Perfect Meal Final

Being at school, I don’t get a chance to cook very often and even when I am home, there are only a few dishes I actually cook for myself. Trying to figure out the perfect meal that I wanted to make was a pretty daunting task. It was my chance to have the creative freedom in both the kitchen and my writing. I had the unique opportunity to have full reign of my rules and expectations for this meal. After reading Michael Pollan’s The Omnivore’s Dilemma, my first thought was to establish some guidelines for myself, which is what he does when trying to create his perfect meal, but in all honesty, I didn’t want to have that pressure. So instead of creating rules, I tried to figure out what to prepare.

I knew instantly what person I wanted to share my meal with, my best friend and roommate Kari. She was open to new things and I knew she wouldn’t judge me if I messed it all up. No matter what, she would be appreciative that I was the one cooking and it was one less trip up the hill to the cafeteria. So in a way, I was ensuring a perfect meal no matter what because I had the perfect eating companion.

My meal idea hit me one weekend mid-quarter when I was waiting in an incredibly long line for a caf omelet. Why was I wasting my time on something that wouldn’t curb my hunger? I didn’t want some salmon colored egg mixture thrown together with bits and pieces of veggies cooked in who knows what kind of oil. I didn’t want to have to stand for 20 minutes just to have an overcooked, overly spongy egg disk. Sure, the omelets were decent enough and at least we had them as an option, but they made me my stomach queasy, which had me wondering how real the premixed eggs were. I wanted to make my own eggs that I could eat without having to worry about an aftershock.

I wanted eggs, but not just any eggs. I desired two eggs over easy, sautéed mushrooms and spinach with salsa, all on top of sourdough toast spread with a thick layer of hummus. I craved over-easy eggs specifically. To me, there was something very appealing and appetizing about a runny yolk. Normally, I dipped my toast in the yellow yolk, and for some reason it mimicked butter, not just in color, but in its rich taste as well.

Not a classic dish by any means. I remember getting bored with only eggs and toast, and deciding it would be a good idea to add things that I would include in an omelet, but instead of tomatoes, I opted for the more spicy version; salsa. At home, this was a simple meal since everything was right at my fingertips, ready in the fridge for my consumption for whenever I wanted it. It was a common post-workout meal, being that eggs are a great source of protein and I could make a sandwich out of it, another favorite type of food of mine. Here at school, it was not convenient for me to cook eggs all the time. I had to somehow acquire these ingredients and the proper cooking ware all without a car to make my ideal meal. And I was up for the challenge because I wanted some eggs!

Eggs wouldn’t be the first idea to pop into many people’s minds when trying to figure out what their idea of a perfect meal was. I mean sure, they are tasty, but they are also loaded with vitamins and minerals, all for under a 100 calories a piece. To me, eggs are one of the most versatile foods. They are a staple in many recipes, served with a variety of other dishes, and are the main ingredient in many meals. I have never been able to understand how there are so many people who cannot stand the thought of this wonderful nourishment.

In order to complete this project, I had to do a lot of pre-planning. For many reasons, the thought of using the cooking supplies in the dorm kitchen disgusted me. I didn’t know the last time the cutting boards had been washed, if at all, and what had been placed on the countertops. Luckily, my mother came to visit me the night before I planned to cook the delicious breakfast for Kari and myself. She brought everything I needed, even the spatula and pan. Unfortunately, I had to make this meal without toast because there were no toasters in the dorm and it would have been too much of a hassle to try and toast the bread in the oven. That also meant no hummus. I wasn’t too worried about it. The food would still be delicious and wonderful.

After waking up on a lovely November morning, I got to work preparing our breakfast. Kari was still asleep, but I didn’t mind working alone. In the mornings, especially while cooking, I liked to be alone. It gave me time to think and also that way I didn’t have to worry about I had my own system and didn’t want anyone messing it up. I decided that I would clean and rinse my mushrooms in our bathroom sink. Not the most sanitary place I could have chosen, but it worked well enough. Carrying everything from my room to the kitchen took a lot of balance, but I was able to make it without dropping anything. Thankfully, it was on the same floor so I was able to run back and grab plates and bowls I forgot during first trip.

As I said before, cooking in an unfamiliar kitchen was daunting. I didn’t know how hot the stove would get or how quickly, and the weird creaks and groans made me think I was slowly torturing the machine and it could explode any second. The speckled, cream colored counter tops led me to believe they hadn’t been cleaned in a long while and the air was stagnant, smelling on Chinese someone must have microwaved the night before. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but it was all I had and would have to do. Once I the pan was hot and the weird noises had finally subsided, I sprinkled some water on its jet-black surface, hearing a satisfactory sizzle; it was time to start sautéing the mushrooms.

Time and time again, this meal has been one of my favorites because of its simplicity in its creation. Now, it is at the point where I have the meal down to a science. When making this meal, I first toss the mushrooms into the pan, and then add the spinach once the mushrooms are almost fully cooked. The eggs are then cooked since the pan is already hot and they take less time to prepare, allowing for the vegetables to stay warm. After the mushrooms and spinach cook down into a somewhat soupy concoction and are set aside, I carefully pour the eggs into the pan, not wanting to break the yolks. Unintentionally breaking a yolk is one of my biggest fears. When I want to eat a smooth, creamy masterpiece, accidentally turning it into a squishy, chewy pod of yellow does not strike my fancy. Instead of having just the pressure of making my own without error, I had to make them for Kari as well.

I successfully flipped the eggs without seeing yellow yolk bleeding everywhere, and I was able to time it so nothing was over or undercooked. In no time I had the food on plates, Kari had woken up, and we were in our room, ready to eat. Sitting cross-legged on the floor at our little table, we added some salsa on top, brightening it up immensely.  I watched her gingerly take a bite of the egg creation. She chewed and a smile slowly spread across her face.

“That’s so good!” Kari said. “Its not what I was expecting, but I really like it.”

I was glad that she appreciated the simple, yet appetizing breakfast. Now knowing that Kari was enjoying her food, I dug into mine, satisfied as the fork punctured the yolk, which oozed out of the egg and into the soupy mixture. Delicious. Knowing that I was able to share a simple, fresh, yet tasty meal with someone and not have to eat cafeteria food was great enough in itself, but getting to show off my skills in the kitchen, as small as they are, made me feel accomplished.

Process Writing

My process for writing all of these pieces was simply forcing myself to start them. No matter if I thought my idea was good or bad, I just had to get something down on the page and run with it. Normally, I had to rewrite the beginning of my pieces because they included a bunch of jumbled thoughts, but once I was able to start forming coherent sentences and ideas, everything flowed smoothly. 

            I think one of the most frustrating things for me was the memoir. Since it was our first piece, I had to remember how to get my creative juices flowing after the long summer break.  Like I said in the previous paragraph, the beginnings are always the hardest, but one I start getting words down on the page, I didn't have any trouble coming up with ideas.

            Some of the changes that I always have to make when revising my writing are looking over sentences and their flow. I am sure this happens for most people, but every idea sounds wonderful in my head, but on paper sometimes it doesn’t turn out exactly how I want it to.  

            My review piece needed a lot of revision. I had to work on describing the food more clearly and using similes. I am still not sure if I mastered that, but that was the biggest struggle I had when trying to reword the three pieces we had to write.
            I had a lot to revise on my perfect meal piece because I had left a lot out. I think that this was the most challenging revision because I had to rearrange paragraphs in order for everything to flow smoothly, but expanding on my ideas and adding what I was missing was easy because I had simple forgotten to mention those things, not realizing their significance until we had discussed it in class. 

            As for my classmate’s suggestions to my writing, I took most of them into consideration. I am always open to suggestions from others because writing is rewriting and I’m always striving to make my pieces stronger. I don’t think there is one particular example of a situation where I didn’t listen to a comment because I thought my way was better. I’m sure that happened quite often while I was revising, but I tend to mesh my own ideas with other’s suggestions to help my piece overall.

            It’s hard to describe specifically what this course taught me. Not only had my writing gotten strong, as it always does as you keep writing, but I learned more about myself as a food consumer in America. I learned about different ways to go about researching and purchasing food and other products in the market, but also what stances my classmates took on different food related subject areas. The largest idea that I have taken from this class is that food is much more integrated into almost every part of a country. From its economy, its culture, and its way of life, food is something that can spark a passionate debate at any point in the day. It’s the one thing we can’t live without and that is why we were able to have such great discussions in class. 

A Slice of Banana Bread - A Memoir (Final Revision)

I woke up to the slanted ceiling staring back at me, only inches from my face. Turning over in the small twin bed, I saw my younger brother tangled in the flowered sheets that my mother slept in when she visited as a kid. The room smelled like old carpet, a musty, yet comforting scent of grandparents, or in my case, great-grandparents. Thinking back to the house on Wisner Street, where the small town of Alpena rests on the shores of Lake Huron, and three generations of my family have lived before me, my memories are absorbed by food.  

Smells of bacon and pancakes drifted up to the bedroom, enticing us from our sleep. Slowly we crawled down the steep stairs through the dining room and into the kitchen. Homemade Italian Christmas bread was already toasted and buttered as my great-grandmother stood in the middle of the small kitchen - her small kitchen - making breakfast for us. It had become a ritual, a routine, when my brother and I came to visit. She stood in a long blue robe, faded from years of being worn each morning, white hair perfectly curled, as she leaned over the yellowed white Formica countertops. Steam rose from her mug as she poured herself a cup of Folgers. Her toast sat on a small plate accompanied by a red-lidded jar of JIF. After she took sips of her dark black brew, she applied an even, almost perfect layer of peanut butter on the golden brown toast while I sat watching her. Those two smells, the earthy coffee and sweet, comforting, nutty scent, filled the small, bright room as she bit off a piece with a satisfying crunch. 

My great-grandmother baked. That was her hobby. Her specialty was banana bread, but she would never disappoint with her shortcakes, brownies, and cookies of all types. This is how I remember her. I never remember eating food at her house that wasn’t sweet and I’m sure I obtained my sweet tooth from her. Having to eliminate many of my favorite childhood deserts because I am unable to consume any dairy and a variety of other foods, making me miss her even more because I can’t remember her through taste, a strong memory trigger for me. Thankfully, the recipes have been passed down to so that my children will be able to enjoy these foods as well even if I cannot. Even so, I know that the banana bread my mom makes is nowhere near as mouthwatering as hers was. My great-grandma was very careful to share her recipes with anyone but close family. I’m almost positive she added something to the batter that was never written down so that she could make sure that no one could replicate her baked goods, leaving me now at a loss.

That morning I sat watching her prepare our breakfast on a stool propped against the wall, out of the way, as I waited for my Strawberry Poptarts to be toasted to a golden brown perfection. My brother sat at the table, feet kicking, his legs too short to touch the floor, waiting for his Lucky Charms. Beams of light shone down on the floor. Dust flew through the light like a quiet snowstorm. The windows may have had a bit of dirt on them, but that didn’t obstruct my view of the backyard garden where my great-grandfather stood watering and weeding before the temperature rose. I moved from my perch to the table where she had set her plate across from my brother’s and mine.

Breakfast was a time not only to consume fresh fruit doused in milk, which to this day I cannot seem to replicate with my insufficient soy substitute, or left over shortcakes, but also a place where my family decide the day’s activities. I never cared what my great-grandmother had planned for the day, as long as we were allowed to get Dairy Queen at some point. Normally, she’d teach me how to play canasta or we’d pull out the board games she had used for decades. My favorites were Sorry! And Rummikub. I think the Sorry! board ended up splitting into two pieces and we resorted to taping the fold to make it whole again. My great-grandmother and I played games for hours. It was nearly impossible to come into her house during the day without hearing the shuffling of cards, or the die hitting the table. When we were tired of playing, she turned on the television to the Game Show Network (GSN) and we watched anything and everything. Sitting on the couch with some sesame sticks or cheesy popcorn, another old favorite of mine, was a must and there was never a concern about getting food on the cushions. As a kid there was never a need to worry about anything. Food would always be on the table when it was time for the next meal and I always seemed to be occupied during the day. It is funny how growing up changes that all. 

At some point, my parents came from our cottage to eat. They brought hamburgers, Lay’s potato chips, French onion dip and watermelon, a perfect summer lunch. While my dad helped my great-grandfather with whatever needed to be fixed that day, my little brother in tow, the ladies went into the kitchen to start cooking. For me, burgers were a staple item, mustard, ketchup, and pickles were all I needed to complete the sandwich. That would not seem like enough now, as I love lettuce, tomatoes, onions, and avocado as well. Now I prefer organic sweet potato chips rather than regular ones. Watermelon doesn’t sit well with my stomach and chip dip is not an option being cream based. But back then everything was simple and wonderful. The smell of the grill is synonymous with summer in my mind. Describing charcoal is close to impossible. It is unique because when you smell it, you instantly know that the food coming off the grill will have a hint of it converted into flavor.

            I wish I could go back to that house. Those summers were filled with magic. Grapes that were so firm they burst with a crunch. Sweet corn on the cob doused in butter with hamburgers and hotdogs over the old charcoal grill with fresh vegetables from the garden. Trips to DQ almost everyday with games of mini golf on steaming hot days. Now, visits to DQ require a whole sleeve of Lactaid pills and even with those, pain is inevitable. I wish I could go back to visit that old house where steps creaked and the house shook in the summer wind and see my great-grandparents again, hear their voices. Looking back, my love for turning on GSN disappeared when my great-grandmother died. Maybe it was because I didn’t have the time to just sit for hours or because I didn’t have the patience. More than likely it was because without her sitting by me, GSN wasn’t as funny or enjoyable. I just can’t appreciate them as much when she isn’t trying to answer the questions before the contestants do.

As much as I wish I could relive these memories, I can’t. These people are gone, the house was sold years ago, the garden is gone, and many of these once delicious foods are not a part of my diet anymore. Life transforms from a carefree dream to a complicated task, but even so, I will always have the memories.

Perfect Meal

Being at school, I don’t get a chance to cook very often and even when I am home, there are only a few dishes I actually cook for myself. Trying to figure out the perfect meal that I wanted to make was a pretty daunting task when we were first introduced to the assignment.

It hit me one weekend mid-quarter when I was waiting in an incredibly long line for a caf omelet. Why was I wasting my time on something that wouldn’t curb my hunger? I didn’t want some salmon colored egg mixture thrown together with bits and pieces of veggies cooked in who knows what kind of oil. No. I wanted to make my own eggs and I wanted to dictate what was in them.

Now let me clarify. I wanted eggs, but not just any eggs. I desired two eggs over easy, sautéed mushrooms and spinach, salsa, all on top of sourdough toast spread with a thick layer of hummus. At home, this was a simple meal since everything was right at my fingertips, ready in the fridge for my consumption for whenever I wanted it. Here at school, that was not the case. I had to somehow acquire these ingredients and the proper cooking ware all without a car. And I was up for the challenge because I wanted some eggs!

In order to complete this project, I had to do a lot of pre-planning. For many reasons, the thought of using the cooking supplies in the dorm kitchen disgusted me. Luckily my mother came down the night before I planned to cook the delicious breakfast for my roommate, Kari. She brought everything I needed, even the spatula and pan.

Now let me back up for a second and explain why I choose eggs as the main ingredient for my perfect meal. I mean sure, they are a great source of protein and are just what I need after a workout, but they are also loaded with vitamins and minerals, all for under a 100 calories a piece. To me, eggs are one of the most versatile foods. They are a staple in many recipes, served with a variety of other dishes, and are the main ingredient in many meals. What's not to love?

After waking up on a lovely November morning, I got to work preparing our breakfast. Kari was still asleep, but I didn’t mind working alone. I had my own system and didn’t want anyone messing it up. I decided that I would clean and rinse my mushrooms in our bathroom sink. Not the most sanitary place I could have chosen, but it worked well enough. Carrying everything from my room to the kitchen took a lot of balance, but I was able to make it without dropping anything. Thankfully it was on the same floor so I was able to run back and grab plates and bowls I forgot during first trip.

As I said before, cooking in a kitchen that I was unfamiliar with daunting. I didn’t know how hot the stove would get or how quickly, the weird creaks and groans made me think I was slowly torturing the machine and it would explode any second.

Once I the pan was hot and the weird noises had finally subsided, I sprinkled some water on its jet-black surface, hearing a satisfactory sizzle; it was time to start sautéing the mushrooms.
Time and time again, this meal has been one of my favorite and almost perfected. It has gotten to the point where I have it down to a process. When making this meal, I first toss the mushrooms into the pan, then add the spinach once the mushrooms are almost fully cooked. The eggs are then cooked since the pan is already hot and it they take less time to prepare, allowing for the vegetables to stay warm. After the mushrooms and spinach cook down into a somewhat soupy concoction and are set aside, I carefully pour the eggs into the pan, not wanting to break the yolks. Unintentionally breaking a yolk is one of my biggest fears. When I want to eat a smooth, creamy masterpiece, accidentally turning it into a squishy, chewy pod of yellow does not strike my fancy. Instead of having just the pressure of making my own without error, I had to make them for my roommate as well.

Thankfully, everything went smoothly and in no time, the food was put on plates, Kari had woken up, and we were in our room, ready to eat. Sitting Indian-style on the floor at our little table, we added some salsa atop the somewhat boring looking meal in front of us, brightening it up immensely.  I watched her gingerly take a bite of the egg creation. She chewed and a smile slowly spread across her face.

Knowing that I was able to share asimple, fresh, yet tasty meal with someone and not have to eat cafeteria food was great enough in itself, but getting to show off my skills in the kitchen, as small as they are, made me feel accomplished.

All the ingredients set out and ready to cook!

Didn't break the yolks!

The final product. Delicious, if I do say so myself.

Final word on Comensoli's

I feel that my initial expectations of Comensoli’s were almost all wrong. The biggest difference that I saw compared to what I thought would happen was the heaviness of the food. I did not have to be rolled out of the restaurant like I thought I may have to be. The dishes wasn’t overly creamy, weighing me down. The portions were larger than the Italian food I would be served at home, but about the same amount that I tend to receive at other Italian eateries, which I had mentioned in my expectations.

            As for the ambiance, I was totally wrong. There was no Italian music playing, only oldies, and the coloring was less patriotic to Italy and had a more intimate feel. The black, red, and maroon were not what I expected when I thought about Comensoli’s initially.

            The service, as I had eluded too, was interesting. It was slower than I would have liked, but not to the degree that I felt placed it in a negative light.

            As for authenticity, It just goes to prove that there is really no easy way to say something is authentic because everyone can have their own take on the word.

            Overall, I really enjoyed this assignment because it forced me to look at something in my life through a different lens. I know that from now on, no matter where I go to eat outside my home, I will be looking around at everything and really questioning the whole experience, rather than just the food. It will be interesting to keep trying to define authenticity as well and how it fits into my life as a newfound foodie.