It has been one month and twenty-five days since my last memorable meal. If I close my eyes, I can still recall it: a sizzling New York strip steak coated with marionberry sauce, a salad of fresh mozzarella mixed with tomato and basil from our garden, lightly drizzled in olive oil, and a bed of spaghetti topped with a savory pancetta and onion sauce. The smell of my mother’s French bread is perhaps most memorable. I recall relishing the sound of the crackling crust and the way the poppy seeds dropped off and danced on the plate as you bit into the fluffy, warm loaf. This food was simple, and homemade with fresh, flavorful ingredients. The time away from home makes me deeply appreciate this “real” food.
No insult is intended toward the dining provided on campus. In fact, I am very grateful for the extreme effort at providing the fresh, varying menu they prepare each day. But the challenge of appealing to thousands of college students’ taste buds requires the food to have a certain flavor. The butter and salt that dominates American cuisine is amplified when large groups are served. The extreme of this example are the fast food restaurants.
I admit, I am a food snob. This does not mean I am a picky eater. I am willing to try almost anything once; I even sampled tongue in a deli. I detest people who have never tasted a food but are convinced that they hate it. It astounds me when people run off a list of things they simply will not eat, especially when this list includes basic, delicious ingredients such as: tomatoes, onion, green pepper, and mushrooms. Although vegetables are the least popular among picky eaters, I have heard testaments of hatred towards members of all the food groups: steak, pork, eggs, fish, pasta, shrimp. When asked if these picky eaters have tried these things, the most common reply is, “Ew, never!” followed closely by, “Once. I hated it.” Even one time can rarely warrant hatred of a food. Fish is an excellent example. A fish sandwich at McDonald’s is not a legitimate sample of fish.
If you think you hate fish, I encourage you to go to someone who knows how to cook. Try a maple-glazed salmon, grilled on a cedar plank or a fresh-caught halibut simmered in seafood chowder (best eaten while watching a Cape Cod sunset). Then perhaps you are an appropriate judge of fish. With the right preparation and the right cook behind the stove, any dreaded food can be turned into a favorite.
Sushi is another commonly detested food. If the only sushi you have seen is at a cheesy Chinese buffet or in a cafeteria, you have never eaten sushi. Sushi is not made with tuna from the can or imitation crab. Real sushi (like the kind I enjoyed at a restaurant in D.C.) is perhaps the most flavorful, delicious thing that will ever touch your taste buds.
It never ceases to frustrate me how some people will not eat anything besides peanut-butter and jelly. One friend of mine looked as if she wanted to vomit when I mentioned the lamb I had the previous night. I believe she has been brainwashed, or her taste-buds have. She was mouth-washed (if you will) and would only accept bland and dismal flavors that would not disturb her sheltered taste-buds. She will never know the exciting, complex flavor of curry or the intense rush of a raw oyster. I sincerely believe this is a tragedy.
The problem with eating delicious food is usually the miles between the prospective epicure and the cuisine. I implore you to take a trip to New York City or D.C. and spend your money, not on shows or souvenirs, but on food. Eat at bakeries, cafes, restaurants, and bistros. Buy a loaf of crusty, Italian bread and you will forget the doughy Wonderbread you have consumed your whole life. Try a portabella and smoked salmon sandwich and you’ll never go back to a Hardee’s hamburger.
Some people have never eaten. Yesterday, a fellow student called the penne on my plate spaghetti. All pasta is not just spaghetti. The cappuccinos people love from Marathon or sub-par coffee shops are a disgrace: they are merely a sugary, milky, coffee flavored power drink. A real cappuccino is one half dark espresso and one half light, espresso-infused milk foam.
College amplifies our society’s disturbing dislike of real food. Cooking real food is restricted by shared kitchenettes and the transportation and cost involved in obtaining quality ingredients. The Dining Hall is obligated to appeal to everyone’s palate and only cultural celebrations provide a reprieve from a tasteless existence.
Let me leave you with one of my favorite meal memories. The setting: a long table outside of a restaurant in St. Malo, France. It was about nine or ten at night on a warm July evening. Around me are friends and strangers, most of them in a happy, red-wine-induced daze. In front of me is a plate of incredible, maple-glazed duck nestled beside a large section of baguette. Every mouthful, every waft from the scent of the perfect dish filled my head with happiness. All I thought about was the taste and smell and texture of what I was eating. The way that dish captured all of my senses describes the ideal sample of real food.