t brown!”

I could here Julie Powell in a scene from the movie Julie and Julia, teaching herself out of Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French cooking, as I looked down at the mass of mushrooms on the cutting board, envisioning the sin I was about to commit. I carefully cooked them in small batches, and they browned in no time.

The book is faded and loved, the pages thick with wear but sturdy and informative. My library copy was perched somewhere mess-free like a hymnal on a music stand. It had already taken a heart-stopping fall coming out of the grocery store where I had carefully been scouring for ingredients, saved by the bottom rungs of the cart from falling into a puddle. My worn sticky notes marked the pages of attempt: the oh so famous Boeuf Bourguignon, always declared in a deep boisterous voice (which I did my best to imitate), Artichokes with Hollandaise Sauce, Rice Pilaf, Rockfort Cheese Quiche, and of course, Chocolate Souflee. I far from mastered French Cooking, but wanted to capture Julia, and the essence of her work in my “perfect meal”.

The perfect meal to me includes insight, dedication, care and connection with ingredients and labor, it means seeing every dish from start to finish, communicating a labor of love. I regret not having more time to dedicate to the warmth and wit of her teachings, carefully outlined in each recipe of every kitchen tool and every cooking method.

Procuring ingredients was nothing short of a Grocery Store tour through Kalamazoo: The Park St. Market, Meijer, People’e Food Co-op, Sawall Health Food, and D&W. It turns out artichokes are hard to come by in the middle of winter, and Roquefort Cheese can only be found at D&W. It was overwhelming to traverse through Kalamazoo and realize the scarcity of some of my ingredients during a heavy school week.

Although I tried to channel every aspect of Julia- her charm, her ways and her methods, certain parts of the meal resorted to conventionality as opposed to her manual, old-fashioned impressiveness. I couldn’t help but use the microwave, and desperately lacked ramekin cups for the Chocolate Souflee, so I managed to find a collection of matching school-cafeteria mugs in our eclectic collection of school-provided kitchen supplies. I was nervous about the risk of using the misshapen, tall porcelain for something so testy. But, I conquered a souflee, beautifully, successfully, and without ramekins!

The Hollandaise was for sure the most intense: not an unoccupied second to breathe in the whole recipe, and so many opportunities to blow the whole thing. I was riding on the inspiration of my two sisters, who had successfully made the sauce before. Hollandaise sauce requires consistent, muscled labor: constant whipping for 20 minutes or more. The bulk of it is butter, with egg yolk and flavored with lemon. The idea is to heat the egg yolks, but not cook them, constantly aerating them with a vigorous whisking motion. If you are to stop or slow down, the eggs would scramble or curdle, ruining the sauce. I alternated whisking with one of my housemates, channeling Julia Child’s man biceps and ability to keep up in a male cooking class. I persevered, though, and learned that Hollendaise Sauce is another food myth: “impossible” in perception, but like poached eggs, and seeding pomegranates, if you follow the directions it turns out just fine. This world famous sauce was the reason for four of the four and a half sticks of butter used in the entire meal.

It was not as picture perfect as I had imagined it: I was wearing pearls, but underneath my lumberjack flannel with bunchy corduroys, and the most useful tool in the kitchen ended up being our onion goggles, as onions were used in almost every dish! The cooking was intensive, and time consuming, taking nearly five hours of straight mixing, prepping, baking and warming of finished dishes. The countertops were covered in dirty bowls abandoned in the midst of a time-sensitive step in a recipe. As we were mixing the last of the souflee, my housemates descended upon the kitchen, diligently picking up the slack on dishes that had accumulated. Once the souflee was in the oven, and the artichokes were on the table I was stunned by the resonating stillness of the meal, after constant chaos, it was finally time to eat.

There was much laughter around the table of eight girls, but mostly starvation, with a late dinnertime. The most important ingredient to a fantastic meal is an appetite. The artichokes were a tease for growling stomachs, so little meat with each bite. It was the first time many of my housemates had even seen an artichoke. I gave a classy demo about how to scrape the bottom of the top layer of the leaf off with your teeth. Next came the Bouef, Rice, and Quiche. The rice and quiche were for the vegetarian. The quiche was punchy and strong with flavor, and light like warm cheesecake. Not being a fan of “stinky” cheese myself, I was reluctant about the flavor but loved the idea of the authenticity, and was pleasantly surprised. The Pilaf was nothing more than rice cooked in onions, and of course, butter. It was the perfect counterpart to the melting, flavorful beef and vegetables that had soaked up red wine and herbs for the past four hours. It was more of a stew than I had imagined, and to be honest I wasn’t that impressed with the idea of Beef Stew for dinner, but the flavors communicated the art and skill behind the recipe: the ability to infuse so many flavors into the perfection of good quality meat. The souflee followed, the most impressive of everything, with homemade whipped cream on top. Not only were they saturated with delicious chocolate, but they did not collapse!

There are strange expectations that come with preparing such a labor and love infused meal, the moment of enjoyment was disappointingly anticlimactic. It was surprisingly hard to configure the timing of warming each dish, so many of the courses were lukewarm, a quality which undermines all of the care, and precision with which they were made. I’m not saying it wasn’t good, but it’s hard to justify 5 hours of work for one hour of enjoyment.

So Much Dilemma!

Again in this segment we see so much of Pollan’s humanness as he fully explores “The Omnivores Dilemma”, literally. He approaches the challenge of foraging his own food with such relatability, acknowledging the craziness of this attempt and process of living out what we see now as a “form of play”. But nonetheless, he prevails with such charm, his descriptions give the ideas of hunting and gathering such a good energy, and enstill in them a meditative and enlightening process that is appealing to the reader.

Pollan’s memory of “The Perfect Meal” is heart warming, and reminiscent of other circumstances of cooking where the labor put in reaps the warmth and pleasure of the experience. But for Pollan it means more- it means seeing the meal through from start to finish.

Pollan’s experience not only in the process of shaping and procuring his meal, but also in the process of serving the meal presents an additional Omnivore’s Dilemma around the food we choose to eat each day: that of the long-steamed effort and thought and diligence to make the meal perfect, to cook and to procure. His measurement of “worth” in this meal is idealistic. Of course his foraged meal would not be possible for every dinnertime in the midst of the real world, but what if it had to be? So much of this section for me was reminiscent of Little House on the Prairie, or other older tales where mealtime was dependent on Pa’s success hunting.

This is one of the strongest dilemma’s of modern day life, where procuring food does not have to be a priority because food has become about efficiency and convenience. To what extent do we prioritize our food? As the most basic element of our lives, food deserves this central focus. But this seems ridiculous to think about how much reprioritizing we would have to do to put so much focus on our food. Reading about Pollan’s recipe dilemmas, meticulous schedule for the day of the meal, and worries over insignificant elements of the experience such as a group dynamic reminded me of the meal that I cooked for my housemates for our personal essay assignment where I felt many similarities in our meal process. I faced many of the same situations- my entire week and much of my emotional energy was consumed by the meal.

Even though I would not attempt this every day, and I’m sure Pollan wouldn’t either, there is something magical about the Pollan’s words that “all the words, and memories and stories in which the meal had marinated gave it much of its savor” (408). In this sense food and our experience with food transports us in the idea that it brings us along, food holds stagnant in time all of the bits and pieces of the journey. In this sense, food holds large worth and significance.

Long John Slivers?

Long John Silvers is a friendly beacon to its competitors, standing proud in a block of Texas Corall, Wendys and Burger King on one of the highways most frequented by college students in Kalamazoo. The blinding lights of fast food and tall signs speak the language of competition. Long John Silver’s yellow roof stands tall with a bright blue on yellow nautical font trying a bit too hard to lure in the Michigan, land-locked “sailors” looking for their fresh catch.

Although clearly intended for road tripping with its drive-through convenience, Long John Silvers is appropriately priced and accessible to fast-food seeking college students. With such convenience and charm, it is disappointing to find that the food is repulsively greasy for its nearby competitors, outweighing any other worthy elements of the experience.

Entering the restaurant, the familiar aroma of a fast food ambiance is overwhelming. The interior is a laughable effort of authentic. The wallpaper is nothing short of Sponge-bob Squarepants corniness. The walls exhibit scenic beach-town murals, and booths banner-ize the names of various seafood restaurants around the country, trying to channel their charm into the seriously lacking and cheaply furnished restaurant. Any attempt at authenticity is completely undermined by the filthy, crumb-covered floor of conventional brick… slightly reminiscent of Academy St. Though trying to capture a thematic scene, these efforts strike much louder beat than expected fast-food décor, inviting ridicule.

Cleanliness is one universal quality in an eating facility that is noticed by any patron, and Long John Silvers did not impress. In addition to the floor, there are crumbs on many of the tables and condiment countertops, inviting patrons to visualize the messes that were made by others earlier in the day.

Four of eighteen tables were occupied at dinnertime on a Monday night, somewhat justified by the occasional “woosh” of a car coming around the corner in the Drive-Thru line. The sit-down patrons consist of an eclectic group of senior citizens, eating their meals in silence, left to listen to the workers chatting over the exhaust fan and snap crackle pop of frying oil.

Diners come to Long John Silvers for fast food, and certainly get “Fast Food”. The food at Long John Silvers leaves its patrons dripping with grease, and smelling like the fried crust that encases every menu item, both hands and clothing fabric penetrated by the stench. This is memorable, but by no means pleasant. It will take several hours to eliminate evidence of this one minute and forty-five second prep time eating experience.

Friendly servers with headsets robotically chirp the specials to anyone who arrives at the counter, welcoming regulars into their familiar ordering routine. Every menu item is under $8.00. The menu is well designed, offering neat packages of a “meal” or “basket combo” including soup, grilled fish, chicken nuggets, shrimp, and fish tacos with a variety of sides. As one would expect, there are fries, and a soda fountain, but a very limited selection of desserts: three kinds of pie: pecan, pineapple, and chocolate cream.

Fish baskets include deep-fried triangles of Alaskan Pollack, and the new special, Fried Cod. The Pollack is much too thin for the mass of fried-ness on the outside: it oozes with grease when bitten into. The cod is far more substantial, though still far from enjoyable. After eating the first half of each, picking the fish out of the middle fried part is recommended to avoid major heath problems. “Hush Puppies” came as an added bonus with the baskets: a tasteless dry ball of onion flavored styrofoam.

The Fish Taco for ninety-nine cents aligns with its monetary value. The fish is virtually nonexistent, presenting the taco as an artful combination of warm, limp grater sized lettuce shreds, a dry tortilla and some sort of crunchy fried consistency surrounded by a mysterious pink and unnecessarily spicy sauce.

Of the pies, the Chocolate Cream Pie will send one’s stomach from queasy to convulsing. The forty-six (yes forty six) ingredients are hidden on the back of the box while the nutrition facts are on the underside. On first appearance, the pie is mysteriously moist, with condensation on the shavings of chocolate that garnished the top of a whipped brown custard on a thin chocolate crust. The crust is like Betty Crocker mix amped up in sweetness, leaving taste buds crawling with the unpleasantness of fake sugar overload. The inner custard is bearable, but still blister causing.

Possibly the most cause for concern, as every other fast food restaurant seems to have mastered these staple items, are the staples of French Fries and water. The water tastes like mountain-dew out of the soda machine, and the fries, usually the most redeeming and familiarly comforting aspect of a fast food meal, are disappointingly sub-par. The serving sizes are small, as the fries are served with a main dish, and the ketchup cups are tuna-can shaped, wider than they are tall. This makes for awkward dipping of the fries, an unnecessarily unpleasant experience with something so familiar.

Long John Silvers asks for comparison to other fast food competitors, and asks for an unimpressive status. Its incapability to adopt the art of fast food, especially with the fries, suggests students to stick to other frequented cheap joints on the weekends. The food is produced cheap, tastes cheap, and leaves one feeling worse than cheap. On the way out patrons are given the opportunity to “Ring the Captain’s Bell if we did well!”- Just keep on walking.

Food Justice doesn't Just mean Food

I don't know how you all reacted to the "Big" news, but in my eyes, it holds incredible promise for our college campus in many realms. Here's an index article to jog your memory about campus reactions to the news.

But how does Social Justice pertain to food? Especially here? Here is a concise definition of Food Justice to spark our conversation. It really is true that food affects everyone. Not only that, but because eating includes taking part in a larger system (as Pollan has shown us) the way we eat and use our purchasing power has enormous impact on the broader community.

Large corporation food spending seems contradictory to Food Justice, because much of large corporation spending is synonymous with cutting ethical corners in order to increase profit. But thinking about the purchasing power of these corporations, they have incredible potential to influence the broader system by redirecting their spending. For example, Bon Apetit management company issued a CIW agreement that used their purchasing power to demand better working conditions for farm labor. But Farm Worker rights deal with only one aspect of Food Justice.

There are ZERO grocery stores in the 49006 zip code (our zipcode, which includes the Northside neighborhood) and only one grocery store in zipcode 49007 (The Park st. Market). What does this mean for families making minimum wage and working maximal hours every week? It means shopping at convenience stores because of lack of time and energy to take the bus all the way to a real grocery store. Imagine if we didn't have the caf... we have Munchie Mart, but getting to Meijer on the bus takes like 1.5 hours round trip not including shopping time. If we can imagine shopping at Munchie Mart for 3 meals a day, it may help us to understand one reason for health decline in low income neighborhoods. Families who do not have health insurance are often the ones who have no access to food, making their lifetime even more expensive because of the long term affects of what they have access to. The Fair Food Network is an organization dedicated to addressing these issues.

Buying "Local" and "organic" foods is often seen as elitist or expensive. But do these words hold the broader implications of Food Justice in practice? Just, Local and Sustainable food all work towards a common goal: to boost the local economy in order to create a more cohesive system for all, and to support farms that don't exploit farmworkers.

Does our Social Justice work on campus have a space to rally around these issues? Could we do it through out dining service provider?

Sorry that was long... don't worry if you can't look at it all, we can go over it in discussion :)

Michael Pollen Feels Like My New Best Friend

Pollen’s The Omnivore’s Dilemma is charming to nearly everyone who reads it. He has a way of capturing people such as Joel Salatin that just make you want to meet them! His descriptions of his time on the farm and the activities there were charismatic, and he very craftily inserted segments about the industrial organic system into his experience in the context of the time he was spending on Polyface. Reading Pollens books helps me to forecast my own conversations that I have about similar issues and how to incorporate important and telling details such as the ones he presents about Industrial Organic Farms. His tone is so conversational but yet so vivid and convincing, truly painting a picture of the food system for the reader’s own interpretation. He offers his own encounters and experiences as information for others to make conclusions, though his words have an incredible persuasive undercurrent.

            His comparison of pastoral and industrial farms is unbiased, yet illustrates the vast difference between the two. He anticipates the reader’s encounter with the text through his translations of his own encounters with the farms. His language of experience is appropriate for an audience who engages in his thought process virtually: in the context of his experience. Pollen embarks on a journey of his own thoughts and opinions in relation the ideas of others, responding to Salatin’s opinion  with curiosity, yet determination to make his own analysis: “Salatin was convinced that industrial organic was finally a contradiction in terms. I decided I had to find out if he was right” (133). Pollen presents food as just food, and farming methods as just farming methods, he does not preconceive anything “good” or “bad” about the broad spectrum of ideals and methods until he fully explores the pros and cons of each and analyzes the repercussions in the system in both short and long-term contexts.

            Pollen’s craft presents effective language and technique for talking about food and food systems. As someone who engages in these conversations on a daily basis, the hardest part is often framing agriculture methods so that people can make their own revelations through a non goal-oriented context. Pollen achieves this in this second section, perhaps most effectively because his goal is universal: to learn about food origin. His discussion of Industrial Organic is particularly effective because he engages the reader not only as a reader but as a consumer, furthering the relatability of his experience: “Yet the organic label itself… is really just an imperfect substitute for direct observation of how a food is produced, a concession to the reality that most people in an industrial society haven’t the time or inclination to follow their food back to the farm… its existence is an industrial artifact” (137). This myth busting approach grabs the reader’s attention by identifying the rest of the population as “most people”, distinguishing the reader as someone who is choosing to further their knowledge of food. After drawing attention to the difference between the illusion and the reality, he further deepens the thought process of the reader, elaborating on the disillusionment of the charm of industrial “organic” food, describing Supermarket Pastoral as a “a most seductive literary form”, increasing the victimization of the reader to this seduction.

            There is so much to discuss in this book, but I am especially impressed with Pollen’s strategy in his writing to be incredibly relatable, and introduce each concept by building a relatable relationship between himself and the reader.

FOOD at K!

Hello food-obsessed friends, this is a little preview to my choose your own adventure discussion, but I wanted to make you aware of something that very specifically pertains to each of you:

WE NEED YOU in the food movement that is starting on our campus. How do YOU feel about the caf? What do you want to change in it? nothing? everything? Did you know we are opening our food service contract up for bid for the first time in 43 YEARS this spring/summer/fall? This means that by this time next year, the college will have a new contract with a food service provider... it could be sodexo, and it could not. Do you care about who it is? We have a big say in how this goes down, so we need everyone to participate.

We need students on this campus to rally around food and what we want to see in this new bidding process. Because we are already food-minded students on campus, we need to start conversations, and get your friends thinking about food too. Talk about food, and sodexo with everyone you know, and get them thinking about how they feel about the food they eat in the caf. the encourage them to come to the StuComm forum, info below.

There are also a few specific times that we need YOUR help so that we can come together as a student body and have representation from students are thinking about food! The first is tomorrow night from 5-7 PM in the caf, we will be going around to different tables and just getting people talking about food. We need you to come and talk to people!!! If you want to help with this, please come to a prep meeting tonight at 6PM in the service-learning room on the first floor of Dewing (102a). If you can't come to the prep meeting tonight, but want to help tomorrow, meet at 4:45 on the landing outside the caf tomorrow before dinner hours start for a quick briefing.

BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY, WE NEED YOUR VOICE ON TUESDAY AT 5PM IN THE HARMON LOUNGE FOR A STUCOMM FORUM SURROUNDING FOOD ON CAMPUS! This conversation will be directly with the administration, and we cannot pass up this opportunity to show them that a large number of students care about the food we are eating. This campus is small enough that EVERYONE matters, so please please come.

I know people probably have questions and ideas, so we can talk about it on Tuesday, or feel free to email me.

Thanks so much, we hope to hear you talking... you can make a difference!
Charlotte :)

Corn!

            I love this book. I think Pollen uses the perfect amount of rhetoric, humor, and just plain fact combined to illustrate our food system, something we don’t think to question, in an unbiased tone which does not fail to paint the picture of the frightening reality.

            Part One offers a very telling look at industrial agriculture, and to me, makes our food system (or corn system) seem ridiculous. It is helpful to look at corn through the lens of commodification and how corn functions in the economic market. Pollen states that ultimately we end up finding uses for corn because the ”supply of corn vastly exceeds the demand”, and our roll is to put it all to use.

            This mass of corn land in itself presents irony: corn overwhelms the production of any other food in the areas where is produced on the largest of scales, introducing the term “food desert” in the context of Iowa, who, in practice, produces more “food” per acre than so many other places. This concept is incredibly paradoxical because the “food” coming from Iowa is not sustainable, and is shipped away to be processed, engineered, or fed to animals.

            To further the contradiction of corn, corn sells for cheaper than is costs to produce? As Naylor analyzes, agriculture does not work well in a free market: there will never be sudden increases in demands for food when prices are low. This causes farmers to make additional budget cuts in order to increase their overall revenue, and the government to subsidize the product in order to further encourage production. Furthermore, to drive this picture of our enormous corn production industry home, Pollen was unable to trace the corn product to our plates. To me, the image represents the function of corn, rather than the magic of food through the collaboration and interaction it provokes between producer and consumer.

            To look at meat, a Concentrated Animal Feeding Operation says it all. Being introduced to an animal and the “adaptation” it experiences to be raised on feed. Corn has become the definition of cheap: there is a ton of it, it doesn’t cost much, and it is used for efficiency, “offer[ing] the cheapest calories” (68). Raising beef also presents the contradiction of immediate efficiency versus long-term sustainability. Yes the grain feed cycles provide the most efficient lifespan for timely and consumer-satisfying meat production, but grass-fed meat is much more sustainable and energy efficient.

            Not to mention that all of this translates into humans weather through meat of through processed foods, so much of what we eat is filled with corn. Based on the examples Pollen gave, I can only imagine how much corn someone on an
“American” diet is eating, someone like Bich! It is crazy to think about our appetites as something that has been affected so much by the food industry, providing many more opportunities to contribute to the consumer driven industry. To trace it all to a McDonalds meal was very climactic, smething that represents the larger implications of all of the pieces of the meal along the way.

            Reading the first section through the lens of my personal biases caused many reactions such as these. But in reality, I understand the economic logic and sense that this system makes from a money-making standpoint. These farmers are just trying to build a business. But in my eyes, I see it at the expense of so many other resources. “Industrial logic” really does make sense, it’s just not something I believe in.

Long John Slivers?

Long John Silvers stands bright in its yellow scheme of sunshine happiness smacked in a strips of Texas Corall, Wendys and Burger Kind on one of the ugliest strip mall highways in Kalamazoo. The blinding lights of fast food and tall signs speak the language of competition. Long John Silver’s yellow roof stands tall like a beacon with a bright blue on yellow nautical font trying a bit too hard to lure the nonexistent land-locked sailors looking for their fresh catch to be diminished to a fried crust. The parking lot is pretty empty on a Monday night, with the occasional car that comes around the drive through corner.

The parking lot is designed around the drive thru. “Seniors, 20% off very Tuesday” hangs in the window in appropriately big font. Entering the restaurant, tall booth backs and barriers make navigating to the counter mysterious and somewhat disorienting. The immediate stench of a McDonalds fast food ambiance is overwhelming.

The interior of the restaurant is a laughable effort of authentic. The wallpaper is nothing short of Sponge-bob Squarepants corniness. The walls exhibit scenic beach-town murals. Booths banner-ize the names of various seafood restaurants around the country, trying to channel their charm into the seriously lacking and cheaply furnished 40x40 foot “restaurant”. Any attempt at authenticity is completely undermined by the filthy, crumb-covered floor of conventional brick… slightly reminiscent of Academy St.

Friendly servers with headsets robotically chirp their elevator speech to anyone who arrives at the counter, and wink when they spot a customer a discount. Every menu item is under $8.00… even the “meals”. If one chooses to think through the content of the food served at these prices, they would realize none of the menu items are worth nearly this much. The menu is well advertised, everything offered tying up into a neat little package of a “meal” or “basket combo”. A range of soup, grilled fish, chicken nuggets, shrimp, and fish tacos can be found on the menu, along with a variety of sides. There is virtually nothing green to be ordered, except for fried veggie bites and processed, lumpy slimy green beans. Of course there are fries, and drinks, but a very limited selection of desserts: three kinds of pie- pecan, pineapple, and chocolate cream.

Four of eighteen tables were occupied at dinnertime on a Monday night, somewhat justified by the occasional woosh of a car coming around the corner in the drive thru line. The sit-down patrons consist of an eclectic group of senior citizens, eating their meals in silence left to listen to the workers behind the counter argue about who appreciates the other more over the exhaust fan and snap crackle pop of frying oil.

The food at Long John Silvers leaves its patrons with the headache and pounding chest that precedes a heart attack. This is memorable, but by no means pleasant, the concern for one’s health completely overriding any other redeeming impressions of the establishment. It will take several hours to recover from this one minute and forty-five second prep time eating experience. It was evident the manager had not worked out courteous table serving etiquette as the food was delivered without cutlery, causing customers to make a trip to the counter regardless.

Fish baskets include shapeless triangles of Alaskan Pollack, and the new special, fried Cod. The Pollack was much too thin for the mass of fried-ness on the outside, it oozed with grease when squeezed. The cod was far more substantial, though still far from impressive. After eating the first half of each, picking the fish out of the middle fried part is recommended to avoid major heath problems. Hush Puppies came as an added bonus with the baskets, a tasteless dry ball of onion flavored styrofoam.

The Fish Taco for ninety-nine cents aligned with its monetary value. The fish was virtually nonexistent, presenting the taco was an artful combination of warm, limp grater sized lettuce shreds, a dry tortilla and some sort of crunchy fried consistency surrounded by a mysterious pink and unnecessarily spicy sauce.

Of the pies, the Chocolate Cream pie will send one’s stomach from queasy to convulsing. The forty-six (yes forty six) ingredients are hidden on the back of the box while the nutrition facts are slapped on the underside. Judging from its presentation in a box with “pull here” tabs like Philadelphia cream cheese, it would be safe to bet the “pie” has been in this condition for at least a week. On first appearance it is mysteriously moist, with condensation on the shavings of chocolate that garnished the top. It was whipped brown custard on a thin chocolate crust. The crust was Betty Crocker mix on Steroids, leaving taste buds crawling with the unpleasantness of fake sugar overload. The inner custard was bearable, but still blister causing.

The food items with the least potential for disaster should be of the most concern. The water tastes like mountain-dew out of the soda machine, and the fries, usually the most redeeming quality of a fast food meal, were sub-par. The serving size was disappointing, and the ketchup cups were tuna-can shaped, wider than they were tall. This made for awkward dipping of the fries, an unnecessarily unpleasant experience of something so familiar.

Disposal of the entire meal was the most doomful, as everything once on the tray of a single serving of food gets dumped into a landfill. Not even the personal follow through of cleaning the dishes graced this below disappointing atmosphere and food quality. Long John Silvers rings cheap, with each patron just another open mouth on the conveyer belt of the past food industry. The food is produced cheap, tastes cheap, and leaves one feeling worse than cheap.

On the way out patrons are given the opportunity to “Ring the Captain’s Bell if we did well!”- Just keep on walking.

Do I have to go to Long John Silvers?

            Who would ever go to a surf-shack style over-the-counter fish stick serving fast food joint in the middle of Michigan? My perception of Long John Silvers is probably clouded by my dedication to health and the local food system, which is why I for-see this experience to be an incredibly mediocre one for me, and I hope it will shed some light upon the mindset of so many fast-food obsessed junkies that we sit in class and analyze every day. Never having entered the building, it seems impossible that the cabana-sized beach shack holds a substantial kitchen and adequate seating.

            I hope there won’t be too many rowdy kids, and I certainly hope their Hansel and Gretel crumbs won’t be strewn across all of the tables and out the door. Though not a germ –a-phobe, I appreciate an appropriately sanitized dining experience. I’m sure the plastic booths will have that mysterious slimy coating on the top, and I’m sure the tables will be either just too high or just too low for the fixed benches. I bet the bathrooms will look like the ones I use in a rapid rush on pit-stops, those with toilet seat covers.

Reading their mission statement on the website with a permanently critical eye, trying to de-code statements such as “all natural” was not helpful. Their fisherman “cast their nets in the best waters on earth”- try farm-raising fish tanks in rural Iowa. Maybe an open mind will be all it will take to taste the glory and impressiveness of their “We speak fish” motto.

            If nothing else, the fries should impress. Fish and Chips? Fast food? Road Trip pit-stop? These joints, including McDonald’s always have perfectly cut, genetically modified, conveyer belt, uniform, greasy but unmatchable fries. I’m not a health freak, I enjoy my fair share of junk food, but can’t eat it without a deep-frier’s worth of guilt. I’m also hoping for some kind of frostie or ice cream dessert situation. It would appear that Long John Silver’s would strive to complete “the meal” like so many other grab-and-go restaurants… a Cod-olate shake, perhaps? A Reef Beer float?

            I’m sure the thematic elements of seafood will be played to the max, I wouldn’t be surprised if the musical ambiance was set with a sponge-bob square pants sound track...“Aye, Aye Captain”. Corniness could be a real tool here, to lure kids into begging their parents to bring them back to the cheap, fake, heart-attack-in-a-basket place. Mascots? Kids Meals? TV’s playing the Little Mermaid? Who knows.

            I expect to be surrounded by people I wouldn’t normally share a meal with, to eat very mediocre and terrifyingly fake fried “seafood”, to try what I order, and resort to eating the fries and ice cream (hopefully). Fries and ice cream aren’t so bad, but I could go anywhere for those. So, Long John Silvers, impress me with your fish-speaking abilities.

Crossing to Another Side of the Foodway

This article blew my mind. It was like everything I have ever unsuccessfully tried to say about food verbalized in perfect eloquence. I love the anthropological approach in the exploration of food in anthropological tourism. This perspective shed new light on both food and tourism for me, and how each are often victimized by social constructions.

            Additionally, learning about the concept of a “foodway” was particularly insightful. These sections labeled aspects of food that we talk about each day and identified them as one unified, concrete concept: “the network of behaviors, traditions, and beliefs concerning food… and the activities surrounding a food item and its consumption, including the procurement, preservation, preparation, presentation, and performance of that food” (8). It is this idea that makes eating an experience, and a lens through which a person can see and the diversity of ways that a person can interact with culture and food. The concept of “otherness” also framed so many aspects of familiar elements of food and food systems to mean something so much broader and more telling about society and culture.

For example, “otherness” of region is something that I can completely identify with coming away from my days of feeling like a new foodie in Michigan. Not only do certain food items and the cultures they cultivate characterize certain areas and the people that live there, but they are also a part of our unified identification as a greater nation with individual histories. Michigan is certainly a microcosm for this concept with Cherries in Travcrse City, asparagus in Oceana County, and those hot pastry cakes that I can’t remember the name of in the UP. These foods shape the natural environment of each of these areas, and thus the culture and society surrounding and interacting with these foods. Similarly, I identified with the shift in perspective that comes when “an individual physically changes location and finds his or herself loving within a new foodways system” (35). This statement applies to shifting from urban to rural experiences, changes between cities with more prominent ethnicities, regions of the country, neighborhood access, and many other complex geographical and personality elements of food and place.

Finally, reading about Thai food experiences in the United Stated caused me to think about my own patronage of Thai restaurants, and the reasons behind my yearning for the authenticity or flavor of the food, or combination of each. In a way, becoming literate about the idea of authenticity has ruined that illusion for me, and infiltrated the way I will always think about foreign food experiences in a local culture. I was struck by one of the observations made from the study that “encounter with the other is needed to bring the tourist’s own cultural identity into better focus” (66). Initially, I perceived this statement to completely deface the idea of cross-cultural interaction through food. However, it is the yearning for an “exotic” and “authentic experience” that lends distance, and therefore differentiation to these experiences, which is especially believable and even relatable in the context of experiencing food of another culture in American restaurants.

The Cheese

The summer between my Freshman and Sophomore years of high school, my super-cool, new-parent cousins Jenna and Wilson from Santa Fe, New Mexico brought me with them on a European vacation as their babysitter for 15 month old Jack. I looked up to them both, and was incredibly flattered that they trusted me with baby Jack and wanted to spend over two weeks with me. Jenna was the epitome of a cool mom: a bilingual schoolteacher, and wore dresses and skirts almost every day with stylish sunglasses and had absolutely no sign of post-pregnancy weight gain. Wilson owned an up and coming photography gallery in Santa Fe. They were in the process of building a gorgeous house on the top of the hill where they would raise their beautiful family. I wanted to fit into their dream life.

We flew business class to London, and from there, visited Spain, Paris, and Corsica. It was quite luxurious: our accommodations were splendid, and of course we were well fed. I couldn’t help but feel as though my fifteen-year-old palate was a bit underdeveloped to be launching on such a sophisticated and globally renowned food experience. Jenna and Wilson were incredibly hospitable. Although I was merely the babysitter, they were equally invested in my experience. They paid for my entry into every museum, and watched Jack while I had a chance to browse the art. It was quite a dream come true, and made me want to live up to their generosity, and prove it was worth it for them to bring me along.

Over our first few days in Paris we went to a fresh food market. There were dozens of carts in close proximity lining a nearby park, all with dried hanging meats, handmade soaps, bits of clothing, and of course, cheese. Each cart owner was authentically dressed and crazed with the pace of the market, handing out food right and left to needy customers. We approached the cheese cart half cringing and half salivating over the mixed stinky scents of waxed rinds and the delicacies that they encased. While Jenna and Wilson thoughtfully tasted extensively aged and complex cheeses, a small round of provolone style cheese coated in herbs caught my eye. It looked organic and spry piled on top of many other yellowish blistering cheeses. I asked the person in plastic gloves to shave me a sliver, and melted with pleasure. It was like string cheese: simple and creamy, the essence of “dairy” but salty and chewy, with substance.

I don’t remember my exact outward reaction to the cheese, but it caused my cousins to earnestly fixate on supplying what they perceived to be my obsession for the rest of the trip. As soon as my first wheel ran out, they pioneered nearby markets to find another one. I have memories of the cheese on my breakfast plate every morning, in plastic baggies for midday snacks, and as a substitute for any cheese ingredient in any recipe we tried. The cheese came to represent their understanding of me, that something small could make me so incredibly elated, and that they could facilitate that by providing it for me. I also couldn’t help but feel innocent and childish by what I thought they saw as my immature fetish, and comfort food. If anything, I had hoped to fixate on something more sophisticated and impressive.

Our final cheese purchase was made only just a few days before we left. Jenna was predictably enthusiastic about her discovery of “the cheese” at a different market and insisted that I bring home an additional round as a souvenir. We left with two large rounds of cheese: one for me to eat over the next three days, and the other vacuum sealed so as to escape the drug dogs at customs. As the passing days decreased our cheese eating time, the chunks of cheese with each meal became larger and larger. We also decided just before leaving that it was a bad idea to bring the cheese through customs, dividing the entire thing at our last meal. The cheese became a challenge, an obstacle, and I eventually became very reluctant to eat it.

The cheese was the love of my life, and very soon after, the bane of my existence. It was a fixation that slowly turned to an aversion. Such conflicting feelings over the cheese lead to an all time low of my repulsion against it. We had a parabolic relationship, starting with an erotic obsession that was slowly overwhelmed by much too large amounts of the sticky, milky dairy. This slowly morphed into a loathing, but then in its absence, after months had gone by, worked back up to a craving and desire for the initial memories of the cheese.

I really do remember the initial magic of the cheese and long for it, I even salivate when thinking about the salty, creamy, garnished delicacy and fortunately, that is what has stuck with me through the entire conflicting relationship. This summer my family and I visited the Plaza Hotel in New York City, and browsed the newly constructed food hall. Gazing into the glass casing at the cheese counter, my heart skipped a beat as I saw a similarly sized wheel of herb-covered cheese, and immediately blabbed my association with it to a confused lady behind the glass who gave me a sample, but it wasn’t the same. I don’t even know if my memory of the cheese is accurate anymore. Between memories both of pure pleasure and repulsion, the hypothetical taste in my mouth could be completely inaccurate. It’s a taste that will never return to me unless it is in my mouth. Whenever I see a wheel of herb covered cheese at market, I will always ask for a small shaving off the top, not because I desperately crave the cheese, but just to see if it is the same as the one I know so well. Until then, I will be left feeling unresolved.