After deep consideration, the McDade theory of Complex Adjectives is very flawed. I felt that, like many of my insane theories, there was very little evidence to back up my comment in class about the Tavern on the Green critique. Soooo I decided to blog on my eating experience last night.
My friends and I decided that we were going to Goodfells last night at 1 a.m. They all told me I needed to get one of their famous calzones, so naturally i did. After a seemingly endless period of waiting, the calzone was ready. So I grabbed it, sat down with my friends, and instantly began to tear it apart! It was amazing! A heaven of cheese, crust, and pepperoni filled my mouth! At this point the culinary experience was amazing, but little did I know the consequences. My stomach has hurt all day and I am tired beyond all belief (got back at 3 am). Despite these severe effects, I would do it all over again! And the very best part is that there is still 1/3 of it left in my fridge which I am about to indulge my self upon right now. The moral of the story = Goodfellas is amazing, but be willing to cope with the consequences!
A few weeks ago I started something I like to call "The Search for Wings". Haha, no not for flying, but for eating!
The story starts a few weeks ago as mentioned. I was craving wings intensely. (See during the fall of my junior and senior years of high school, a group of friends and I had a little "ritual", per-say, where we would go out on Thursday evenings to eat wings before our Friday night football. So now that you can understand why I am craving wings so much, I will continue with my story.) I decided that I would try to find someplace I could get some good wings. Something to satisfy my craving. My search started in Jackets featuring WOW (World of Wings).
I went in with high hopes, having heard good things from multiple people. I walked up to the counter after about a 2 minute wait. Not bad. Having looked at the menu, I had noticed that they had TX mesquite BBQ wings. Perfect! So I ordered a pound of wings, fries and a drink, grabbed my number and went and waited. About 5 min later my wings are ready. I pick up my box and go back to my seat and sit down. When I open the box, I am very pleased. This is going to be a messy meal. I grab the first wing and take a bite. . . disappointment fills my stomach. The wing just isn't the same. To start with, it wasn't hot, not even warm. Then from there it just went downhill. The wings had just been soaked with the sauce. Most people view this as a wonderful part of eating wings, but when this happens, the meat becomes soggy. It detracts from the taste of the meat. The sauce is to compliment the wing, give the meat a different flavor, but not change the entire taste of the meat.
I wasn't to be deterred. I thought that maybe this was just a fluke, just some bad luck. I went back to Jackets a few days later to try their wings again. This time though, I am going to try a different flavor.
After determining that Jackets isn't going to satisfy my longing for wings, I decided to try Wing Nuts, over off of North Ave. The first time I went, I went with a friend from ROTC. He told me they're wings are good. Well I was certainly hoping so.
I walked in to a good sight. A line. A line is almost always a good sign when it comes to finding good taste. When I got up to the front, I decided to try going with mesquite BBQ again.
We picked up our wings and head back to the dorm to enjoy our wings while we studied. I grabbed my box and was delighted. The box was hot! When we got back to the dorm, we sat down in the lounge and started eating. I opened my box of wings, but only to disappointment. I looked a wings that looked like pigs rolling around in mud. There was just too much sauce. But I went ahead and ate them. It was just like before at Jackets, the wings were too soaked.
And so, disappointed as I am, my search continues, hopefully to have my cravings satisfied. But I may never find the wings that I am searching for here in Atlanta.
As I left home and went to GT on my own, one of the most different things is food. There are always fried chicken, pizza, and fast food instead of those delicate Chinese dishes.
However, my parents are enjoying sending me pictures of Chinese food and illustrating how enticing they are, which makes my mouth water. For me at that time, the most intolerable thing is you know how delicious the food is but you can only staring at the pictures instead of gulping it!
Don't stimulate me with the pictures of food, which drives me crazy!
Yelp Yelp is a useful website to find fun stuffs around you. The search engine is powerful and convenient. You just need to type in what you want and where you are, and you will know where to go. Also, there are reviews written by people who have been there. This would be more helpful than just one review written by a so called professional restaurant critic since different people probably have different opinions about food. While well organized, this site is not that attractive. Very limited images and most parts of the page are all kinds of information. It is more like an information source or database.
Tastingmenu Generally, Tastingmenu is not as good as Yelp. Reviews on homepage are just like what on our blog which are good, but the organization of this site makes me confused. When I click “restaurants by city”, I failed to find any review of the restaurant but a list. The list is somehow useful because at least where restaurants are in the city and that’s it. You don’t have any idea how the restaurant is going to be. Moreover, the ‘food photography’ is not effective as it could be. Pictures are not sort by where they are taken. There are just random nice pictures. Although it looks good, especially the banners, it is not a ideal site for looking for restaurants.
Looking back at what my family would tell me when I was a little kid, I think my family's crazy. I love them but they never make any sense. And they can say the most unreasonable things with the straightest faces that make you think twice.
(Remark #1)
I was told that if I didn't finish my food, one day the food I threw away will come crying to me and ask me why I threw them away. Can you imagine what that would look like? My food would morph into these beings with disappointed faces and what was I suppose to say back? The thought of it terrified me as a five year old. But, ultimately, I guess it wasn't a bad thing my mom would say that to me because I'm pretty good about not wasting food. It became a habit.
(Remark #2)
-"Hey, do you want the rest of my spaghetti? I can't finish it."
-"No, then I'll start doing whatever you say."
You+Eating the remnants of my food = You obliging to my every command.
Do you see the logic in this? 'Cause I don't.
Does anyone else have family, friends, or acquaintances that do this?
"I don't want to go out to dinner tonight! My classmate called me for a birthday party at his house and I want to go there!" This is what I told my mom when she asked me if I wanted to go to the sushi bar at the beachside hotel. She had asked me ten times already. The idea of having pieces of raw fish and shrimps on my plate didn't seem very appetizing. I was eight at the time and going over to my friend's home seemed like a better option than going to the restaurant. "If you come to the dinner with me, I'll buy a toy for you on the way home. How's that honey?" On hearing this, I immediately told her that I would go with her. Even though going to friend's party was fun, getting a toy is even more so and would keep me entertained for a long time. This was how my mother coaxed me into going to the restaurant with her that night and it was a decision that I would never regret.
The restaurant was located near the shores of the beach and as I got out of the car, I could hear the waves of the sea crashing on the sand not far away. The cool evening breeze blew through my hair and I saw several kids playing volleyball on the shore. My mom averted my attention to the hotel and we walked to the lobby. Upon entering, my eyes wandered to huge luminous crystal lights that draped down from the ceiling. It was very quiet and I felt myself gradually relax as we walked to a counter where a man stood waiting to confirm our reservation. He immediately called a waiter to take us to the sushi bar. It was like entering into another realm because everything was so different. There were paper lights hanging from the walls and waitresses that wore traditional Japanese dresses walked around the room carrying bowls and plates on trays. Suddenly, I noticed a group of people at a table. "Mom, why do those people all kneel on the floor while eating? Are they being punished?" I asked. "No, no, they are not punished, my dear. That is the Japanese tradition during meals. They eat while kneeling on the floor to pay tribute to the food that they eat." It was then that I became fascinated with Japanese culture.
By this time, we had found our place at the bar and the waiter left to bring a menu for us. The bar was exceptionally short and I looked at my mom with a questioning glance. She then showed me how to kneel on the mattress without hurting my knees.
The first dish was a plate of fresh sushi with a piece of salmon on each of the rice rolls. I saw my mother then take a piece of sushi and put it in a green colored sauce. I asked, "What is that green sauce, mom? Is it tasty?". "This is wasabi. A traditional Japanese sauce specially eaten along with the raw fish." Due to my curious nature, I was eager to try out this strange sauce that my mother suggested. I took a chunk of the green sauce and put it in my mouth. Immediately, tears started to flow out of my eyes and nose because the sauce provided a extremely strong spicy flavor that attacked my throat, nose and eyes. It was a very unpleasant experience, so I looked towards my mom to see how she was eating the sushi with wasabi.
This was very good idea, because I found out that the wasabi was supposed to be eaten only when it has been mixed with soy sauce. I was able to experiment with this on my own and gradually, I began to enjoy the sushi much more than I expected at first. It wasn't so spicy! There was a unique texture in the rice of the sushi and the nori, or as I learned from my mom as the seaweed that covers the sushi, gave it a particularly chewy quality.
Next came a selection of raw fish. There was salmon, tuna, amberjack and mackerel which all tasted superb when eaten with the soy sauce and wasabi. The fish meat had a high quality and it was so tender that, as soon as I put it on my mouth, the meat literally melted. The tuna was red in color and the meat was elastic and spongy. The distinct aroma of the tuna somehow reminded me of the sea and all the times that I had gone fishing with friends and family. The salmon on the other hand, was pink in color and has a much softer texture than the tuna. It was my favorite and I loved the feel of it in my mouth. I took several pieces of the salmon to make sure that I would be able to relish the wonderful food more. It was an experience that I will never forget and I am certain that I would want to go to the restaurant again.
Having tasted those two delicious dishes, I couldn't wait for the next dish to be ready. It was soon after that the chef brought a bowl which contained rice with a brown creamy sauce spread evenly on it. He then put thin slices of chicken on top. "Wow mom, doesn't this look delicious?" Mom had to agree because the rice was amazing and mouth-watering. Each piece of the topping meat was heavenly when mixed with the sweet honey syrup.
By this time, I was already quite full and my stomach complained because there was so much food. So I stopped eating and said, "Thank you mom, that was the best meal I've had. I am really happy that I listened to you and didn't go to the party with my friends. This is much better experience and I had the opportunity to taste such a wonderful cuisine." It has been ever since then that I have enjoyed the experience of eating sushi.
Since I got here, I have realized that I have realized that America is a coffee nation. People tend to drink coffee over tea. I don’t mind coffee but I prefer tea since it tends to have more flavor and you don’t necessarily need much equipment to make good tea. All you need is some hot water, tea bag, some milk and sugar if you like it sweet. I was surprised when I ordered a tea at a local café that they used a syrup instead of real tea which left me disappointed. Since then I have been making my own tea and have become good at it.
Dinner has always had an importance in my life, growing up in a household where everybody seemed to branch out and go on their own each day; dinner was the much anticipated family gathering that brought us all together. With an older brother 7 years my elder and a younger brother 11 years younger, there wasn’t much interaction between the three of us throughout the day. Each night through a glorious feast of tender juicy medium rare steak, fresh delicious seared tuna, sizzling steak and chickens fajitas, or a traditional meal of corn beef and cabbage, my brothers and I were able to sit down and share our daily events; My older brother’s chemical research progress, my first day of high school, and my little brothers exhilarating day at the sand box. Despite the vast age differences and daily task each day I could sit down with my family and enjoy my mom’s glorious meal! It was My mom’s planning and culinary perfection that brought my brothers and me to the dinner table each night. As I later came to realize, my mother would often plan her meals around the person that was least likely to show up for dinner that night. If my brother had a lab session later in the evening she would make his favorite meal for dinner that night and let him know, with the promise that we would wait for him. It was often in this way that my brothers and I were kept from picking up fast food or stopping somewhere convenient if we had any chance of getting home at a decent hour. After working or going to school all day, having to wait an extra 30-45 minutes fighting through Atlanta traffic with a McDonalds offering instant hunger gratification every ten feet, often seemed like cruel and unusual punishment. But then my brother or I would get home and realize that the wait was well worth the food and conversation that would have been missed otherwise. The consumption of dinner was not the only way my brothers and I were socialize around food, often times when my brother and I were home early or didn’t have anything to do that afternoon; we would assist my mother in the kitchen. She would assign us different task or parts of the meal and we would add are own touch or preference to the dish assigned. While working on are assigned task, I would have the opportunity to exchange my thoughts and ideas on current events, food dishes, and ask my all-knowing elder brother daily advice. My mother’s kitchen became a melting pot of food, culinary suggestions, and general small talk as we slowly grew closer and more connected to each other’s lives. Quickly my brother and I developed our own specialty of cooking that would designate us as the family specialist or chef in that cuisine. My brother was adept at appetizers and side dishes, but was most highly regarded as the family weekend breakfast chef. A job which he was given for his expertise with any dish in which eggs were the main ingredient; omelets, scrambled eggs, eggs benedict, etc. My brother’s exquisite breakfast’ not only allowed him to show off his culinary expertise and standing in the family , but also offered another meal in which we could further increase our family bonding before the day picked up and we would scatter about heading out to our separate tasks and jobs for the day, until the light of day would end and we would meet back once again to devour on the life source that would ultimately bring us closer together.
I also found my place in the kitchen in another area outside of the main dishes of dinner, dessert. My designation as the family dessert chef began, when my mother presented me with a William Sonoma children’s cook book when I was 11. Despite containing the word children and being laid out quite simply and having many pictures, the recipes were rather complicated for a beginning cook like myself, who had to stand on a stool to reach most of the ingredients. Yet I went at each of the recipes, mainly as an experimental form of lunch for myself. Needless to say, more times than not lunch time would end and I would have nothing edible to eat but a peanut butter and jelly sandwich I made as backup. After months of preparing the lunch and entrée foods with little success, I ventured toward the section of the book that had intrigued my attention the most, but had not attempted any recipes from, the dessert section. Flipping through this wondrous array of sweets, my eyes quickly fell on a recipe that would have immediately caught Matt Mcallester’s eyes too, strawberry ice cream. Immediately, I grabbed the brand new ice cream maker my mother had received for Christmas that year, a pint of strawberries, heavy whipping cream, and the other little necessities needed for this intriguing frozen culinary delight and began the delicate process described in the book. When the frozen delight was finally completed, it was one of the best ice creams my family and I had ever tasted, and it was from there on, I became the family dessert chef. Each day after looking through various dessert books I would find a sweet or confection that everyone in the family could enjoy. My new creation would always be the perfect finishing dish to our meal to leave us all with a sweeter sense of family.
Food invoked my brothers and I to bond a little more each and every day we sat down to enjoy the union of life and family that is food. Dinner as a child helped establish my deeper connection with food and family that has influenced me throughout my life, whether it is personally preparing food in ways I learned from my mother, or just recognizing that getting together for a meal is not just meant to satisfy hunger but is more importantly a social meeting place where friends, family, coworkers are more open to express their personal beliefs and feelings.
Food. This word stirs up millions of different responses in people all around the world. It can cause one to have flashbacks or reminiscing thoughts of a time or event where food was a part of or it can cause an immediate mouth watering reaction. Either way, food is almost always thought up of in a pleasant or thought provoking manner. It brings comfort for people who may be in need, it brings a sense of satisfaction for a person in hunger or even just someone who has that certain craving for something, it brings families and friends together for celebrations, such as birthdays or holidays and for the not-so-celebrations like funerals. No matter what the situation or event may be, food always has a rightful place. No wrong can come from it for it is truly god’s gift to the world. Succumbing to the alluring smell and taste of food is simply inevitable. This is especially true for me. I stumbled across a saying a few years ago and I immediately felt that it completely encompassed me and my love for food. It said, “The key to my heart is through my stomach.” This couldn’t be any truer for me than if it had my name in it! I love food more than what is considered normal by most. Not many people realize when they first meet me how much I can eat. Most think that just because I’m fit that I must not eat that much. Oh how I relish those people’s facial expressions when that moment comes where they see how much I can truly digest. It’s priceless! My sister partakes in my same obsession about food if not even more. I’m a little disappointed to say that she’s thinner than I am and can feast ten times more than I ever can. Even I am amazed sometimes as I watch her tear through a monster thickburger from Hardees with the burger patty far too large for the bun that it just protrudes from it. And yet, she motivates me to devour my own thickburger right alongside her. She and I share a passion for challenging ourselves when it comes to food. We like to test our limits and discover just how much we can eat in one sitting. This being said, when the “Big Pie in the Sky” pizzeria advertised their “carnivore challenge,” we knew it was the ultimate test for us. So here’s the challenge: it’s a 48 inch pizza that has 11 pounds of meaty toppings as well as other various toppings on it. Two people have within one hour to finish the pizza without throwing up or leaving the table’s immediate vicinity. A team receives 50 dollars for attempting this carnivorous dreamer’s challenge and IF the team actually does manage to scarf down the pizza and keep it down, then they receive 250 dollars cash. On top of the monetary rewards, the winner also earns the bragging rights to officially say that they have come, they have seen, and they have conquered the carnivore challenge. Needless to say, my sister and I felt obliged to at least try to eat this human marvel they call a pizza. We prepared for the challenge a week in advance. We would sit there in sessions and try to see how much we could eat in one setting. We timed ourselves and practiced pacing because we were used to just literally inhaling food, not really chewing, but we knew that would not get us far in the carnivore challenge. We stretched our stomachs as far as we stretched our imaginations that we could, in fact, finish the pizza under the imposed rules. Finally, our time came. It was a Monday, around 3:30 in the afternoon. I called in advance and scheduled a time for my sister and me to take on the challenge. When we arrived at the pizzeria, the workers thought we were joking about the challenge. They were in complete disbelief that two thin girls who looked like they could barely eat more than a slice or two were standing in front of them asking for the sultan of all pizzas, for the pizza that other pizzas quiver in its wake. After a few minutes of convincing, two workers carried the pizza out to the table, placed it, and set the time. So the countdown began. My sister and I worked our way slowly but surely through the pizza, pacing ourselves just as we practiced. After the first twenty minutes passed, we were making decent progress. I grasped on to the mental image that we could, in fact, finish the pizza! I could see the other pizza customers out of the corner of my eyes, gawking at us at what we were attempting. Who could blame them? I was doing the same thing! I focused my energy and thoughts into just finishing without vomiting. We were doing exceedingly well and we could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Then that light went out. After about 40 minutes of intense, focused eating, our progress on the pizza slowed down drastically. That energy and motivation that existed in the beginning of our feat just no longer remained. All I could think about at this point was just passing out on the floor! Our one hour to finish the pizza came to an end, and sadly, my sister and I did not finish the pizza... Even though we didn’t finish it completely, we did eat more than about 60 percent of the pizza which was an accomplishment in itself! I’m proud of the progress my sister and I made on the pizza that day. The experience was definitely one that I’m sure to never forget. After all, it’s pretty hard to forget about a pizza that’s roughly about the size of a house window. Who knows? Perhaps my sister and I will go back to that challenge after some time, practice, and my stomach returning to its normal feeling. Until then, we prepare for our next challenge of taking on the triple king burger from “fatburger.” That one, I can handle.
The Magic of Grandma's Food (Revision of Blog Post #1)
The aroma of traditional Chinese dishes evokes happy childhood memories. Iremember eating numerous delicious entrees prepared by my grandma and the flavors always spoiled my taste buds. As you could imagine, the memories of eating grandma’s dishes have dominated my food experiences as an adult. The food I ate growing up in China has always been a blessing to me both physically and mentally. In Chinese culture family bonds were created and strengthened around meals.
Our entire family would gather together on the eve of holidays, like the spring festival, to help grandma preparetraditional meals. I was always enthusiastic to be part of the cooking process. During the meal, I was able to talk to cousin Wen about studying, and chat with cousin Yang about the latest fashion news. The conversation always strengthens the brothership between us. The assembly of the entire family around the dinning table also helped to overcome depression, for example when uncle Wang died. We would share funny stories about him with each other throughout the entire meal. When I eat eel rice noodle and rice porridge I remember the fun times with uncle Wang. Eating these foods encourage me to be strong even in times of despair and conjure vivid memories of my grandma.
My Grandma was raised in a rural city of China. She had to wake up everyday before the sun rose to water the grains in the field as well as feed the chickens. Grandma’s passion to use the freshest vegetables in her cooking has not diminished after moving to the city. She is very picky on the food offers at the grocery store. She never tolerates the soft texture, dark color, or wrong smell on the vegetables. Her dedication to present the most nutritious food on the dinning table alters my opinions to eat healthy food. Grandma was careful to design every meal to incorporate all possible nutritious elements. For example, steamed egg offers great amount of proteins. She cooked the egg just so to create little holes that trap in the steam; once you take a bite the heat from the steam warms your tastes buds. The pork cake was fried in oil just for enough time so it doesn’t get dried, but still retains the tenderness of meat and is cooked all the way through.Another dish prepared by grandma is fried cabbage. The unique aspect of the dish was not only the crispy texture of the cabbage, but also the flavors of garlic and pepper intertwined together to elevate the natural flavor of the cabbage. The final dish was always a green vegetable soup. Only a quarter scoop of vegetable oil, and no condiments are added. I was fortunate enough to have grandma prepares nutritious meals for me everyday. This food not only energized my body, but also taught me to practice the habit of eating healthy well-balanced meals. The balance of the dishes also reminds me of the balance of our family.
Every summer, I would accompany grandma jogging through the field to escape the clamor of city traffic. The fresh and tender smell of the vegetable always offers a sense of originality. I always enjoy eating the vegetables pulled out of the soil. However it is difficult for someone who has never had fresh vegetables to imagine the taste of the freshness. Grandma is always excited to tell me her stories eating fresh vegetables. Last summer I had an opportunity to visit my grandma in China.
The first night I arrived at my hometown, grandma prepared over 10 dishes to celebrate my accomplishments in America. The stewed chicken accommodated by nutritious herbs. Pepper fish fired up by the most elegant spice from Sichuan province. Dry fried string beans incorporate the crispy texture from the boiling oil as well as the salty and spicy fermented bean. Of course, the steamed egg, fried pork cake, and a fresh bowl of spinach soup. Grandma dedicated an entire afternoon to cook the nutritious meal for me again. The dinner again brought the family together to share each other’s stories and catch up on all the happenings in our lives.
As you can tell, I was spoiled through my entire childhood. Grandparents deliver their love to me through food. The food presented on the dinning table always had meaning behind it waiting for me to discover. My grandparents reinforced into my mind to try to eat healthy and not to waste food are essentials. Since living in the Unites States for almost four years, I miss the food grandma cooks, miss the family dinners. If I want to eat an authentic Chinese meal, I have to buy the ingredients and cook it on my own. Every time attempting to cook a traditional dish from my childhood always stimulates my memory cells to remember the meals grandma made for me. I really cherish grandma’s effort to cook food for me. The food offers in America will never reach the quality grandma can master. I enjoy eating meatball spaghetti in a western restaurant such as Romano’s macaroni grill. However, that entrée contains over 4000 calories and is high in fat. I always question my food choice since I came to America. The dessert in America contains a lot fat and calories, and fast food happens to be the cheapest food I can eat on my budget. They all taste delicious, but the nutrition value can never compare with the food grandma offers.
The past summer, my cousin and I helped grandma start growing vegetables in the backyard. The best gift I have ever received is grandma’s proof on the vegetable. The joy on her face as she presents the fresh vegetable on the dinning table was my accomplishment. The memories of grandma’s food have accompanied me for 14 years. The food grandma cooks not only nurtured me, but also reminds me of the importance of unity in the family.
Call to mind a favorite memory, and chances are that it will in some way involve food. I have been making tasty memories ever since I could reach the counter. One that stands foremost in my mind is making taco salad with my mother. After browning the ground beef, she would let me add the spices, lettuce, shredded cheese, Fritos, and diced tomatoes. While the process took time, the reward of eating my favorite meal was well worth it.
Reflecting upon it now, I would say that a taco salad is actually an appropriate metaphor for life. The salad is a combination of various ingredients, just as our lives are a composite of diverse elements and experiences. The ingredients are all quite different in texture, color, and taste, yet all are essential parts of the whole. Ensuring these ingredients are in proper proportion is most crucial in order to attain the desired result. When all are combined in just the right amounts, they create something enjoyable and memorable.
The primary ingredient in taco salad is beef, which gives the meal a substantial foundation. It also provides necessary protein for the body to produce energy and remain strong. In life, the beef would represent my occupation as staff-writer for Gourmet magazine. My writing profession gives me purpose and a future, allowing me to remain positive and feel valuable in a hectic world. It affords me a way to earn a living, and the means to enjoy the other aspects of life.
Spices are what give the taco meat its zest and kick. Without seasoning, the beef would be plain and bland. A good sense of humor adds spice to life. It distracts from everyday stresses and flavors the beef (work) in a positive light. My co-workers and I rely on dry, witty humor to brighten our attitudes in the office. It also enhances the flavor of my writing when aptly applied. The old adage often proves true that laughter is the best medicine, and certainly everyone needs a good laugh now and then.
The importance of lettuce is obvious since it is the “salad” in taco salad. The green, crisp leaves rejuvenate, refresh, and restore the palate and the digestive system. You cannot simply gorge yourself on taco meat and expect to escape the detrimental effects. Lettuce corresponds to the need for healthy exercise in my life. Running, working out, and playing sports are all essential to my well-being, both physically and mentally.
The next ingredient falls on the other end of the spectrum. Cheese may be a good source of calcium, but it has a very high fat content. Knowing this fact should not deter its inclusion as an essential element of the recipe. Shredded cheese is to a taco salad as the cherry is to a hot fudge sundae. It just would not be complete without it. Cheese represents the fun in life that generates happiness and many fond memories. As an adult, I still possess the childish desire to get out and play. I have found that by establishing priorities and managing my schedule well, I can create opportunities for recreation and enjoyment. Like cheese, a reasonable amount of fun in my life makes everything taste so much better.
While most taco salad recipes call for tortilla chips, my mother favors the salty, crunch of Fritos. In addition, the thicker Scoops are preferred over the original variety. The corn chips add both flavor and texture to the salad. Fritos correlate to the tough times in my life where perseverance and determination are required to make it through. Difficulties and trials are a part of life that cannot and should not be avoided altogether. We must face our challenges, crunch through them, and learn from them. The Fritos in our lives are an essential element that serves to shape and build character.
The final ingredient in taco salad is red, diced tomatoes. Their exploding juiciness and amazing flavor take me back to summertime and remind me of lazy days, especially if they are homegrown. Tomatoes give taste buds a chance to just kick off their shoes, sit back in their reclining chairs, and say, “Ahhhh, this is the life!” The hustle and bustle of reality needs something to offset its negative attributes. Time to rest is essential in my life because it gives me a grace period, allowing my body and mind to regenerate. It takes all of the other elements of life and brings them to a stand still. The work, the stress, even the fun all stop and give me momentary peace. Everyone needs that moment where they completely relax and forget about all of the worries that have built up in the back of their mind.
Assembling taco salad with my mother is much more than just a favorite memory. Not only does it taste extremely good, but it also affords an opportunity to draw a parallel to the various aspects of my life that are most important. A simple listing of the ingredients does not suffice, though. The ability to choose proper amounts is of even greater significance. The measure per ingredient is primarily dependent upon the initial quantity of ground beef the cook uses. The appropriate balance of these ingredients is what takes a normal meal and morphs it into an extraordinary one.
So it is with life. Similar to ensuring the proper balance of ingredients in a taco salad is maintaining the proper balance of the diverse elements in our lives. We must make sure that hard work, fun, and relaxation are distributed in such a manner that nothing tips the scales too far in any one direction. We, as the cooks, exercise a significant amount of control over every aspect of the delicious meal of life.
A great (although fictional) man named Forest Gump once said, “Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re gunna get.” Well I say, “Life is like a taco salad – balanced, scrumptious, and full of wonderful memories!”
Many people believe that the only purpose that food serves is nourishment. But my opinion differs from theirs. That’s because I know something they don’t. The journey while cooking is a sort of glue that binds the ones in it. Meals that are less than perfect can be more satisfying and fulfilling than those that are prepared according to exact specifications.
We all think that tastes and mannerisms are expected to be learned at the dining table or at family functions. Mine began on a window sill. It could well have been my dining table. Eating there gave me immense joy. It was there that I learned about the kind of food I liked. Preference was always given to the food that didn’t require too much chewing. On the window sill, I came to know about my favorites and also the ones I detested. The thought itself might seem quite strange but for me eating with a brush of pleasant wind across my face and a view from the 10th floor where people looked like ants moving about doing their daily work , gave me a weird sense of power as if I was playing my very own game of being a superhero. I enjoyed that and ate there until I had no choice but to grow out of it but I still love to sit and eat on my window sill occasionally.
Hot tempered people usually indulge on sweet dishes or very spicy stuff- the extremes, frugal ones eat what’s available and easy to whip up, calm and composed people eat with a sense of peace on their face no matter what they eat, and the ones with the naughty look on their face well they play more with their food than eat it; atleast this is what I have noticed. Being hot tempered I started preferring the sweet, sour and spicy dishes nothing in between. The Indian cuisine which is well known for its spicy dishes, made it easier to expand my taste buds.
As a working mother, my mom wasn’t able to prepare the finest meals or give the most nutritious food in my lunchbox but, whenever she had the time, she more than made up for it. Being extremely attached to my mother, I noticed certain innate qualities. For example, one of the maxims she followed was “while cooking for guests cook with perfection but while cooking for family cook with care and pleasure”. Some people think that it doesn’t matter who cooks it as long as it’s cooked appropriately with the right ingredients but if love is one of those ingredients, it definitely makes itself known in the end.
During my exams, she always served my favorite dishes in colorful plates with beautiful designs despite the availability and convenience of simple metal plates. At that time, I just took this for granted and it was only later that I understood what an immense mood lifter those plates had been. It’s these simple details that actually matter and that make a difference.
During my school years, the weekends were always eagerly anticipated (not that it is any different now); mainly for the sleep but also for the elaborate dishes that my mom tried to prepare. It was a bright and sunny Friday morning (that is equivalent to Sundays in the Middle East). My mother had woken up early in the morning (being a doctor kind of puts you in the routine of getting up no later than 7). She sat in the living room sipping her morning coffee waiting for the rest of the family to wake up. It was past 9. My sisters and my father had decided to sleep in and, being the week after exams, I, too, felt no urge to get up before twelve. It was then at those lonely early hours (well at least for us) of the morning that my mom made an impromptu decision; to cook something extravagant. She went to the grocery store (open 24/7) and brought all the necessary ingredients. My mother had been talking about this dish for weeks. After tasting it in her friend’s house (Navratan korma and makkai roti), she had been dying to try it out herself. The noise of banging pots and the spicy aroma of her cooking woke us all up with the curiosity of what was being brewed in the kitchen. One by one we all checked whether it was something for lunch or just a false alarm to wake us all up! After shaking of the sleepiness and checking out what was going on, my sisters and I decided that the day was destined to be dull and eventless so the three of us decided to chip in and do our parts in the kitchen. My dad, knowing that helping in the kitchen wasn’t his forte and having failed miserably in earlier tries, decided to relax on the couch and read the paper rather than helping. I had the easy job (of course) of chopping while my sisters got the tough task of making sure that all the ingredients were kept ready in the right quantities. As the number of dishes increased exponentially with the number of helping hands, the family luncheon turned into a veritable feast. Finally, after what seemed like ages, we laid the table and sat down to eat. Looking at each other we tried our creation. Ugghh…..what a disaster. Some dishes were too sour, some were too sweet and some even had a weird taste to them! Now I understand why they say too many cooks spoil the broth. But even after such a fiasco, we enjoyed the “feast” because we had spent the morning with each other cracking hilarious jokes (probably the reason why it turned out the way it did) and that was worth much more than the food itself. With my parents working into the wee hours of the morning and us being busy with school and exams, a family day seemed unrealistic but that simple morning was much better than any party or outing. It gave me the sense of being a part of a true family. If such small items can have the power to bring people closer and then it’s aptly called the source of life.
To me, nachos are not just an ordinary food that we enjoy as a snack or something we get when we go to a ball game. To me, it means much more than that; Nachos are a prime example of how I overcame a cultural difference.
On November 28, 2004, my family and I left Incheon International Airport in Korea and arrived at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. Upon observing such a different environment, I knew my life would be very different. I did not fully grasp the differences until I attended my first American school.
I started going to school in January. In the midst of people foreign to me, there I was, waiting in a line to be served with my first lunch in an American school. Not knowing how lunch would turn out to be, I was fluttered and anxious to eat my first meal. I had read many books about schools in the United States, written by international students studying in United States. As a result, I had a vague idea about how my first lunch in American school would be like. And yet, when the time came, I was still somewhat nervous.
‘Hmmmm, I would love to have some pizza, chicken fingers, or hamburger. Oh, wait! What is that smell? It does not smell familiar to me. I doubt that I will be served with this food. What can it be?’
The rich, cheesy smell of nachos assailed my nostrils. I did not know what was producing this funky smell. The smell was not familiar to me. Having never experienced nachos, the unrecognizable smell aroused my curiosity and made me become eager to be served. When it became my turn, I received my food realizing it to be very different from what I had expected. The lunch menu of the day was hard-shell tacos with nachos. In Korea, people generally consume much less cheese than people here do, because it is too oily for them. My mother, a typical Korean housewife, refuses to use the suggested amount of butter and oil whenever she bakes or cooks, but on the other hand, she adds extra garlic or peppers. It did not take me long to discover that the big yellow dollops on the chips were cheese did not take me long, but it sure did take me by surprise. As a typical boy from Korea, I also disliked the excess amount of cheese poured onto salty chips. I was not sure if I would try it.
‘I do not think I will ever be able to eat this food. No matter how long I stay in United States, I do not think I will ever like this food. Richness of cheese and its funky smell will never appetite me!’
I had a Korean friend named Ji-Yong who was helping me survive my first day of American school. He led me to the table where his friends were gobbling down their lunch. At the table, there was a girl named Kayla. With blonde hair and blue eyes, she was so different from the people that I used to see in Korea. However, her appearance was not the only factor in which she differed from me. Reaching out her hand for nachos again and again, she clearly displayed her love for nachos. I tried the taco but I did not even look at the nachos. When she was finished with her nachos, she licked the cheese that had gotten on her fingers. My mother used to tell me never to lick something off my fingers because the fingers are one of the dirtiest parts of the body. After listening to her, I began to believe it unsanitary for one to lick something off one’s fingers.
‘Yuck! She is licking cheese off from her fingers! If my mother had seen her, she would have lectured her about how bad it is for her to do that!’
Honestly, I could not even stand the cheesy, oily smell of nachos. Not knowing this, my friend Ji-Yong and Kayla wanted me to try some of the nachos. Just as I expected, the taste of nachos was not satisfying. I regretted listening to them. After having tried some, I thought,
‘If I live in the United States for long enough, would I be able to enjoy nachos?’
Sitting at a table, surrounded by friends that looked so different from me and spoke a language that I was not used to, I felt very awkward. Just watching them having a great time finishing off their lunch, sucking on some cheese that had gotten on their fingers, further distanced me.
‘Would I be able to be a part of them? Even though we are so different?’
Now I have lived in United States for about 5 years; I have no fear of eating nachos. The taste and smell that was once unbearable to me are starting to become satisfying to me. My nostrils are no longer assailed by the smell, but instead gets tickled softly; my taste buds no longer recognize nachos as something that is too oily or tasteless but, instead, recognize it as something that is appetizing. Just like my nostrils and taste buds have adapted to the unexplored taste; I have adapted to the new life in United States. I have become friends with English-speaking people of other cultures. Also, I no longer freak out whenever someone licks food off his fingers. My roommate has blonde hair and green eyes, and I have black hair and brown eyes. However, my roommate and I are like brothers, no cultural differences bring any conflict between us. This weekend when I have nachos with my roommate, I am going to tell him about my little story behind nachos.
Nachos have taught me that, as an immigrant from Korea, there are going to be many cultural differences to be experienced and that I need to know how to overcome; most importantly, nachos taught me that the cultural difference can be overcome.
MCLC.GIF)
source:http://pesto.art.pl/kuchnia/dania/pfane/Eggs_Benedict.jpg 
Source: http://www.americanlife-traditions.com/issues/16/images/strawberry-ice-cream.jpg
If such small items can have the power to bring people closer and then it’s aptly called the source of life. 
