Nostalgia

            Though we read a number of stories for today’s class, I’d like to focus on the ideas in just one in my response, “A Good Appetite” by A. J. Liebling.

            In his piece he talks extensively about an old friend of his, by the name of Toto Mirande. He begins by talking about the great things Mirande has accomplished in his life; he explains the impressive choices he made from the time he was young to make the name for himself that he held at the time of his death. Prospering especially in the area of food was where the author came to know Mirande.

            The air of the piece was that of nostalgia for me. It made me think of meals I’ve shared specifically with my aging grandparents. Many years my seniors, much like Mirande to Liebling, it was once very much easier for me to enjoy the large family get togethers we have had over the years. Nowadays my grandparents seem to be obsessed with this being near the end of their lives. This idea, of course, both terrifies me and angers me. I do not wish to see them as old or deteriorating persons, again, similar to the feelings of Liebling as Mirande grew older and wearier.

            The past few holidays our family has gathered for have had an almost morbid feel to them. My grandparents have begun to consider their wills, which I know is a sign that they know the end is approaching. I have spent much of my life with them and I cannot begin to cope with the idea of them being gone.

            In reading his piece, I began to think of the way I react to these incredibly important people in my life. I realized that I too, like Liebling, have begun to pull away from them. Not wanting to hear or think about their approaching deaths, I have made fewer phone calls, and fewer visits to them. This would seem backward, but Liebling and I simply did not want to see our loved ones go. The thought of this was too much to bear.

            I realize that this piece was a tribute to the meals which he shared with Mirande, but I rationalized it differently I guess. Maybe this was not the right way, but it was my way in reading.

            A final point about his piece and also a theme I found to be tied into many of the other sections was that of, eating well is only possible with a healthy appetite. I really loved this idea. The skinny bitches don’t know a thing! They couldn’t possibly truly enjoy the art of food. I also liked the idea that though many of these stories revolved around the beautiful French cuisine, I might still thoroughly enjoy my meals if I let myself. If I let myself take the time and don’t hold back, I too can enjoy the experiences that these writers have had in exotic and world-renowned restaurants.

Very Rough Draft - Cooking Experience

When I was younger, my Dad and I shared meals together all the time. With my Mom in nursing school, commuting an hour back and forth from Jackson to Kalamazoo daily, we spent a lot of time together. Over the years our meals have evolved from the stages of his college life, to mine. One such meal that has stuck with me, was homemade pizza. By homemade I of course mean a pre-made crust and the addition of our favorite toppings. This was my favorite of all the meals we shared because it was one that I could help with. I am in no way, shape, or form a cook, but when it comes to pizza, I can sure spread a mean can of store-ready sauce!

When I couldn’t make it home to again share this cooking experience with my Dad, I thought hard about whom I could share my meal with. The decision was actually very easy though. Jamie. Jamie is one of my oldest friends at K, and ever so deserving of a gift from a friend she has given so much to. Always there in a bind, always willing to give more than she should, I was happy to choose her to cook for.

Jamie is remarkably like a Mom away from Mom. She knows all of the answers to the little tedious questions that would normally go towards a parent, but we’re away at school. She is insanely domestic and loves to cook. Making a pizza was now an even better decision than before; she could help me make it!

My perfect pizza contains the following; pepperoni, ham, bacon, mushroom, banana pepper, onion, and lots of cheese. Our perfect pizza on a college budget; pepperoni, banana pepper, mushroom, and lots of cheese!

To begin our cooking adventure, Jamie and I took a trip to the friendly, neighborhood Meijer. All of the ingredients we needed were housed within three isles of one another, a quick and easy trip. Making the experience that much easier still, pizza ingredients such as crust sauce and pepperoni are now conveniently shelved in a group. The most challenging part of the entire process was finding canned mushrooms.

The following day it was time for a lazy lunch. In addition to the pizza, Ben & Jerry’s half baked ice cream as well as chips and salsa were provided as the perfect college-esque appetizers.

After several trips back and forth from our third floor dorm rooms to the basement kitchen, we finally had everything that we needed, from silverware to canola oil. Taking cues from the three step instructions on the back of the crust packaging, we got to work.

First, I spread canola oil on the crust as a substitute for olive oil. We then poured roughly half a jar of traditional Pizza Quick Ragu over the surface of the crust and spread it evenly with a spoon. Next came the spreading of the whole package of mozzarella cheese. We then went on to cover the entire pizza with slices of pepperoni. Jamie, holding different views on mushrooms, opted out of placing them on her half. I however, covered the obnoxious amount of pepperoni with an obnoxious amount of mushrooms. Last, but not least, we each used about half a jar of banana peppers to top the pizza off.

Though the instructions on the ready-to-bake crust said our perfect pizza would be ready in 7 - 10 minutes, with the ridiculous amounts of toppings we had added, the pizza took well over 30 minutes to cook. The juice from the banana peppers and canned mushrooms spilled over the sides as it baked, leaving a far from perfect, sufficiently black outer crust. 

My meal comes back to the theme of who you’re sharing it with. Though the pizza had burnt crust and not fully cooked through toppings, the experience was what mattered. Jamie has been through so much with me, and it felt good to spend time with her outside of the dorm. It felt great to give back to her after she has given so much to me. It felt great to make a memory that I’m sure we’ll be laughing about for years to come.

Sixteen and Reckless

The look on my Mom’s face was priceless. “Stephanie, I never realized you could lie to me.” Her world was all but shattered as I told her of my secret adventure to Chicago that I had taken just four months after receiving my license to visit the boyfriend I’m still not supposed to date. Coming from a girl who at nearly twenty still won’t sneak a sip of a drink at the bar for fear of being caught, this memory, even years later still feels defiant. Maybe not much to an outsider looking in, but to me it was about love and recklessness.

Performing this act of defiance at sixteen, I felt like a badass. As I’ve had time to reflect on my impulsivity, I know that I made a potentially life-threatening decision. When I say life-threatening, I mean it in more ways than one. My life would literally have been threatened if my parents had found out about my secret trip to the windy city.

Spending day after day in a town of roughly 35,000, where the most impressive attraction to a teen is the Starbucks on the edge of town (notice, the way out), doesn’t exactly properly prepare one to visit a large city. With a Starbucks on every corner, cars that don’t yield to pedestrians, and shop after shining shop to replace the oh-so-opposite-of-fabulous one corridor “Westwood Mall”, a small town girl (as you may imagine) has much to take into account upon entering a real city. The experience of this small-town-girl-gone-cosmopolitan first occurred at sixteen. 

My boyfriend, then of two years, was living and working in Chicago. A three plus hour drive from Jackson would mean crossing two state lines and driving in heavy Chicago traffic. With the experience of rush hour in downtown Jackson under my belt, I figured I could handle Chicago. Considering if my parents found out about the excursion I’d lose my life, what threat did a little downtown traffic pose?

I fibbed and said I would be shopping out of town with a girlfriend and returning home to stay the night with her. I remember waiting and waiting for my parents to call and ask why they had seen Drew driving around town when we were supposedly together. Thankfully, karma was working with me that day, Bob and Pam never so much as sent me a text.

I set out with just enough of the then popular Camel No. 9’s to get me through the long and lonely drive. Three CD’s and half a pack later, I was learning quickly that the Chicago speed limit was a myth, even as far out of the city as the skyway! Apparently, 80 was the new 55!

After being hit on in line at the toll booth (obviously cigarettes and blonde hair turn on Chicagoan boys) I finally made my way through the tight streets of the suburbs wondering why Trevor had told me he lived in Chicago. In my mind, being able to see the Sears Tower from your balcony didn’t count. Gated car lots and store fronts created a big city anxiety unknown to a girl from a family who never locks their door. Finally arriving, relief washed over me as my high school sweetheart ran out to parallel park my car.

Trevor had been living in Chicago for three months at that time and was eager to get me downtown. Also a small town boy, the lure of Michigan Avenue was undeniable. 

No longer the little girl in the Colombia jacket begging her mother to take her into the American Girl store, I felt the epitome of a grownup, strolling along the beautifully lit streets with my man on my arm. 

After a bit of  delicious window shopping at Coach, Ralph Lauren, and Tiffany’s, we settled on the Grand Luxe Cafe for our dinner.

As we fought through the Friday night dinner crowd, I was not in the least inconvenienced by the sign on the side doors asking us to please use the revolving door. This was just another welcomed step in my big city training. Inside, the dim lighting and close contact, beautiful trench coats and older couples left me feeling both silly and girly, yet grown up and in the right place.

The anticipation of the cozy booth awaiting us in the floor to ceiling glass room Trevor had requested was almost more important than the meal itself. Being one of the many, anonymous, that night is something that I have come to long for. Though the boy I loved drew me to the city, the more intense love I felt in leaving was for the city itself.

The meal at the Grand Luxe of course went above any expectation I had had. To be sitting across from my best friend, to be watching the lovely people walking with their expensive shopping bags, and to feel the magic of the city lights was the beginning of the end for Jackson and I. 

A few blocks off Michigan Ave. Trevor stopped in front of a Starbucks and ushered me in. Knowing already to order me the nonfat toffee nut latte, I had a moment of peace to reflect. I had come here for love and to go against the grain, but I left with a new direction for the rest of my life in mind.

       Walking back into the crisp November air, we stopped in front of one of the thousands of buildings to smoke a final cigarette. The taste of nicotine mixed with coffee on my tongue, the taste of young love in my heart, and the new taste of the city filling my young mind took me over. As I tossed the burning remnant to the ground I knew that I hadn’t had quite enough, this was just the beginning for me. 

"Good to Eat, Good the Think"

This was definitely my favorite section of The Omnivore’s Dilemma. I was more or less captivated from the beginning. Pollan’s phrase, “good to eat, good the think” came up again and again throughout section three, and made me think. Surrounding this thought was the act of being a vegetarian. Being a vegetarian would most likely seem better “to think” than being an omnivore - eating processed and possibly inhumanely slaughtered meat. Pollan looks deeply into both sides of being a vegetarian versus eating meat. 

The part about the cruelty shown to hens that are used only for their eggs was difficult to read. Pollan brings up some stickiness about a vegetarian’s argument that eating meat is inhumane; isn’t eating eggs also inhumane then? This is only one of many  interesting arguments are made concerning the politics of being a vegetarian. 

I was shocked and more or less horrified by the comparison of meat-eating to slave-ownership. Seriously? This view seemed a bit much for my taste. I can’t see many reasonable vegetarian or vegan people equating me to a plantation owner from the deep south because I eat meat. 

Another of the crazy arguments was that if we eat animals because they are ignorant, could we also rationalize eating a baby or mentally ill or disturbed person, because they too are ignorant? This of course was met by Pollan much in the way I saw it, well, animals aren’t like us! It’s not even plausible to eat another human being, how is that even an argument? 

Finally, Pollan talks about the similarities between sex and eating meat. This thought I could get in to. It is basically the idea that, we now have the ability to procreate without actually performing the act of intercourse, so should we continue to have sex recreationally? It is the same as with eating meat. We are able to live without meat by consuming other foods that contain the nutrients omnivores gain from eating meat. Should we eat meat or have sex just because we like it and we want to continue to? Maybe not, but I can bet we still will continue to perform both devious acts.

Getting away from the vegetarian ordeal, I absolutely loved Pollan’s descriptions and stories of hunting and gathering. Although I have never had the desire to do either or these things myself, and may never participate in the activities, I was absolutely inspired by his adventures. I was so impressed that he was able to overcome some of his original doubts (about the firing of the gun, or the eating of the wild mushrooms without fear or being poisoned). The actual meal was wonderful, and while reading I thought it sounded rather perfect. 

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Speaking again of inspirations in part three, it’s impossible not to bring up Angelo! I LOVED ANGELO!! He was such a fun character. He seemed a great friend to Pollan. He was encouraging, and stuck with him through both the hard times and the good times. He seemed like the type of person I would want to know when I’m older; to learn and grow from

Look Who's Talking!

We talked a lot in class Tuesday about Michael Pollan’s writing style, although I think we may not have touched on a pattern he tends to use that I find quite interesting. He tends to make the plant which he is talking about capable of human-like thought. As with corn, he makes grass out to be a very clever and consciously thinking being. Just one of many examples of this is; “The evolutionary strategy they [grasses] hit upon was to make their leaves nourishing and tasty to animals who in turn are nourishing and tasty to us, the big-brained creature best equipped to vanquish the trees on their behalf.” (page 129) In this excerpt, the evolutionary strategy is attributed to them, as well as the ability to make their leaves tasty to an animal who in turn we would eat. I highly doubt that grass thought all of this through and hoped that humans would eventually begin to take part in activities such as burning or mowing grass in order to help it prosper. 

I think that this adds something to Pollan’s work though. Having some things looked at from the perspective of the plant is interesting and fun. I doubt it will be something I carry on with me after finishing this book, but who knows, maybe I’ll ask the lawn if it’d like to be mowed next time I’m home!

Surprisingly Satisfied

The Omnivores Dilemma was full of surprises for me. I was first surprised by how interesting it was. I had expected to be bored to tears (no offense Marin!), but I wasn’t at all. I found that Michael Pollan’s style of writing kept me turning the pages. He was able to mix much fact in with wit. One of my favorite lines thus far was, “To wash down your chicken nuggets with virtually any soft drink in the supermarket is to have sine corn with your corn.”

I was also intrigued by the vast array politics that have been surrounding corn since it was first mass produced. From the “New Deal” until the present, corn production has been an ever-changing game. The fluctuation has forced the government to take special action. I had no idea what kind of money we as taxpayers supply to farmers across America.

Not as surprising, but equally as interesting was the way in which cattle are prepared to become our dinners. Again, I was pressed with the idea that the process in which they are raised is not 100% humane.

Finally, one of the other bigger points of surprise was the amount of corn we consume! I could not believe all of the products that are in some way comprised of corn!

I must be made of it too!