Authenticity. I’m still not sure what that constitutes, but I don’t think I found it at Zooroona. I remember walking into the restaurant thinking, “Wow, this place looks really different.” I realized upon leaving that I used to consider any place stocked with enough antiques and old-looking furniture to be authentic. I can’t help feel that Zooroona just tricked me into believing I was getting that unique experience. Maybe it was the crazy waiter, who tried so hard to impress his customers, who tricked me. No, it was definitely him. But this all goes back to my initial fear/question in my expectations piece: should we really believe our waiters wholeheartedly? I wanted to, and I didn't have any reason not to. Maybe that makes me a sucker.
I didn’t need authenticity though, because I was with good friends and I was eating good food (for the most part!). I guess in this sense, a place can be authentic if it’s conducive to friends enjoying each other’s company. But that’s certainly not the only, or most important, criteria for authenticity.
Eating at Zooroona was an enjoyable experience, no doubt about it. I initially feared being completely overwhelmed by foreign words on the menu (thankfully, I had an Armenian friend along to help me out) and feeling like a tourist, as strange as that sounds because I attend school down the hill. But the experience wasn’t as nerve-wracking as I thought it would be. I tried the lamb, and everything I normally would not have tried if I wasn’t writing a restaurant review, and I surprised myself by how open I was to the experience. I didn’t revert to the familiar. After a while, I forgot I was at Zooroona for a class assignment and just tried new things for the sake of stepping out of my comfort zone.
Like I said in my expectations piece, based on my experience at Alhambra Palace, I believe the atmosphere can make up for a lot. I think this is true at Zooroona. Maybe the chairs were imported from World Market, and maybe the waiter stretched the truth just a little (who will ever know?), but at the end of the day, I was pleased with the atmosphere it offered--real antique furniture or not. I didn’t exactly feel transported to the Middle East, but I did feel, if just for a while, like I was somewhere special.
That’s what study abroad will be: a six-month experience of some place different and special. Eating at Zooroona might not have been as dramatic an experience as study abroad is likely to be, but it’s the idea of crossing borders, being vulnerable in a foreign situation, that came across with this assignment. I’m glad I reviewed Zooroona instead of a place like the Union, or Food Dance, or Roadhouse--and I’ll try not to stay in my comfort zone when I’m abroad either. Even if my future culinary excursions aren't so successful, and even if my experience abroad confuses my idea of authenticity even more, I want to at least be able to say that I tried something new and that it helped me grow.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Process Writing
I was never given the freedom to be so personal in my writing before this class. I felt drawn to writing about experiences with my family, the complex relationships with my mom and sister, because it’s all a huge part of who I am and who I will undoubtedly be in the future. Walking into the memoir assignment, I thought that writing about my memories would come easily because, well, they’re just memories and nobody can tell me that how I feel or how I respond to certain relationships is wrong. It wasn’t that easy though, and like Marin told me once, I will probably write about these relationships for years to come. Turns out that writing about the people I know so well and love so much isn't so easy. And what scares me is that, maybe I don't have these people figured out. Maybe I have this idea in my head that I should have a handle on them because I've been close with them for twenty years.In this class, I became aware of that tendency to always be in control when it comes to my emotions and my relationships. I think that's why I was so drawn to the theme of family--I felt in control, and really confident, when creating those characters on the page. But more than anything, it was incredibly fun to write about my bully sister and my needy mom. I always knew that family was the most important part of my identity, but I didn't anticipate that they would be my favorite subject to write about...because I never had the opportunity to write about them so freely.
I found that controlling tendency to be true in my writing as well. I enjoyed receiving feedback on all of these pieces, but at the same time, it made me extremely vulnerable. It was difficult, and maybe even strange, to receive feedback/criticism about characters in my life from people who don’t know the complexities of my experiences with them. But I quickly realized that it’s my responsibility as a writer to recreate those memories and experiences so that my reader can understand all of those complexities.
Revision: Zooroona redefines good service
(Audience: the Index)
It might seem as if a waiter is overcompensating for mediocre food or stale atmosphere when he sweet-talks his customers and praises the establishment like it’s a refuge from Sodexo-run college cafeterias and 4am take-out. Or maybe his dramatizations are the only ways he knows how to convey a most sincere admiration for his place of work.
It’s the latter in the case of Zooroona, a ten-minute walk from Kalamazoo College’s campus, located up the hill on West Main.
The waiter, a part-time college student who could double as a professional salesman, argues that Zooroona offers the best Middle Eastern food in the state. Then he changes his mind: it’s the best in the United States. No, that’s not good enough either. It’s better than the food in Middle Eastern countries themselves, he raves.
But it isn’t just the food that gives this waiter the confidence to boast. He says anything that looks like an antique is actually an antique. That’s a bold statement, considering that almost every piece of tarnished furniture and stained-glass-covered lantern has the potential to fool the average college kid who’s not aspiring to a career as an art historian. (Forget the part where he mutters that the Moroccan chairs were purchased from World Market a few miles away.) Fortunately for this waiter, Zooroona is not so far-removed from Morocco. The experience is like a scene at Rick’s Café in the 1942 drama "Casablanca" with its antique brass necklaces framed against the walls and table lamps that provide that dramatic lighting effect.
The restaurant begs its visitors to perceive the antiquity of its décor as different from that of places like Applebee’s (which the waiter was quick to criticize) that give the allusion of antiquity with its faded prints and vintage posters. There’s no denying that Zooroona, with its hanging bejeweled lamps and tabletop candlelight reminiscent of classic cinema, offers a serene and romantic setting that is unparalleled in Kalamazoo.
Everything about Zooroona appeals to the senses, including the cuisine. Appetizers run from $6 to $8, while the aklaat, or dinner entrees, run from $12 to $22. It’s a relatively cheap ticket abroad for the Kalamazoo College-employed student earning $7.40 an hour.
At Zooroona, two or three hours worth of pay is well spent--for the most part.
The daily shorba, or soup, has a distinct Moroccan taste that differs from Middle Eastern flavors made famous by Iran, Lebanon, Syria, and Turkey. The deep red, spicy, tomato-based soup with cubes of lamb and beef is a delicious alternative to the traditional choice: a lemony, Arabian-spiced lentil soup with a cream-based semblance (but hearty enough to believe it is cream-based).
A Syrian baba ghannouj made of charbroiled eggplant and served with thin slices of mazza, or pita, is a rustic interpretation of Zooroona’s creamy hummus; its visible eggplant fibers beg for the blended and smooth texture of the latter. The kibbeh mikliyah, a fried football-shaped appetizer made with a spiced lamb and beef filling surrounded by a fried meat and bulgur shell, offers a balance between the two meats that the Baghdad kabob fails to accomplish as a main entrée.
A fresh cucumber sauce is the sidekick to a smoky and spicy jumbo shrimp kebob. Disregard the occasional pecks of black that coat the shrimp—they only enhance the charred flavor. But the Baghdad kabob isn’t a promising second-place contender with a toughness that’s sure to work your hand and mouth muscles. A trip to the gym isn’t necessary. The saffron rice that rests in between the two is a necessary barricade, and it’s clear which half wins this battle.
The prize for the most aesthetically pleasing dish goes to the tawook, tender white cubes of chicken served with grilled vegetables and saffron rice whose juicy interior puts the Baghdad kabob to shame. But the shawermah, thin slices of seasoned lamb and beef cooked on a vertical rotisserie, does little to make up for the Baghdad kebob, both of which are overcooked.
The waiter has one more exaggeration to contribute, though initially hard to believe upon discovering that Zooroona doesn’t offer the best Middle Eastern food in the world. “People’s hands shake because it’s so amazing,” he says, referencing Zooroona’s surprisingly neglected date cake.
It’s a dessert with little curb appeal but a taste that makes it easy to believe the waiter when he says that it frequently elicits verses of sweet poetry from Western Michigan University students written on the walls by the restrooms. Great things come in small packages—or more specifically, a two-by-four-inch spiced square with a warm interior, topped with homemade whipped cream and slices of sweet chewy date. Only the greatest of friends would be willing to share with each other.
The same can’t be said about an ambitious rice pudding, created by a culinary-torch-happy chef who unsuccessfully imitates the caramelized sugar topping of crème brulee. Stick to one dessert or the other, please.
Zooroona accomplishes a lot in the modest space it occupies. And what is a waiter if not a restaurant’s most important advocate? Never mind the hyperboles, as long as they are somewhat justified. At Zooroona, they certainly are.
It might seem as if a waiter is overcompensating for mediocre food or stale atmosphere when he sweet-talks his customers and praises the establishment like it’s a refuge from Sodexo-run college cafeterias and 4am take-out. Or maybe his dramatizations are the only ways he knows how to convey a most sincere admiration for his place of work.
It’s the latter in the case of Zooroona, a ten-minute walk from Kalamazoo College’s campus, located up the hill on West Main.
The waiter, a part-time college student who could double as a professional salesman, argues that Zooroona offers the best Middle Eastern food in the state. Then he changes his mind: it’s the best in the United States. No, that’s not good enough either. It’s better than the food in Middle Eastern countries themselves, he raves.
But it isn’t just the food that gives this waiter the confidence to boast. He says anything that looks like an antique is actually an antique. That’s a bold statement, considering that almost every piece of tarnished furniture and stained-glass-covered lantern has the potential to fool the average college kid who’s not aspiring to a career as an art historian. (Forget the part where he mutters that the Moroccan chairs were purchased from World Market a few miles away.) Fortunately for this waiter, Zooroona is not so far-removed from Morocco. The experience is like a scene at Rick’s Café in the 1942 drama "Casablanca" with its antique brass necklaces framed against the walls and table lamps that provide that dramatic lighting effect.
The restaurant begs its visitors to perceive the antiquity of its décor as different from that of places like Applebee’s (which the waiter was quick to criticize) that give the allusion of antiquity with its faded prints and vintage posters. There’s no denying that Zooroona, with its hanging bejeweled lamps and tabletop candlelight reminiscent of classic cinema, offers a serene and romantic setting that is unparalleled in Kalamazoo.
Everything about Zooroona appeals to the senses, including the cuisine. Appetizers run from $6 to $8, while the aklaat, or dinner entrees, run from $12 to $22. It’s a relatively cheap ticket abroad for the Kalamazoo College-employed student earning $7.40 an hour.
At Zooroona, two or three hours worth of pay is well spent--for the most part.
The daily shorba, or soup, has a distinct Moroccan taste that differs from Middle Eastern flavors made famous by Iran, Lebanon, Syria, and Turkey. The deep red, spicy, tomato-based soup with cubes of lamb and beef is a delicious alternative to the traditional choice: a lemony, Arabian-spiced lentil soup with a cream-based semblance (but hearty enough to believe it is cream-based).
A Syrian baba ghannouj made of charbroiled eggplant and served with thin slices of mazza, or pita, is a rustic interpretation of Zooroona’s creamy hummus; its visible eggplant fibers beg for the blended and smooth texture of the latter. The kibbeh mikliyah, a fried football-shaped appetizer made with a spiced lamb and beef filling surrounded by a fried meat and bulgur shell, offers a balance between the two meats that the Baghdad kabob fails to accomplish as a main entrée.
A fresh cucumber sauce is the sidekick to a smoky and spicy jumbo shrimp kebob. Disregard the occasional pecks of black that coat the shrimp—they only enhance the charred flavor. But the Baghdad kabob isn’t a promising second-place contender with a toughness that’s sure to work your hand and mouth muscles. A trip to the gym isn’t necessary. The saffron rice that rests in between the two is a necessary barricade, and it’s clear which half wins this battle.
The prize for the most aesthetically pleasing dish goes to the tawook, tender white cubes of chicken served with grilled vegetables and saffron rice whose juicy interior puts the Baghdad kabob to shame. But the shawermah, thin slices of seasoned lamb and beef cooked on a vertical rotisserie, does little to make up for the Baghdad kebob, both of which are overcooked.
The waiter has one more exaggeration to contribute, though initially hard to believe upon discovering that Zooroona doesn’t offer the best Middle Eastern food in the world. “People’s hands shake because it’s so amazing,” he says, referencing Zooroona’s surprisingly neglected date cake.
It’s a dessert with little curb appeal but a taste that makes it easy to believe the waiter when he says that it frequently elicits verses of sweet poetry from Western Michigan University students written on the walls by the restrooms. Great things come in small packages—or more specifically, a two-by-four-inch spiced square with a warm interior, topped with homemade whipped cream and slices of sweet chewy date. Only the greatest of friends would be willing to share with each other.
The same can’t be said about an ambitious rice pudding, created by a culinary-torch-happy chef who unsuccessfully imitates the caramelized sugar topping of crème brulee. Stick to one dessert or the other, please.
Zooroona accomplishes a lot in the modest space it occupies. And what is a waiter if not a restaurant’s most important advocate? Never mind the hyperboles, as long as they are somewhat justified. At Zooroona, they certainly are.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Zooroona redefines good service
(Audience: the Index)
It might seem that a waiter is overcompensating for mediocre food or dull ambiance when he sweet-talks his customers before they order and praises the establishment like it’s a refuge from college cafeterias and Chinese take-out. Or maybe his dramatizations are the only ways he knows how to convey a most sincere admiration for his place of work.
It’s the latter in the case of Zooroona, a ten-minute walk from Kalamazoo College’s campus, located up the hill on West Main.
The waiter, a part-time college student who could double as a professional salesman, argues that Zooroona offers the best Middle Eastern food in the state. Then he changes his mind: it’s the best in the United States. No, that’s not good enough either. It’s better than the food in Middle Eastern countries themselves, he says.
But it isn’t just the food that gives this waiter the confidence to boast. He says anything that looks like an antique is actually an antique. That’s a bold statement, considering that almost every piece of tarnished furniture and stained-glass-covered lantern has the potential to fool the average college kid who’s not aspiring to a career as an art historian. (Forget the part where he mutters that the Moroccan chairs are purchased from World Market a few miles away.)
The restaurant begs its visitors to perceive the antiquity of its décor as different from that of places like Applebee’s (which the waiter was quick to criticize) that give the allusion of antiquity with its faded prints and vintage posters. There’s no denying that Zooroona, with its hanging bejeweled lamps and tabletop candlelight, offers a serene and romantic setting that is unparalleled in Kalamazoo.
Everything about Zooroona appeals to the senses, not excluding the cuisine. Appetizers run from $6 to $8, while the aklaat, or dinner entrees, run from $12 to $22. It’s a relatively cheap ticket abroad for the Kalamazoo College-employed student earning $7.40 an hour.
At Zooroona, two or three hours worth of pay is well spent—for the most part.
The daily shorba, or soup, has a distinct Moroccan taste that differs from Middle Eastern flavors made famous by Iran, Lebanon, Syria, and Turkey. The deep red, spicy, tomato-based soup with cubes of lamb and beef was a delicious alternative to the safer choice: a lemony, Arabian-spiced lentil soup that was fresh and light despite its cream-based appearance.
A Syrian baba ghannouj made of charbroiled eggplant and served with thin slices of mazza, or pita, was a rustic interpretation of Zooroona’s creamy hummus; its visible eggplant fibers begged for the blended and smooth texture of the latter. The kibbeh mikliyah, a fried football-shaped appetizer made with a spiced lamb and beef filling surrounded by a fried meat and bulgur shell, offered a balance between the two meats that the baghdad kabob failed to accomplish as a main entrée.
The cucumber sauce is a cool and fresh-tasting sidekick to spicy jumbo shrimp that is marinated to perfection. Disregard the occasional pecks of black that coat the outside—it only enhances the flavor. But the baghdad kabob isn’t a promising second-place contender with a toughness that’s sure to work your hand and mouth muscles. A trip to the gym isn’t necessary. The saffron rice that rests in between the two is a necessary barricade, and it’s clear which half wins this battle.
The prize for the most aesthetically pleasing dish goes to the tawook, tender white cubes of chicken served with grilled vegetables and saffron rice. It puts the baghdad kabob to shame with a juicy interior that doesn’t put the jaw muscles to work. But the shawermah, thin slices of seasoned lamb and beef cooked on a vertical rotisserie, does little to make up for the baghdad kebob, both of which are overcooked.
The waiter has one more exaggeration to contribute, though initially hard to believe upon discovering that Zooroona doesn’t offer the best Middle Eastern food in the world. “People’s hands shake because it’s so amazing,” he says referencing Zooroona’s surprisingly neglected date cake.
It’s a dessert with little curb appeal but with a taste that makes it easy to believe the waiter when he says that it frequently elicits verses of sweet poetry from Western Michigan University students written on the walls by the restrooms. Great things come in small packages—or more specifically, a two-by-four-inch spiced square with a warm interior, topped with homemade whipped cream and slices of sweet chewy date. Only the greatest of friends would be willing to share with each other.
The same can’t be said about an ambitious rice pudding, created by a culinary-torch-happy chef who unsuccessfully imitates the caramelized sugar topping of crème brulee. Stick to one or the other, please.
Zooroona accomplishes a lot in the modest space it occupies. And what is a waiter if not a restaurant’s most important advocate. Never mind the hyperboles, as long as they are somewhat justified. At Zooroona, they certainly are.
It might seem that a waiter is overcompensating for mediocre food or dull ambiance when he sweet-talks his customers before they order and praises the establishment like it’s a refuge from college cafeterias and Chinese take-out. Or maybe his dramatizations are the only ways he knows how to convey a most sincere admiration for his place of work. It’s the latter in the case of Zooroona, a ten-minute walk from Kalamazoo College’s campus, located up the hill on West Main.
The waiter, a part-time college student who could double as a professional salesman, argues that Zooroona offers the best Middle Eastern food in the state. Then he changes his mind: it’s the best in the United States. No, that’s not good enough either. It’s better than the food in Middle Eastern countries themselves, he says.
But it isn’t just the food that gives this waiter the confidence to boast. He says anything that looks like an antique is actually an antique. That’s a bold statement, considering that almost every piece of tarnished furniture and stained-glass-covered lantern has the potential to fool the average college kid who’s not aspiring to a career as an art historian. (Forget the part where he mutters that the Moroccan chairs are purchased from World Market a few miles away.)
The restaurant begs its visitors to perceive the antiquity of its décor as different from that of places like Applebee’s (which the waiter was quick to criticize) that give the allusion of antiquity with its faded prints and vintage posters. There’s no denying that Zooroona, with its hanging bejeweled lamps and tabletop candlelight, offers a serene and romantic setting that is unparalleled in Kalamazoo.
Everything about Zooroona appeals to the senses, not excluding the cuisine. Appetizers run from $6 to $8, while the aklaat, or dinner entrees, run from $12 to $22. It’s a relatively cheap ticket abroad for the Kalamazoo College-employed student earning $7.40 an hour.
At Zooroona, two or three hours worth of pay is well spent—for the most part.
The daily shorba, or soup, has a distinct Moroccan taste that differs from Middle Eastern flavors made famous by Iran, Lebanon, Syria, and Turkey. The deep red, spicy, tomato-based soup with cubes of lamb and beef was a delicious alternative to the safer choice: a lemony, Arabian-spiced lentil soup that was fresh and light despite its cream-based appearance.
A Syrian baba ghannouj made of charbroiled eggplant and served with thin slices of mazza, or pita, was a rustic interpretation of Zooroona’s creamy hummus; its visible eggplant fibers begged for the blended and smooth texture of the latter. The kibbeh mikliyah, a fried football-shaped appetizer made with a spiced lamb and beef filling surrounded by a fried meat and bulgur shell, offered a balance between the two meats that the baghdad kabob failed to accomplish as a main entrée.
The cucumber sauce is a cool and fresh-tasting sidekick to spicy jumbo shrimp that is marinated to perfection. Disregard the occasional pecks of black that coat the outside—it only enhances the flavor. But the baghdad kabob isn’t a promising second-place contender with a toughness that’s sure to work your hand and mouth muscles. A trip to the gym isn’t necessary. The saffron rice that rests in between the two is a necessary barricade, and it’s clear which half wins this battle.
The prize for the most aesthetically pleasing dish goes to the tawook, tender white cubes of chicken served with grilled vegetables and saffron rice. It puts the baghdad kabob to shame with a juicy interior that doesn’t put the jaw muscles to work. But the shawermah, thin slices of seasoned lamb and beef cooked on a vertical rotisserie, does little to make up for the baghdad kebob, both of which are overcooked.The waiter has one more exaggeration to contribute, though initially hard to believe upon discovering that Zooroona doesn’t offer the best Middle Eastern food in the world. “People’s hands shake because it’s so amazing,” he says referencing Zooroona’s surprisingly neglected date cake.
It’s a dessert with little curb appeal but with a taste that makes it easy to believe the waiter when he says that it frequently elicits verses of sweet poetry from Western Michigan University students written on the walls by the restrooms. Great things come in small packages—or more specifically, a two-by-four-inch spiced square with a warm interior, topped with homemade whipped cream and slices of sweet chewy date. Only the greatest of friends would be willing to share with each other.
The same can’t be said about an ambitious rice pudding, created by a culinary-torch-happy chef who unsuccessfully imitates the caramelized sugar topping of crème brulee. Stick to one or the other, please.
Zooroona accomplishes a lot in the modest space it occupies. And what is a waiter if not a restaurant’s most important advocate. Never mind the hyperboles, as long as they are somewhat justified. At Zooroona, they certainly are.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Zooroona: Authentic Authenticity?
I went to Alhambra Palace Restaurant in Chicago a couple years back with some girlfriends, a place that serves authentic and healthy Moroccan Mediterranean cuisine. Named after an actual palace in Granada, Spain, it claims to be one of the largest restaurants in the world. It boasts over 24,000 square feet that includes five private and semi private rooms. According to the website, it’s an ode to Persian, Mediterranean, and Middle Eastern culture and décor. It was cool, to say the least. My girlfriends and I ended up ordering food items that looked familiar. Even though the menu was intimidating, I still felt like I had cheated myself by the end of the night.
I remember thinking that the quality of the food didn’t matter because the interior décor made up for any bad food or service. I really did feel transported to another part of the world, which is the owner’s hope (again, according to the website). He’s imported everything from chandeliers to tiles from the Mediterranean and the Middle East. Whatever it cost, it was worth it.
Authenticity isn’t so easy to define or to distinguish, like we talked about in class the other day. Looking back on my experience at Alhambra Palace, it was my first experience with Moroccan Mediterranean cuisine and I was so awestruck by the aesthetics that I wouldn’t have known (or cared) if the decorations or the food weren’t authentic. I would’ve believed anything anybody told me about the establishment.
My fear for this assignment is not recognizing authenticity when it’s sitting in front of me, or believing that something/some food is authentic when it’s really not. Like I mentioned in class the other day, I don’t want to be fooled into thinking a restaurant is authentic because I don’t understand what's listed on the menu.
And not to be cynical, but should I just believe my waiter when I ask him or her questions about the origin of the food? Are waiters trained to tell us what we want to hear...at least about things that seem as harmless as where the decorations are imported from? A restaurant is just like any other business that wants to keep the customers happy. I supposed that’s a whole different discussion on restaurant ethics.
I’ve decided to review Zooroona—Middle Eastern cuisine. As cliché as it may sound, I want to be transported to a different place, both through food and décor. I want a comfortable atmosphere, and good service, too.
Aside from becoming disenchanted by the lack of authenticity or my willingness to believe my own assumptions without question, my biggest concern is that, as a picky eater, I’ll revert to the familiar dishes like I did at Alhambra Palace. I tend to get overwhelmed by large menus in general, and even more so when it’s written in a language I’m not familiar with.
Furthermore, after our conversation about authenticity the other day, I don’t want Zooroona to be like the Thai restaurants from Molz’s article in Culinary Tourism that cater to the average American consumer; I don’t need to “understand” everything. I just want to experience it and not be the ignorant first-time-Middle-Eastern-cuisine-eater who orders crispy chicken wings (Yes, it’s on the menu.) I’m willing to get lost in the language and not know exactly what I’m eating until it reaches the table, as long as it’s authentic.
Perfect Meal Revision: Needing to Feel Needed
In her desire to be cool in the company of my childhood friends, my mom pushed me away instead of bringing us closer together. I hated that she tried so hard to relate to a bunch of teenagers who thought that their parents were embarrassing no matter what. I didn’t like when she gossiped with my high school friends, and when she passed it as “engaging them in conversation.” She was my mom, not my friend, and nothing was going to change that. It might have been the recent physical separation that comes with moving out for the first time to begin the four-year transition called college that allowed for an unanticipated emotional closeness. Maybe it was a newfound awareness of the vulnerability that radiates from her, as strongly as her seeming immaturity, which allowed me to let her into my life more than before. I know that she just wants to feel needed.
At times she seems so far removed from my life away from home because of the physical distance, which is why I chose to make the 150-mile drive from Kalamazoo to Chicago to make the perfect meal with her for a class assignment.
Our idea of fun rarely coincided when I was in grade school, but we agreed that making homemade pizza was one of those activities that my friends would, and did, enjoy. We decided that we wanted spinach, onion, mushrooms, red bell peppers, red vine tomatoes, sun-dried tomatoes, basil, and fresh mozzarella cheese on our pizza. We already had the dough ingredients, including salt, pepper, and extra virgin olive oil at home.
We went to Trader Joe’s for the ingredients—a quirky grocery store that sells a good selection of organic food and where the cashiers wear Hawaiian shirts to work and say things that my mom enjoys like “Cowabunga dude!” I like to watch her engage them in conversations about their extensive vocabulary of Hawaiian slang because it’s borderline flirtatious. I joke that she’s a “BA (badass) mom” for flirting with younger men, which has become a catchphrase she tries to whip out as much as possible.
I can trace the first times I was embarrassed of my mom to lunchtime in kindergarten, where I arrived with my boxed lunch of turkey sandwiches on four-grain bread (the ends fully attached), carrot or celery sticks, and apple slices for dessert. I was embarrassed by my healthy food, and I knew that everybody assumed it was my mom who prepared it for me. I blamed her for the awkward stares I received through my eighth grade year. I appreciate her insistence on a healthy lifestyle today, which unfortunately never extended to a desire for local foods because the grocery store was more convenient, so Trader Joe’s was a solid alternative. I felt guilty not using local ingredients, but my mom is stubborn so what she says always goes.
We prepared the dough in the food processor before cooking the pizza toppings so it had time to rise. When I was younger, we made it by hand and let it rise for at least several hours. I often made the five-minute walk home from grade school to find my mom and the almost-ready dough in the kitchen. I know I annoyed her when I popped my head into the kitchen every few minutes and whined, “Is it ready NOW?”
The dough was simple: we pulsed warm water, yeast, and flour until it formed a sticky white ball. We placed it in a glass bowl coated with non-stick spray, covered it with plastic wrap, and let it rise for an hour or so. We cooked the onion, spinach, peppers, and mushrooms while we waited. We assembled the toppings in bowls before I rolled out the dough, which was a source of anxiety when I was little because I feel incompetent when my mom was forced to reroll my attempted circle.
I still feel like I’m in grade school when I make pizza with her because I grudgingly ask for her approval on the thickness of the dough and the amount of oil and mozzarella cheese to distribute on top. I want to know how to do it without Mom’s help, but I let her invade my workspace. Even when I’m not dependent on her, she knows how to make me feel like a kid. So I let her pretend that I’m still the golden-blonde-haired toddler who seized her legs when I needed her, and I let her squeeze me tightly as she suffocates me with kisses, because I know a part of her grows sad when witnessing my independence.
But I’m an adult now, so I transfer the dough onto the pizza paddle sprinkled with cornmeal, coat it with olive oil, and arrange the ingredients on top, without her help. I put the olive oil too close to the edge, and there’s too much mozzarella cheese covering the spinach, red peppers, mushrooms, sun-dried tomatoes, onion, vine tomatoes, and basil.
So I ask for her approval in the end because it’s what I’m used to. She informs me of the mistakes I am already aware I’ve made. She does it reluctantly though, because to her I’m still the toddler who doesn’t know any better.
We turned the oven light on every few minutes to watch the mozzarella cheese melt and blanket the vegetables. It came out of the oven as a painter’s palette of crimson, forest green, golden yellow, sepia, and ivory. I started to eat standing up, but she reprimanded me for it so I sat down with her at the table in our kitchenette. Since I only ate it with cheese when I was younger, the sweetness from the onion, the sharpness of the sun dried tomatoes and the peppers, the subtlety of the spinach, the crunch of the thin yet chewy crust, all tasted like adulthood. At the table, we talked about my life away from home.
It took me eighteen years to understand that she’s allowed to be vulnerable. She wants to be close to me, to feel needed, like she was when we were under the same roof. She clings to the past and reverts to the fondest childhood memories—it’s how she compensates for the distance.
This meal wasn’t about the food. She treasures time spent in the kitchen no matter what she’s cooking because it’s where she as a mother will keep giving to her daughter.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
If I were Sifton, I'd be obese by now
A restaurant critic seems to have a lot of freedom to write what he or she wants. I noticed some consistencies in the descriptions of the surroundings in and outside of the restaurant, the intended audience or consumer, important figures like owners and chefs, type of cuisine served, and the food itself. Some of the most interesting pieces, not necessarily reviews, engaged the reader in a conversation. For example, in his blog about the John Dory Oyster Bar, Sifton asks his readers how they feel about the restaurant’s no reservations policy, and he always gets lots of response. Is time in NYC really a form of wealth? I agree with some readers that I probably wouldn’t take a group of five to dinner at John Dory because of the wait, but a dinner for two might be a different story.I liked the storytelling approach that Sifton uses in one of his reviews, or the pieces in which I learned something about the author him/herself other than food preference. I liked that in “The Cheat: A Winter’s Tale", oxtail stew was the subject, and the restaurants that offered all sorts of variations of it were secondary characters.
Sifton’s cares about his readers, which is obvious from his blog posts and responses to questions about his life as a professional food critic. The internet really is your friend, Sifton proves, and it’s a good place to discuss big issues like health, culture, society—and the greater costs and implications that come from purchasing McDonald’s in general. He has a great online presence, which opens the door to a larger audience.
It was cool to see the way that these restaurant reviews unfolded because the authors (mostly Sifton) approached the subject differently each time. Sometimes he’d start with a description of the food, or the head chef, or traits of the surrounding neighborhood. So, structurally, it seems to me like anything could work, as long as it holds some significance. A difficulty I encountered in Arts Journalism last year when writing reviews was the “in-between” pieces—when I didn’t love, or hate, something, and trying to create that balance on the page without sounding boring or not being able to develop my own voice. In the article about Bar Basque, Sifton writes about a mediocre restaurant experience, and the need to contrast/shift between good and bad doesn’t lose me as a reader, partly because he writes about both so well that I wasn’t thinking about the mediocrity of the experience.
In Sifton’s Q&A, it’s easy to see that he feels all the pressures of his job on a daily basis. I imagine it’d be hard to transition into or out of a lifestyle that requires eating out four times a day, and exercising enough to continue to do so. But he’s very much aware of, and open about, his professionalism and doesn’t mask the complications, which makes him very real to me.
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