Process Writing

          When writing the pieces we did for the class, there was most definitely NOT a singular process I used for all of them. Each was related to food and/or travel, but each was so different than the others. For our first piece, the memoir, I had to think for about two weeks until I reached a topic. I first began thinking about different places I'd been, and how food had been part of that place...I thought of Mexico and fish tacos, I thought of Spain and the free tapas, I thought of California and Waffle House. I could think of plenty of experiences I'd had with food and new places. I even started paragraphs about a couple of them -- but none of them really took off. I was stuck for a good three or four days, and then suddenly it hit me -- how I realized food's role in my life as a result of not having it. I had completely forgotten about my Yosemite experience, because food wasn't really present for a lot of it. In terms of readers' comments on this one, it seemed like there were a few people who liked an abrupt ending and a few people who wanted more of a sound conclusion. I didn't really want to resolve the piece entirely, as I felt that seemed dishonest to the actual feel of the piece; I ended up adding a bit more, but only some of my inner thoughts about how crazy people were getting. I still wanted to end it on a tense note.
          I like starting off with strong imagery, so that's what I did for the memoir; from there, I just described the day before we got back to civilization and the tension that had built up between us. Once I finally got going, I'd say it was the fastest piece to hammer out for me. It's definitely easier to write when you're reliving the emotions that were part of the situation. The first time we did workshop for people's pieces, I was so pleasantly surprised -- I really liked that we devoted so much time to suggestions for each person, and I really got a good sense of how my pieces were being received/what needed to be changed! It was frustrating sometimes when I couldn't respond or answer questions people had, but I think not being able to defend myself made me really consider everything people were saying; it didn't matter what I meant to say, because what really mattered how the class received it. I liked that we all took the time to thoroughly read each person's draft and then made detailed comments on their blogs -- really useful!
          The perfect meal piece was a little harder for me, but I'm still not quite sure why...I guess I struggled a bit to find an over-arching theme that ran through the whole thing. I think I was trying to make it really genuine, and it ended up not being so much because I was trying too hard. I was going home that weekend, and I was really looking forward to getting out of the K bubble and having a relaxing weekend at home; I expected to have my mom's pizza one night that weekend, and then thought -- I've missed this stuff so much, why don't I just make it and eat at home for my perfect meal? I was the only one in the house while I was cooking, so including a lot of inner-thought in the piece was important. This is where I struggled in this piece, mostly because when writing it I didn't really remember a lot I had thought about...I felt like I was forcing it when I was writing, and as a result I didn't end up with enough character voice during the cooking section. My parents added a lot of that characterization, but it wasn't quite enough. The readers were especially helpful with the piece; their suggestions really helped me sharpen it up, and look for a more grounded theme throughout.

          I was probably the most worried about the restaurant review piece, but it actually ended up being the easiest for me to write! After choosing a cuisine I'd never had, I chose a restaurant, had the experience/took notes, and then the writing pretty much flowed from there. I had taken really detailed notes while at Zooroona, so the hard part was over and I could just tell people what I thought about the place. It was really fun going into a restaurant with the "reviewer" attitude -- I found myself noticing so much more, and made myself order a huge variety of many different items to get a good sense of the menu. I realized how much detail there was to notice, how much there was to write down, and I wondered how Sam Sifton could write such incredibly detailed reviews without giving away the fact that he was a food critic...I found myself jotting down notes every couple seconds, trying to include as much insight about the place that he did in his reviews.

Post-Restaurant Review

          Before going to Zooroona, my expectations were significantly changed after reading the "Culinary Tourism" excerpt; I didn't expect to find true authenticity, as I wasn't even sure if authenticity existed or what it actually was. What I did expect from my visit to Zooroona was to have a genuinely different experience, even if it meant it was only a mere resemblance of a true Middle-Eastern cuisine. I wanted to have some kind of border-crossing experience, possibly going out of my comfort zone and ordering cuisine that I wasn't familiar with in an environment I wasn't familiar with.
          My expectations for a uniquely different, border-crossing experience were met -- I could have chosen to sit at a table, like the hundreds I've sat at before, but to get a different eating experience I chose the seating option sitting on the floor that the restaurant waiter said was "traditional". Sprawled on cushions in my socks next to friends created a much more warm and relaxing feeling, and I got to experience "Middle-Eastern" cuisine (presuming it did resemble actual cuisine served in the Middle East) by ordering "traditional" items recommended by my kooky waiter. Sure, all of this could have been far from an actual Middle-Eastern experience. But it was different and outside of what I was used to, which was what I was looking for. From this experience, I'll continue to question if authenticity actually exists, and will try not to expect certain features I consider to be "authentic" from places both on study abroad in France and wherever else I travel. I don't want to an existential tourist -- I don't want to have rigid, defined expectations of an experience that must be fulfilled in order to make it positive. I want to go into every culturally different situation with a really open mind, and experience whatever that cuisine/culture is about.

Kalama-Zooroona

          At 1710 West Main in Kalamazoo, Zooroona offers a variety of dishes from Iraq, Syria, Turkey and Lebanon, and is located at the back of a strip mall, Tiffany's Plaza. It's a relatively new restaurant; the Mandwee brothers first opened "Tiffany's Wine and Spirits" shop in the same strip mall, and in late 2009, Zooroona came to sit a few stores down. Appearing small from the outside, the Middle-Eastern style restaurant is marked by a neon sign and looks to be about a third of the size of the beauty store next to it. 

          The name Zooroona means "come visit us" in Arabic, and this welcoming attitude is evident when first walking through the doors. It may look small, nothing special from the outside -- but the interior transports diners away from the shabby strip mall parking lot. Completely. As the hostess gives a warm welcome, colorful glints of light shine from all over the now seemingly cavernous room; the decorative lamps hanging from the ceiling are covered in beautiful colored glass, with intricately detailed patterns over the glass to let spots of light glimmer through. The walls glow deep red, bright blue and gold; and at the back center is a long mural depicting a dancing woman surrounded by desert sands and men playing instruments. Glittering white lights spider along the ceiling, giving the dim and seductive-looking room a bit more coziness.

          Diners have the choice of being seated at a customary Western table with chairs, or perhaps one of the "traditional" Middle-Eastern settings. If so, don't just go with the table and chairs -- chairs are lame. Chairs are overrated. Instead, choose a "traditional" table about two feet off the ground, kick off your shoes (who needs 'em?), sprawl across the colorfully decorated cushions, and order some tea. Surrounded by draping curtains and golden walls, the cozy ambience is hard to pass up.

          The drinks on Zooroona's menu look delicious -- mouth-watering blends of watermelon, mango and orange juice, or strawberries, peaches and apples, can be seen. But be careful when ordering, because chances are, diners may only get to read about the drink they've decided on.

          It's respectable that the restaurant doesn't make drinks with foods that aren't in season -- then their honesty about the freshness of the food is genuine. But when the restaurant doesn't change the menu to reflect these conditions, it can be a bit disappointing to be set on something and then find out almost none of the drinks mentioned are available. Even though sipping on a Yamal Bagdad may not be an option, the basket of pita and tray of olive oil with oregano and thyme quickly makes up for the minor disappointment.

          Aside from the mythical fruit drinks, the Shinina is an interesting beverage characterized by a mix of yoghurt, lemon and salt -- but when it comes to the Shinina, the wait staff will tell diners directly not to order it. According to the waiter, unless they enjoy the "gross" taste of bitter yoghurt mixed with spoonfuls of salt, the customer should completely avoid this item. On the other hand, they do recommend the Zohorat tea -- this tea turns out to be a wonderfully mild, herbal blend of eleven different flowers (which are still floating around in the pot) that is poured into tiny glasses with detailed gold paint. For appetizers, or "Mazza" dishes, diners might decide on the Baba Ghannouj. One of the restaurant's specialties, it is a wonderful Syrian dip of eggplant, lemon and garlic that provides a smooth and flavorful addition to the pita. It's a good deal for a mere $6, and comes in large quantities. The falafel isn't far behind either; the crunchy, crisp outside reveals a deliciously soft mix of garbanzo beans and parsley inside. The Dolmeh is for those with more of a taste towards the bitter -- grape leaves are smooth to the touch but gritty when chewing, and the lemon and vegetables wrapped inside makes the bitter leaves even stronger. While eating, diners might have their glasses filled by the manager of the restaurant -- he admits that he usually "end[s] up being the water guy" most nights.

          As appetizers run out and tea gets low, the friendly waiter will climb up once again and kneel down next to the table to get entrée orders, or "Aklaat" dishes. They recommend their chicken and beef shawermah, which ranges from $12 to $14 -- and meat eaters would be smart to listen. Hints of lemon can be detected within the creamy, smooth consistency of the beef shawermah, and the chicken shawermah is charred to perfection. Use the tahini sauce for the beef, as the sauce of sesame seeds gives a wonderful smoky flavor to the meat. 

          The Baghdad Kafta Kabob is considered a "house favorite," although tastes pretty much like a regular ground beef burger. It can be a bit dry, but the tahini sauce bumps up the quality. The Tawook, on the other hand, is charred chicken mixed delightfully with lemon, grilled peppers and onions, and has a much fresher flavor.

          The meals come in considerably large portions, but if the meal hasn't gotten the better of anyone's stomach yet, diners might consider getting dessert. Here, in addition to the drinks, there may also be items that are destined only to be read. Kanafa, a sweet traditional cheese pastry, looks like a perfect choice -- but alas! By only 6:30 in the evening, according to the waiter they may be "all out". Don't worry, because there are regular dessert items that aren't on the menu. Diners might consider the carrot cake, for example -- and no, this is most definitely not the sugar-packed cake that often is served with cream cheese. This Carrot Hallwa is indeed carrot cake -- and literally takes the form of a sweet wedge of shredded carrots. It takes a bit of getting used to, but is a really unique combination of candied lemon peel, sugary carrots and pistachio nut. Diners also might consider the date cake not offered on the menu; with a dollop of rich cream freshly whipped, diners are served a humongous slice of incredibly rich and dense cake with tantalizing pieces of date mixed in. No doubt about it, this cake is worth...however much it cost. 

          And, for a chosen few on a specific night of the week, diners may be treated to a belly-dancing performance during dinner. The lights go off, the "Arabian Nights"-esque music turns up to a level that drowns out conversation, and a woman in a flowing "bedleh" costume will come out to jangle around amidst the diners. The unexpected performance is entertaining to watch, unless customers aren't looking for a mid-dinner distraction. Although there may be a few items on the menu that need adjusting, this is a minor setback is easily overlooked by the end of the evening. And although the belly-dancing performance may be a bit overly diverting, it gives the message that the restaurant's mesmerizing lights do -- ahlan wa sehlan. You are always welcome.

Kalama-Zooroona -- Review

          At 1710 West Main in Kalamazoo, Zooroona offers a variety of dishes from Iraq, Syria, Turkey and Lebanon, and is located at the back of a strip mall, Tiffany's Plaza. Appearing small from the outside, the middle-eastern style restaurant is marked by a neon sign and looks to be about a third of the size of the beauty store next to it. It's a relatively new restaurant; the Mandwee brothers first opened "Tiffany's Wine and Spirits" shop in the same strip mall, and in late 2009, Zooroona came to sit a few stores down.

          The interesting name of the establishment means "come visit us" in Arabic, and this welcoming demeanor is evident when first walking through the doors. It may look small, nothing special from the outside -- but the interior transports you away from the shabby strip mall parking lot. Completely. As the hostess gives a warm welcome, colorful glints of light shine from all over the now seemingly cavernous room; the decorative lamps hanging from the ceiling are covered in beautiful colored glass, with intricately detailed patterns over the glass to let spots of light glimmer through. The walls glow deep red, bright blue and gold; and at the back center is a long mural depicting a dancing woman surrounded by desert sands and men playing instruments. Glittering white lights spider along the ceiling, giving the dim and exotic looking room a bit more coziness.

          You have your choice of being seated at a normal table with chairs, or if you're lucky, one of the "traditional" middle-eastern settings might be open. If so, don't just go with the regular table and chairs -- chairs are lame. Chairs are overrated. Instead, choose a "traditional" table about two feet off the ground, kick off your shoes (who needs 'em?), sprawl across the colorfully decorated cushions, and order some tea. Surrounded by draping curtains and golden walls, the cozy exoticness is hard to pass up.
          The drinks on Zooroona's menu look delicious -- mouth-watering blends of watermelon, mango and orange juice, or strawberries, peaches and apples, can be seen. But be careful when ordering, because chances are, you may only get to read about the drink you've decided on.
          It's respectable that the restaurant doesn't make drinks with foods that aren't in season -- then you know they're being honest about the freshness of the food. But when the restaurant doesn't change the menu to reflect these conditions, it can be a bit disappointing to be set on something and then find out almost none of the drinks mentioned are available. Even though you may not get your Yamal Bagdad to sip on, the basket of pita and tray of olive oil with oregano and thyme quickly makes up for the minor disappointment.

          Aside from the mythical fruit drinks, when it comes to the Shinina, the wait staff will tell you directly not to order it -- not unless you enjoy the "gross" taste of bitter yoghurt mixed with spoonfuls of salt. On the other hand, they recommend the Zohorat tea -- this tea turns out to be a wonderfully mild, herbal blend of eleven different flowers (which are still floating around in the pot) that is poured into tiny glasses with detailed gold paint. For appetizers, or "Mazza" dishes, you might decide on the Baba Ghannouj. One of the restaurant's specialties, it is a wonderful Syrian dip of eggplant, lemon and garlic that provides a smooth and flavorful addition to the pita. It's a good deal for a mere $6, and comes in large quantities. The falafel isn't far behind either; the crunchy, crisp outside reveals a deliciously soft mix of garbanzo beans and parsley inside. The Dolmeh is for those with more of a taste towards the bitter -- grape leaves are smooth to the touch but gritty when chewing, and the lemon and vegetables wrapped inside makes the bitter leaves even stronger. While you're eating, you might have your glass filled by the manager of the restaurant -- he admits that he usually "end[s] up being the water guy" most nights.

          As appetizers run out and your tea gets low, the friendly waiter will climb up once again and kneel down next to you to get your entrée orders, or "Aklaat" dishes. They recommend their chicken and beef shawermah, which ranges from $12 to $14 -- and if you are a meat eater, it would be smart to listen. Hints of lemon can be detected within the creamy, smooth consistency of the beef shawermah, and the chicken shawermah is charred to perfection. Use the tahini sauce for the beef, as the sauce of sesame seeds gives a wonderful smoky flavor to the meat. 

          The Baghdad Kafta Kabob is considered a "house favorite", although tastes pretty much like a regular ground beef burger. It can be a bit dry, but the tahini sauce bumps up the quality. The Tawook, on the other hand, has a fresher flavor, the charred chicken mixing delightfully with the lemon, grilled peppers and onions. 

          The meals come in considerably large proportions, but if the meal hasn't gotten the better of your stomach yet, you might consider getting dessert. Here, in addition to the drinks, you have to be careful what you order. The desserts may also be items that you only get to read about. You may have your mind set on the Kanafa, a sweet traditional cheese pastry dessert, but alas! By 6:30 in the evening, they may be "all out". Don't let that get you down though, because there are regular dessert items that aren't on the menu. You might consider the carrot cake, for example -- and no, this is most definitely not the carrot cake with cream cheese frosting your mom made for your birthday that one year. This Carrot Hallwa is indeed carrot cake -- and literally takes the form of a sweet wedge of shredded carrots. It takes a bit of getting used to, but is a really unique combination of candied lemon peel, sugary carrots and pistachio nut. You also might consider the date cake not offered on the menu; with a dollop of rich cream freshly whipped, this rich, dense cake is worth...however much it cost. 

          And, if you're one of the chosen few on a specific night of the week, you may be treated to a belly-dancing performance during dinner. The lights go off, the "Arabian Nights"-esque music turns up to a level that drowns out conversation, and a woman in a flowing "bedleh" costume will come out to jangle around amidst the diners. The unexpected performance is entertaining to watch, unless you're not someone looking for a mid-dinner distraction. Although it may be a bit overly diverting, the performance gives the message that the restaurant's mesmerizing lights do -- ahlan wa sehlan. You are always welcome.

The Anticipation and Expectation: Zooroona

          When first deciding upon a restaurant to review, I looked towards word of mouth for recommendations. I've relied on websites in the past to decide where to eat, which usually gives solid direction to great places, but I've also run into some questionable restaurants because of website recommendations. Don't get me wrong, Yelp and Urbanspoon are pretty good at rating. But I'll never forget the time when I followed a website recommendation and ended up at "Flat Top Grill", a restaurant in downtown Madison with an attention-getting facade -- sure, it looked nice from the outside, but when I was served burnt rice and uncooked fish (which ended up giving me food poisoning) by a rude waiter, I immediately regretted my decision. So usually I try to ask around instead of rely on internet surfers who may or may not have different ideas about what makes food edible.
          I had heard from my roommate that "Rasa Ria", "Zooroona", and "Bangkok Flavor" were close and affordable ethnic restaurants that offered wonderful selections of amazing food. I've had Indonesian and Thai food at restaurants in Madison, but I'm not familiar with Middle Eastern food; after talking to a few more people who verified the cool atmosphere and great food, I decided on Zooroona.
          Before reading Molz's chapter in "Culinary Tourism", I was expecting (or hoping) to have a really authentic experience, a window into another culture through food. Of course, Zooroona advertises its "AUTHENTIC Middle Eastern cuisine". I wanted to experience as much of this authenticity as possible -- and after reading the chapter, I realize that true "authenticity" really doesn't exist. All I am hoping/expecting now is that I have a uniquely different eating experience, and that I do end up crossing some kind of border in entering a "Middle Eastern" restaurant. I know that it may not be "authentic", whatever that means, but I do expect to have an experience that really, really differs from what I'm familiar with. The only experience I've had with Middle Eastern food was when I was about 12 years old; my family and I went to an Ethiopian restaurant, where we were seated on the ground around a long, low table. We shared multiple dishes, dipping bread into each while we passed all of them around. On Zooroona's website, there is no specification as to which region of the Middle East the cuisine is based on, and I don't really remember what the Ethiopian food tasted like; I have no expectations about what the food will taste like, but I want to try as many dishes as possible that are totally strange to me.
          I have a pretty open mind when it comes to food, and I love trying new stuff. I'm excited to try Middle Eastern and see what kind of experience I come away with!

Home and the "Perfect" Meal - Final

            Believe it or not, I hated pizza until freshman year of high school. I mean, I really loathed the stuff. I had been subject only to post-soccer game meals of Pizza Hut, or the typical thick, greasy cheese of middle school birthday party pizza. It was so widely loved by everybody that I was determined to keep giving it a shot, but it wasn’t until my mom went to Italy that pizza actually became my idea of a perfect meal. During the summer before my freshman year of high school, my mom was the manager of the University of Wisconsin men’s basketball team, and she was flown to Florence, Italy, for a tournament along with the whole team. She returned two weeks later with touristy souvenir key chains and some great pictures she had taken of herself (seeing as my mom doesn’t fully understand the concept of self-pictures, most of them included slanted shots of half her forehead next to a mountain or two). But she also brought back something with her that would become a family tradition – a new recipe for “pizza margherita” that she had procured while visiting a small town in southern Italy.

Watching my mom make pizza margherita for the first time, I had my doubts. After making the dough, she cut hunks of mozzarella and chopped some tomatoes. She minced garlic in what I believed to be an expertly fashion. And then she put the four-ingredient product in the oven -- wait a second. That was it? There were so many empty spaces that I was sure we'd be eating straight dough with a few bites of mozzarella here, and a stray tomato there. My 14-year-old opinion? Way too simple to taste like anything at all. After pulling the pizza from the oven my mom sprinkled some basil and olive oil on and pronounced it “Finito!” I prepared my fake "holy-cow-this-is-GREAT!" face and took a bite. First I could taste the strong clash of the garlic and basil, then the tomatoes spiced with oregano, and finally the melted mozzarella – it tasted nothing like birthday party pizza, and I immediately loved it. Apparently this was a sentiment shared by all, because after that first pizza margherita, my family made it a tradition to have it for dinner every Sunday night.

Even now as a college student with a limited budget, I defy the ordinary and can’t stand pizza loaded with toppings. I prefer the thin-crusted simplicity, the perfect combination of the few ingredients in the pizza margherita my mom made during my high school years. I journeyed home to Madison, Wisconsin, this past weekend to make the pizza I’ve been missing while in Kalamazoo.

When contemplating where to obtain the ingredients for my meal, I was fortunate enough to have many different options of local food co-ops available to me. Madison is a pretty progressive city in terms of food sustainability and locally grown products. After reading Pollan’s “The Omnivore’s Dilemma”, I was convinced that in the middle of February a co-op with locally grown food was the route to take. Pollan wasn’t the only one to encourage me to buy locally -- my family is pretty typically Madisonian, in that my parents have always been obsessed with knowing exactly where their food comes from, how local it is, and what went into it. They actually still buy “raw” milk, which means it’s basically straight from the udder into a glass jar, from a friend’s farm about 20 minutes away. They get to regularly visit the cows that give them their milk and that eventually become their meat, and also meet and greet the rampant chickens that give them their eggs. All in all, I’d say they’re pretty food-conscious people – and this definitely made me a bit more food-conscious along the way.

The recipe for the pizza I was attempting to make required some items that were out of season, so on this point I had to be okay with buying more “industrial organic” stuff. Defying the usual horribly depressing, biting cold wind of Wisconsin winters, the Saturday afternoon on which I walked to buy ingredients was a sunny and pleasant day. In my usual ignorant excitement about sudden warm weather -- which turned out to be a mere 44 degrees -- I decided to wear only a tank top and pajama pants. Luckily, the walk was only ten minutes to the Regent Market Co-op and my stupidity was short-lasted. Shivering, I pulled open the door to the co-op and headed down one of the three narrow aisles to the veggies. I picked out five plump roma tomatoes, and then found the door that housed the cheeses. I grabbed a soft hunk of mozzarella, found a small plastic container of “organic” basil leaves…and I was done! We had all the ingredients for the dough at my house, along with olive oil and garlic, so I made my way to the register. I immediately recognized the gangly guy as I put my items on the counter; he had been a couple years behind me in high school. When I handed my money to him I contemplated awkwardly saying something – but before I could he thrust my food items across the counter at me, whipped around to face the shelves behind him, and picked up where he left off on his quest to find the perfect arrangement of Women’s Hormonal Teas and organic coffees.

I planned on making the actual meal around eight that night, as my parents had a costume party to go to – yes, that is correct. I was the designated driver for my parents who were going to a party, while I stayed home and cooked dinner. The costume theme was “wigs and falsies”, so in the end my parents left the house looking like some kind of seductive leopard woman, and a blond wearing a padded football uniform. After I ushered them into the privacy of the car as quickly as possible, I dropped them off and then headed back home to start on my meal.

Thelonius Monk was always a good music choice in terms of cooking – I’ve been a piano player since I was five, and just the sound of it relaxes me – so I cranked up the kitchen CD player and started on the dough. I mixed flour, yeast, oil, salt, and warm water together with my hands and then separated the thick dough into three small segments. Alright. So far, so good. Stretching the dough to make the crust was always the most annoying part; whenever I’d stretch it out into a circular shape, it would immediately recoil back into a small clump when I let go of it. After working for about five minutes on each segment, I had three somewhat normal-looking, thin circles of dough. I slid the knife easily through the hunk of mozzarella, cutting thick disks of the soft white cheese that were about the size of small hockey pucks. I carefully placed about three or four on each pizza, and moved on to dice the roma tomatoes.

I grabbed a clove of garlic from the basket hanging above the sink and chopped it up along with the tomatoes. The juices from the tomatoes combined with the overpowering scent of garlic filled the entire kitchen, and a feeling of complete relaxation flooded over me. I had missed this smell, missed surprisingly the solitude of cooking with only the sound of a piano to accompany my thoughts. I sprinkled the tomatoes and garlic evenly over the three pizzas; I wanted these to look careless, like I hadn’t spent the five minutes that I did trying to place the tomatoes and cheese in perfect, evenly spread spots. I wanted the tomatoes to look carefree, the garlic to look lazily perfect, and the cheese to look like it didn’t give a damn while still appearing immaculately simple.

One by one, I transferred the pizzas into the oven, taking them out when the mozzarella started bubbling on top of the thin browning crust. When all the pizzas were finished, I sprinkled olive oil and salt on top of the cooked mozzarella, garlic and tomato, and finished them off by chopping up a few basil leaves and adding spurts of green all over each pizza. My mom likes adding oregano to her pizzas, but I prefer keeping it extremely simple. I added only crushed red pepper flakes to spice them up a bit. Glancing at the clock, I saw that 8:30 had come and gone – I was supposed to pick up the parents twenty minutes ago. I grabbed the car keys and ran out the back door, using my flour-covered apron as a jacket.

            About fifteen minutes later, I returned home about fifteen minutes later with two slightly inebriated, hungry parents who were still singing their rendition of “Dancing In the Dark”. I poured glasses of only the finest two-buck-chuck white wine from a box, they plopped themselves down at the kitchen counter, and we dug in. The crust was thin and crunchy, maybe a bit too burned on some edges...but the mixture of the mozzarella, garlic, tomato and basil was -- for lack of a better word -- amazing. Nothing too complicated, just like my mom made it -- and personally, I liked it with just the spice of the red pepper flakes.
            My mom and dad, still in costume, kept exclaiming how amazing it was – I’m not sure if that was genuine, the tipsiness talking, or their attempt to make me feel good about making a meal on my own. I prefer to believe they just really liked it, no matter how many times they had had it. The pizza was gone in a matter of minutes, but we stayed standing in the kitchen for another half hour, laughing at the award they had won for weirdest looking couple at the party. As I cleared the table and started on the dishes, which were only a few, my parents began a game of Scrabble (again, still in costume). I know there aren’t many people who love hanging out with their parents, but I always had. I scrubbed the plates clean of oil, and listened to my parents argue loudly over whether or not “jorp” was a word, smiling as I absentmindedly pushed replay on the CD player. I had missed Thelonius Monk, and my weird parents, and simplicity of pizza and home. An ordinary night. And it was so good to be here.

Culinary Tourism

          When I first started on Lucy Long's chapter of "Culinary Tourism", I thought I'd be in for a relatively dry, in depth look at the mechanics of food marketing in the tourism industry. It started a bit slow for me, but surprisingly I got into the reading after a few minutes -- sure, some sections were slower than others, mostly because of long definitions and lack of voice. But for the most part, I enjoyed reading both Long and Molz's chapters. Long really went into all the different domains that the use of food in tourism encompasses, one of the main questions being how exactly tourism has shaped the meanings of certain foods in communities. This reminded me of the discussion we had after Emily's CYOA about foods cities are known for; I feel that Long's point rings true here, that tourism marketing can definitely overshadow true culture and instead place value on something that shows little about the actual community. In addition, specific foods that may be a huge part of a culture's identity may eventually become part of the tourism industry, which may cause that food to lose some of its original meaning to the culture.
         I definitely think that we are creators of our own experiences. What we experience in touring a place is completely affected by our perception, our expectation, and our attitude towards that place. We can't help but look at everything in a foreign place with a different eye; when I traveled to Spain with my family, I remember that I had a running list of comparisons in my head, constantly paying attention to the contrast between this new place and the familiarity of my home in Madison. This idea that we're creators of our experience also reminded me of when we were talking about food reviewing; Long says that "food is more than the dishes we eat". It's not just what's on the plate, but the atmosphere, feeling, the entire experience that comes with that food.
          I thought Long's ideas about the "exotic" were interesting as well, and that what may be exotic to me may be totally and completely familiar to another person. The exotic lures us to certain things, certain foods and products companies sell. By emphasizing the exotic, companies can interest the adventurers and risk-takers; at the same time, they can also appeal to the home-bodies who love familiarity by emphasizing how local or "old-fashioned" something is.
          Molz's chapter was more interesting to read for me than Long's; I liked that she picked a specific cuisine to show her point, instead of making generalizations about ethnic foods. I felt almost guilty when I started reading -- with my experience in food reviewing, I am indeed hoping to experience another culture by going only a few minutes away from Kalamazoo College's campus. Before reading the chapter, I was hoping to find true authenticity at my restaurant...I am endeavoring to be a tourist without going anywhere outside of Midwestern city I live in. After reading about "staged authenticity", I know now that the restaurant I go to (Thai was actually on my list) will be merely a representation of that culture instead of the real deal. The restaurant may claim authenticity all over the menu, the decorations on the walls, and the people serving the meals, but in actuality the restaurant I go to will most likely reflect some American expectation of that culture. In Molz's opinion, you have to experience the culture first-hand to actually experience any authenticity.

And the Baby Gaga Verdict Is Out!

http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2011/03/01/134167895/breast-milk-ice-cream-seized-from-london-store
Just in case anyone was wondering...I guess the health threat was the concern!

NYC Eats

       The articles (mostly by Sam Sifton and New York City dining) were actually fun to read, and definitely kept my full attention the entire time -- unlike some of the earlier 1930s articles we read previously! I loved the diversity of the food that he describes in Indianapolis -- it kind of reminded me of my hometown in Madison. Mark Bittman's article on McDonald's oatmeal was also very revealing....I really appreciated that he provided the reader links and other options for oatmeal (real oatmeal) instead of simply degrading that of McDonald's. I couldn't believe that oatmeal could have more sugar than a Snickers bar....disturbing. It's ironic that real, legitimate oatmeal is actually faster than fast food oatmeal!
       The descriptions of Ai Fiori that Sam Sifton includes in one of his restaurant reviews were wonderful. He not only describes the food in detail, but also the entire atmosphere, and shows how the ambiance of a place may or may not enhance the whole experience. It's clear that when reviewing a restaurant, it's not simply about the food. For example, in his review of "Bar Basque", he makes it clear that the food is outstanding -- but the club-ish atmosphere actually brought the whole review down one star. His review "No Reservations" goes onto the scene of an upper scale oyster bar, and though it's quite short this piece evoked many strong responses from people in the response column under the narrative. Sifton asked whether or not people found it acceptable for a restaurant to refuse the option of reservations to customers; personally, although the oyster bar does come off a bit arrogant, they're giving people the advantage of being able to come in last minute without planning ahead. Obviously it's a bit inconvenient for those with families or very tight schedules -- but if the food's completely worth it, I could see myself waiting a lot more than the standard fifteen minutes for a table.

       I was so glad that Sifton let us in on what exactly a food critics job entails! I found his "Salad Day" narrative so interesting, and although I was insanely jealous of what he's paid to do, I actually don't know if I'd be capable of doing it. Typically going out for a nice meal will hold me for most of the day...and he does this sometimes three times a day. The calorie counts in "My Life In Food" shocked me -- he's able to burn 900 calories in the gym, and still his calorie intake is twice that of the standard 2,000 a day. I know that the idea of a food critic sounds absolutely glorious, but I don't know if my body could handle all of it!

   

"Baby Gaga" Ice Cream...Repulsive or Progressive?

http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2011/02/25/134056923/breast-milk-ice-cream-a-hit-at-london-store

Found this article on NPR...they make a good point that it's natural and organic, even "free-range"...but personally, I would never eat this. Never ever.

Secret Ingredients

          The first section of "Dining Out" from the New Yorker Book of Food and Drink was a bit harder to get through for me; the writing lacked voice for the most part and was a bit dry, but I suppose the fact that these articles were written from the 1930s - 1960s might have had something to do with that. All in all, I did find Joseph Mitchell's "All You Hold For Five Bucks" pretty interesting -- I had never heard of a beefsteak before, and I actually really liked the simplicity of the event. Beer, meat, music, and company of other happy people for just five bucks? Sounds pretty fun to me! I liked the "don't give a damn" attitude of the owners of the locales where the beefsteaks took place; in a way the people were almost depicted as beasts -- "unrestrained", and if a "man wanted some noise, he'd just open his trap and howl".
          Joseph Wechsberg's narrative was a bit slower to read for me than Mitchell's; Wechsberg describes how amazing everything was, and how vividly he remembers the tastes, but doesn't actually bother going into that much detail about the dishes or drinks. I thought this focused more on the history of the place and the owner, instead of the food. Adam Gopnik's article was more interesting for me though -- maybe this is just because I'm going to France for study abroad and the cuisine there interests me. But I thought it was smart and informative narrative overall, and I especially liked how he went into the heads of the various chefs, showing us who they were and where they wanted to be. It surprised me that French cooking is coming to be more predictable or stubborn in terms of how their food is prepared/how it tastes -- I always thought the French to be people who embraced opportunities for innovation in their food, looking to outside influences. Guess not anymore...
          Bourdain's "Don't Eat Before Reading This" was really enjoyable to read. His smart, quick snarkiness carried the whole piece, as it did in "A Cook's Tour"; I loved that we got an inside look at his kitchen, and got a sense of who he is in that specific environment. But I cringed when I read the bit about the meat -- I usually order hamburgers medium-well or well-done....looks like I may have been getting the not-so-desirable parts. Jim Harrison's "A Really Big Lunch" was a good read as well; first of all, 37 courses...?? WOW. His descriptions didn't go into too much detail, but for 37 courses, I thought he did a great job. I personally don't know if I'd ever partake in something like that -- probably just to say that I did it. One of the quotes near the end that I liked: "Life is a near-death experience, and our devious minds will do anything to make it interesting."
          M.L.K. Fisher's pieces were pretty interesting, as they reminded me of several dishes and "secret ingredients" my mom used to (and still does) make. Overall I thought the writing was lacking in voice, but it did give interesting information on dishes like tripe and casseroles that I've never made before. It made me think about whether or not there's a meal today that I hate only because I was forced to eat it as a child....that would probably be salmon, or brussel sprouts.
          Anthony Lane's "Look Back in Hunger" was probably my favorite piece; it was full of voice and great humor, and I laughed out loud in multiple sections. I really related to this narrative, as I myself have always had trouble following recipes (for example, making pancakes with 1.5 cups of baking soda instead of 1.5 teaspoons). People on cooking shows, like Martha Stewart, do make it all look so carefree and easy; will I ever be capable of such perfection? Who knows.

To Eat Animals, Or Not To Eat Animals

          "The Forest" section of this book is the first time I actually could picture the narrator, Michael Pollan; his personal experience is what dominates this section, and along with that he brings much more of his voice into the book as he navigates forests and reflects on what he himself values. I could almost envision him reading it out loud, which wasn't the case in everything prior to this forest section. As I myself am an avid meat eater, I found this part refreshing -- I expected to, once again, be guilt-tripped and disgusted into being a reluctant vegetarian for a few days like I always do after I read or watch a critical piece on eating meat. But I loved how Pollan delved into the issue of how we consume meat today, and then actually went through the process of finding out that eating meat in a more conscious way is in fact more wise than just disregarding it altogether. This section really made me think more than any other part of the book, especially in terms of what I personally value and what I want my lifestyle to be like. Granted, there were a few sentences that did give me a twinges of guilt: our choice, according to Singer, was between "a lifetime of suffering for a non-human animal and the gastronomic preferences of a human being" (312). And the whole "force-molting" process? Alright, then I felt terrible. But overall, this section didn't make me feel overly guilty for consuming meat, and instead changed the way I think about consuming it. In today's world, it's true that we "remain only semiconscious about what it is [we're] really doing" (281); when we consume food, we may have our eyes open but we aren't actually seeing. I had never thought so in depth about the action of consuming meat, and this was especially evident during the part when Pollan was examining the question of whether or not speciesism and racism are comparable...I don't exactly know what to make of that, but I did appreciate the point he made about how natural the consumption of meat in the world is; we'd be denying the entire system of nature itself to cut off meat consumption entirely. What we do have to change is how conscious we are of what we eat, how it was raised, and how this affects the environment now. What's wrong is the "practice, not the principle" (328).
         
          I was so intrigued when I read the paragraph about the fact that we combine certain foods with certain spices for a reason other than taste -- I thought that wasabi was eaten with raw fish only for the unique combo of flavors, not that the antimicrobial functions of the spicy paste minimized the danger of the uncooked fish! I never really stop to think about the origins of food combination, whether mixing different foods serves as a nice twist on the dish, or whether or not it serves a completely different purpose. I liked Rozin's summary of this, that cuisines are the embodiment of the wisdom of a certain culture; evidently, I had little to no wisdom before reading this book.
        
          It really surprised me to read that part of the mere 47% of Americans who have sit down family meals, some of them don't actually consist of sitting down together and eating at the same time. I thought that the concept of "sitting down to a family meal" was pretty basic; I'm probably biased because most of the meals from when I was an infant to when I graduated from high school were sit down family meals. This was one of the things that my mom and dad always insisted on, especially during the school week. Setting the table for everyone was a nightly routine, as was waiting to eat until everyone was at the table. In the earlier years, we were forced to stay sitting at the table even after we were finished eating to wait for everyone else to be done. I know that in reality, this routine isn't easy for many families. But I at least thought that the families who did have sit down family meals actually sat down together.
        
          I love the idea of obtaining meals by hunting and gathering; realistically, I probably wouldn't ever be motivated enough to do all of it, but what I appreciated from Joel's farm and from Pollan's hunting/gathering was the complete openness of it all; they weren't trying to hide anything from the people consuming the food, but those people were in complete awareness of exactly what they were buying or eating. There's also so much more meaning to the food you consume when you hunt and gather; I find myself mindlessly wandering through the caf day after day, just trying to find semi-decent food to satisfy my hunger. This food is meaningless, and I rarely think hard about it. My parents actually get meat, eggs and milk from a farm in northern Wisconsin that's not unlike Joel Salatin's; the chickens and cows roam around on beautiful green hills, and they actually get to meet the cows that end up being their next cut of meat. The milk comes straight from the udder and is put into glass jars which they take home -- my parents call it "raw" milk, and I never could get used to the weird taste. This is so sad to me -- I'm so used to watered-down, to pasteurized, to industrial, that I can't even bring myself to enjoy the natural, straight-from-the-source gold.

Eating the Sun

       One quote that stuck out to me in this section was when Pollan states that "it's a foolish culture that entrust its food supply to simpletons" (221). He couldn't be more correct. The second part of Pollan's book, "Pastoral Grass", really pulled me in more than the Industrial Corn section. This is probably because this organic farm section included people -- I wasn't distracted once throughout this section, and the charismatic farmers (especially Joel) made it easier for me to connect to the information given in this section. My concept of "organic" is changed entirely from reading the second part of the book; the "Supermarket Pastoral" that Pollan mentions is exactly what my mindset was like beforehand. Whenever I would have to go grocery shopping for my mom, and she sent me to the huge grocery store as opposed to the small food co-op we usually frequent, she would give me a list of what to get. Next to nearly every item on the list, there would be parentheses surrounding the single word "ORGANIC!". I had always connected huge-supermarket-organic with healthy-free-range-farm-organic, and never stopped to think twice about these assumptions. I never, for example, thought that on an organic farm, they would use synthetic fertilizers. I thought this was only a concept linked to industrial food, and the sad thing is (as Pollan says): "organic farming has increasingly come to resemble the industrial system it has set out to replace" (151).
       Like we were talking about in class, in order to get real change in terms of consumption in the U.S., we'd have to have a food revolution; this is a huge issue, and it would require a complete change in lifestyle from the majority of the population. The one thing I agreed with Gene Kahn on was when he talked about being thankful for the small amount of progress we have made -- at least it's a step in the right direction. Change isn't going to come about right away, and small steps towards better nutrition and food practices will be the key to changing the country's mindset. Right now we're all about money and time; Pollan says that the reason why we go industrial is because it is "simply more cost-efficient" (161). It'll take a while to change this mindset.
       The human interactions in this section were what really drew me in. I loved the part when Pollan mentioned talking to a small farmer, one in particular that was criticized by an industrial organic grower, and he snapped right back and put the industrial organic guy in his place. I also loved that Pollan didn't just write this stuff or solely research it; he went right in there and experienced things for himself. I especially like the section where he goes to Polyface and works with Joel. The idea that the farm is all connected, from the sun providing free solar energy to the grass to feed the cows and chickens, which is fertilized by the pig manure. It's a huge organism rather than a big machine.

"Processed Corn, Walking"

Every time I read a new book or see a new documentary on modern day food practices, it astounds me that I could have been so uninformed about what I'm putting into my stomach before knowing all of this new-found information. Before reading Michael Pollan's food-conscious narrative, though, I thought that it would be pretty standard in terms of books written about food -- it would go into a "The Jungle"-esque description of a meat-packing plant or a slaughterhouse, revealing the true nature behind fast food while providing a wealth of knowledge that would probably go along with "Food Inc."'s premise. Turns out...I was wrong. The main focus of this section of The Omnivore's Dilemma : CORN. Corn, corn, corn, and more corn. I knew that corn was a pretty big ingredient in many of the foods we eat, but I had absolutely no idea that every food we eat is basically entirely comprised of it.
Out of all the books and articles we've read for this class, The Omnivore's Dilemma is definitely the least like a memoir. Bourdain's book was full of voice and personal experience, Bik's was a story of her childhood, and the New Yorker article was about a woman's travel and food experiences and how they tie together. Pollan's book is almost entirely factually based, geared towards informing us about food -- not food as an experience, but food as what it is in its literal form. I found that the parts about experiences that he had while finding more out about food were the most interesting; when he and his family went to MacDonald's, or when he spent time with the steers. This book definitely doesn't have as much voice or personality as any of the others we've read, and at times I found myself getting a bit distracted while reading certain parts -- but overall, this book was an interesting and informative book that definitely got me thinking even more about what I'm eating every day at the caf!
I really liked the section about the history of corn; where it came from, how America embraced it as the cheapest calorie available to us. This book is written for a population of educated people, who are concerned about the state of both the country's economic and agricultural health. I really liked the evolutionary concept that kept coming up throughout this section, that corn has adapted over time to how we as consumers utilize it. I had little to no knowledge about corn's function in agriculture and in the food we eat daily, and in this section Pollan almost personified corn -- the corn is "push[ing] the animals and their feed crops off the land" (40), and it's pushing people off of the land too -- I had this weird image of corn with an evil dictator face, conquering all the country's land and forcing inhabitants out of it.
When I thought of cows and other animals eating corn before reading this, I had pictured it as a more humane and vegetarian way of feeding them. Turns out, it's completely horrible. Instead of letting them eat the grasses that their body is built to digest, we're forcing corn into their digestive systems that end up making them sick and actually making their meat more unhealthy for us to consume. Pollan really stresses the importance of speed in today's society, which I can completely see; where it used to take four or five years to raise cows for meat, we've now narrowed it to fourteen months. I know that our population is exponentially increasing and there's an ever growing demand for food, but I have to wonder -- the rate at which we consume food is unhealthily fast, and this not only is horrible for the obesity epidemic but also forces the agricultural system to shorten animals' lifespans using unhealthy fattening methods...is this worth it? Reading about corn-fed animals and their abscessed livers made me worry about this even more than before.

Hunger Pains

During a lunch break

I'll start with what I feel. My eyes are swollen shut. The stillness of 5:00 AM is broken only by the sound of water hitting metal, and I surprised to find that my muscles haven’t woken up yet as it’s taking literally every ounce of my bodily strength to grip the handle of the water pump and press down. I can’t see what I’m doing but as soon as icy water begins soaking my sweatshirt I stop. Stumbling up the sloping granite through the blackness, I mindlessly grip the handle of the now seemingly 500 pound water-filled pot and somehow manage to make it to the top where our tarp is barely outlined. I set the pot down onto a tiny burner, let lighter fluid flow into the burner and light a match that flares up the first light of the morning. And now…I wait. Wait for the two-inch wide flame to bring two gallons of ice cold water to a boil. Wait for the sun while I pry my eyes open the rest of the way and hug my knees to my chest, looking across dark purple peaks heading towards the horizon. And all this for a few spoons of instant oatmeal.

            It’s our 34th day on the ridges of Yosemite, the last day of this beautiful insanity that has taken over each one of us. Why am I here? To save the planet, with five other high school students. To conserve nature. Or something along those lines. A few months ago when I had received my Student Conservation Association acceptance letter in the mail and found out I was going to Yosemite, I nearly ripped the paper to shreds in my excitement. I was going to be part of something bigger, something monumentally beautiful, something...I didn't know. Something besides 6 AM summer swim team or late night illegal fireworks. Something spectacular.  The first week was over in a blur; our job here is to remove illegal campsites around the park by shoveling out coal and trash, which means we never sleep in the same place for more than two nights. Hauling 65 pounds on each of our backs, the 14 mile treks to the next site across granite boulder fields proved to be challenging -- and when I say challenging, I of course mean pure physical agony. But the view of the park from 10,000 feet above the winding valley made it all worth it. That is, until now. We've been up here for four and half weeks now, and the word "insanity" barely covers what the last few days have been like. Grueling. Sickening. Empty. A week ago, it wasn't like this; a week ago we were sane, even happy. Until Tuesday, after we had laid down our shovels and started our lunch break. Adra, one of our leaders, had told us the bad news.

            “Alright, guys, it seems as if we’ve got a problem on our hands. You all know there’ve been forest fires for a while near the valley…but apparently they spread to the refrigeration unit. OUR refrigeration unit. Don’t shit a chicken but…well…the food we’ve got with us is gonna have to last us the rest of the week.”

            Hank, our assless-chaps-wearing resupply man, had just headed back down the 10,000 feet to the valley. Every few days, he would don his aviators and spurs, and ride a mule loaded with food to our next site. The days he came to resupply us, we would wait sick with anticipation and lack of food until we heard his whistling; it was like he was the ice cream truck driver and we were five year olds during the summer time (Sidenote: for me, the ice cream will always provoke me to sprint down the street flailing my arms like a crazy person as it did when I was little). Anyways, we would drop whatever we were holding and race to Hank, to our own personal Mother Theresa, and gorge ourselves with whatever we could get our hands on.

            So you can imagine that after receiving the news that we would have to make a few days worth of food, which was already a meager amount for that period of time, last a week – we were a bit upset.

            And now it’s the last day before we get down to the valley, to showers and soap and any foods we desire – and I think we have all gone a little crazy. I’ve been waiting for this pot of water to boil for half an hour and I think I have pneumonia and I can’t help but wonder…is this worth a few crappy spoonfuls of oatmeal? I tip the near empty bag of instant oats so they fall into one corner; there is about a cup left. I look over to the severely diminished pile of food – three corn tortillas, and half a cup of gorp. This is what we have to sustain eight of us for a nine mile hike down the rest of the way to the valley. And when the sun finally comes up, the temperature will rise and the sun will sap whatever energy we have out of us. At least we’re done working, because I think that all of us may have collapsed.

            This week has tested both our physical and mental strength. Not only am I constantly sapped of energy, but I feel an emptiness I’ve never experienced. We are constantly on edge with each other. I have never felt so hungry; I literally can think of nothing else. I've filled at least three pages of my journal with pictures of food, from a strawberry rhubarb pie to a whole turkey leg. What I wouldn’t give for a glass of cold milk...or an entire pork roast...or something besides nothing.

            The water’s finally boiling and the sun has begun casting rays of light across the top of the tarp. The pink tips of the misty peaks stretching out into the distance are breathtakingly beautiful – but I barely register this. I’ve barely been able to register anything for the last week except for my stomach. Adra and Alex, our leaders, are the first to roll out of their sleeping bags and join me under the tarp.

“Last day!” Adra says, forcing a smile. I can see her smile lines tattooed on her face even after she stops; dirt and coal dust from shoveling out fire rings have caked all of our faces, and the crevasses of her smile are white in comparison.

“Is this it?” Anna’s under the tarp and is examining the bag of oats.

“Uhhh-huh.” I remove the water from the flame as the rest of the group stumbles under the tarp, grabbing their dirt-covered plastic bowls. We fill our bowls with hot water, and Adra picks up the bag of oats. We are all watching the bag, anticipating the food that will slide down our throats in a few seconds and maybe stop the stabbing hunger for an hour or two. She scoops two spoonfuls into her bowl; the bag is handed around to each person, and we all watch each other like hawks, monitoring the amount each person is taking. Eventually it reaches Walter – and I watch as he reaches in after two scoops to take a third. I hate him. I HATE him. The bag passes to Anna but Patrick and Elaine are still glaring at Walter. I don’t care that I’ve lived with this person for five weeks. I don't care if he's hungry, I don't care if he's twice my size, I want to punch him in the face. I am going to punch him in the face. He is not entitled to those oats. I clench my fists until my dirt-filled nails cut my palms. I want stick my hand in his bowl and take back the oats. They’re not his. They should by mine. MINE -- and Elaine cracks. But she keeps it polite.

“Uh, Walter, we’ve all taken only two scoops – don’t you think you should save a little for the rest of the group?” Walter’s head snaps up.

“Elaine, I took just as much as everyone else, so why don't you just lay of my FUCKING back.” We all stiffen, and Tristan passes the bag to me. I take two spoonfuls and my stomach screams as I pass the bag to my right.
This has been each morning, every morning, for the last six days. And I think someone may end up being accidentally pushed over the edge of a cliff by nightfall. And right about now...I wouldn't be surprised if I was the one who did the pushing. And the scary thing is...I don't even know that I would regret it. This trip has been something spectacular; it's changed us all into wild beings, driven purely by ids and counting spoonfuls and the growling that comes from seemingly every part of our bodies. It's turned me into someone I wouldn't have recognized a few weeks ago. The hunger consumes me, and I hope that once we get down to the valley, we'll find our old selves.

"Culinary Holy Grail"...? (Parte Deux)

       The first half of Bourdain's book was, for me, in no way a chore to read...and this second half was just as interesting. His descriptive imagery really got the ball rolling at "Highway of Death"; his suspenseful depiction of Highway 1 made me absolutely terrified to ever even think about traveling on that road. Something small he mentioned after leaving the highway was during the section on the My Kanh Restaurant -- disturbing as it was that the customers actually picked dishes made from cute little animals that would then be slaughtered right then and there, I actually had an experience eating one of the animals he mentioned and had a similar reaction to his. While visiting Michigan a few years ago, my family and I had dinner with some friends and we were shocked to find out that we would be having frog for dinner. Frog legs, more specifically. The idea absolutely horrified me, and as I watched the legs being turned on the grill, I thought that there was no way I would ever, ever, ever touch those, let alone put them in my mouth. Eventually, I ended up trying them, because I didn't want to offend our friends by refusing to eat at all -- and they actually tasted pretty good! Like chicken...?
        The Vietnam section really intrigued me, mostly because of his descriptions of the "floating food vendors". The idea of lounging on a boat, drifting down a river, and sampling all kinds of colorfully displayed and delicious food from boats that came up alongside me...that sounded pretty snazzy. This was also the first time when I really got the feeling that Bourdain was truly content, really happy -- he ends the chapter with, "I like it here. I like it a lot." And I had the feeling that so would I, if I ever get the chance to visit this place.
        In the first half of the book, I guess I was reading with a different mindset than most of the class was; I was reading him as less of an authority figure and more of a guy having an experience. This time around I tried to read him as an authority figure, and I guess I was just ignorant in the first half of the book because he definitely is. One part that really exemplified this for me was when he played up his presumed authority in Tokyo, as he's describing Tsukiji and the wonderful seafood extravaganza they possess. Multiple times he tells us we have to "take his word for it", and that "there is nowhere else" to go besides this place. Here, I found myself taking his word for it, trusting him because he IS a well known chef; I found myself believing his reliability, a reliability that wasn't definite by any means, but that was created in my mind.
       One random thing I wondered about while reading this half of the book was whether or not I would be able to eat something and truly think it was good, if it had the foulest, dankest smell imaginable. We kind of talked about this in class, how some of us smell things before eating them because it almost enhances how good we think it tastes; Anthony Bourdain talks about eating the stinky durian fruit, a fruit that possesses a smell similar to that of a rotting corpse and molding cheese. However, he loved how it tasted. I wondered if I would be able to truly think something tasted wonderful, if it smelled like a dead body or worse; could I be able to truly distinguish between smell and taste, or do they always combine in my mind -- if I smelled rotting corpse, would that make the taste of it worse in turn, or would the taste not depend on the smell at all?
       Bourdain talks more about vegetarianism in this half of the book; I knew he disliked the idea of vegetarianism, but I thought, he is a cook, so this might just be for show and deep down he probably respects the idea of personal preference. This assumption of mine was incorrect as usual -- he literally hates vegetarianism, and downright loathes vegans. He actually compares vegetarianism to the "Safety and Ethics" people that are trying to make us healthy by taking the real food out of food (which obviously makes us more unhealthy). I found myself laughing out loud during the section when he dines with the groups of vegans -- his horror when describing the food was hilarious. But later he gets pretty livid when calling out the vegans on their lifestyle choices, portraying them as hypocritical, ignorant human beings. I could see where he was coming from, but I thought this part was maybe bit over the top...
       My overall opinion: the book was great, full of voice and wonderful descriptive imagery; and even though he comes off a bit insensitive at times, I did find myself liking Bourdain and his ability to make fun of himself and the situation. Also, I want to go everywhere that he described. Except maybe Pailin.

"Culinary Holy Grail"...?

        Before "A Cook's Tour", I'd never read anything by Anthony Bourdain, let alone seen one of his cooking shows -- I knew literally nothing about him, and in this book the voice he uses really lets the reader get to know who he is. I don't know if this book is necessarily what I would look to to actually find the "perfect meal", seeing as it is merely the search for this meal according to Bourdain alone; his point is that what makes a perfect meal is the experience and feelings that went with it. His perfect meal could very well be just another decent plate of food for us, it could mean absolutely nothing and we'd never remember it -- but to him, it would mean something completely different. This trip isn't just about finding the "perfect meal", if that even exists, but it's also a memoir of self-discovery through travel and food.
        He really hooked me in at the introduction, and I think that the general consensus is that he's either a huge jerk, or a hilarious genius. I think I've gotten past the jerk-ish qualities; I can deal with a reasonable amount of snarkiness and I don't think he goes over the top. It just adds to the humor most of the time, and his brutal honesty keeps the mood light in situations that may have been less than desirable. One thing that I connected with was in the beginning, when he states his innocent, childlike desire for the places he'll visit to be exactly like they're depicted in the movies. Rather than be informed about what the reality of the place is, he'd rather just go with his imagined sense of it, and in this way his viewpoint is changed at almost every place he experiences.
        I'm not really sure if he's writing this novel for himself, his family, or the world in general as an audience; I'm leaning more towards the idea that he's writing it for us, whoever chooses to read this book, because he describes food to us in ways that we can understand it. When he uses the foreign word for something, he'll take time to tell us that it is "an amazing soup of bread, stock, fresh cumin, bits of pork, and blood". I think that one of the parts of the book that held real raw emotion was the chapter with his brother in France, as they tried to, in a sense, find their father. In this section, the way I saw him completely changed -- he seemed much more vulnerable and innocent than in other sections. I also really liked how he separated himself from TV, and anything else that made him look like he was just doing this for the public eye or for money. He kept describing how much he hated posing for those cheesy, deep-in-thought scenes and having to repeatedly backtrack and re-do scenes of him entering restaurants. I liked the sections telling us why we "don't want to be television", and the one part when he actually questions whether or not he should describe the beauty of San Sebastian to us  -- he then responds, "Nah, I'll leave that to Lonely Planet or Fodor's". He's clearly trying throughout the book so far to really separate himself from the media, to make this book less of a generic tour guide and more of a look into his real, raw personal experience and trek of self-discovery.

Food Traditions...Treasured or Threatened?

My "Create Your Own Adventure": http://www.guardian.co.uk/travel/video/2010/apr/01/india-coffee-house-kerala

                    For my Adventure piece, I decided to go with something a little more foreign to me. Although Indian cuisine is and always has been a personal favorite of mine, I realized that the extent to which I had experienced it was limited only to a few locally owned and chain restaurants within a five mile radius of my house...so I began perusing sites for more information on traditions and customs of Indian culture and food, hoping to gain some insight into a culture I have grown to love and still seemed to know nothing about. Although this clip is short, about two and a half minutes, it actually really resonated with me; the theme of tradition in terms of food -- the way it's served, where it's served, who makes it, and what's available on a daily basis -- is familiar to me, and I thought that many others had probably also felt these kinds of attachments to certain foods and the environments we've experienced them in. The video mentions that although the coffee house was established in the 1950's, everything -- even the starched uniforms and signs on the walls -- have remained the same. Although change and progress in the food industry can often be beneficial and desired, certain traditions and customs in food that are irreplaceable to people of a community can be lost in the fast-paced and always changing food industry of today's society.