Oversatiation (of activities and food)

Whew. Why do I never have time to write? I don’t even know what I’m doing with my life. (As stated in the entry below.)

So, it’s past time for a rundown of my last week.

I saw Spring Awakening last Tuesday. Jake Epstein was the star, which came as a complete shock. For those of you who don’t know, he is truly my only television star obsession. (I admit it. He is on Degrassi. Oh, trashy Canadian shows.) The musical was equally amazing--a true bildungsroman set to rock music and with all the expected emo digressions of hormonal teenagers.

Then, of course, there was our LeaderShape reunion! Andrea and Wes both arrived on Friday. The three of us, plus a few of Andrea's friends, went to Jazz in the Gardens where we inevitably drank too much sangria. Then Wes and I embarked on an epic journey to Good Stuff Eatery, and though it was worth the trip, it was way too far for two starving, stumbling carnivores. We followed that meal up with Thomas Sweet. Shockingly, we ate an awful lot the entire weekend.

Saturday marked my second trip to Eastern Market, where we ate delectable crepes and I acquired a lovely sunburn. No touristy day is complete without a visit to The Mall, so we bussed it over to the Air & Space Museum. Then another journey to Adams Morgan for the National Zoo and Ethiopian Food. Then back to Dupont Circle for Hello Cupcake. (Just in time! They closed right after we ordered.) Looking back, it's amazing that we survived the weekend. So much to do with only a few days in D.C.!

Of course, then I came home and attempted to make cookies, because cupcakes were not enough. Not an easy feat with no brown sugar. Turns out it works, but it's not an ideal situation. Kind of like that time I used a banana as a substitute for two eggs. The cookies were more of a muffin top-cookie blend.

I had my best brunch thus far on Sunday at the News Café. The only thing better than French toast is French toast stacked with cream and fruit. Sinful.

To continue with our tourist theme, we visited The White House, the Washington Monument and the American History Museum. I would highly recommend a visit to The Old Post Office, where we saw some gorgeous views of the downtown D.C. skyline. Following that, we visited the WWII Memorial, the Lincoln Memorial, and The Guards restaurant for filet mignon. So much food.

The boys and I saw Bruno Sunday night. While I couldn't stop laughing during the movie, the residual after-effects are far more disturbing--a penis on screen for an awkwardly long time that also talks. No more words necessary.

Wes left Monday (so sad), and our program went to The State Department. I learned about a job in foreign policy, which I don't believe I want. At least I know. It sounds really exciting, but at this point I'm so wrapped up in domestic policy issues that I would feel like I'm cheating on the United States. (My American Studies major does not help with the guilt trip either.)

Obviously, Tuesday night was reserved for the Harry Potter premiere. Where I saw Jake Epstein again. In an embarrassing display of fanaticism, I panicked, lost control of my voice, and didn't ask for a picture. I'm quite ashamed of myself. Instead of dressing up in HP garb, I only wore Slytherin colors to commemorate the night, but I'm afraid I still looked far too friendly.

The rest of this week has moved far too rapidly. Only two more weeks with all these lovely people. Although I look forward to a human-sized bed and kitchen, I will truly miss all the bonding opportunities. But then I remember the impending semester of bonding I have with my new housemates in the fall!

Summer cookin' (and eatin')

I have finally done what I've always wanted to do (well, since college): make a meal schedule and stick to it. So far this week, I've only made tacos, mac 'n' cheese, and buttermilk biscuits to serve as the starch in strawberry shortcake, but I'm feeling quite good about my progress.

This week also calls for sloppy joes, homemade pizza, chocolate chip cookies, and french toast. And next on the more ambitious agenda is chicken parmesan. Cooking/baking is the one activity I consistently look forward to... I wonder if I'm pursuing the right profession?

As I failed to mention before, I saw Food, Inc. this weekend. Nothing too life-changing, as I'd already read Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma and was familiar with many of the issues addressed. Oh food classes, how I adore thee.

One thing I was not aware of was that companies are beginning to spray their beef with ammonia to remove potential E. Coli bacteria. Yummy.

In any case, I sincerely hope that Food, Inc. receives the hype that An Inconvenient Truth did. Every American should see the documentary. Only when consumers begin demanding change will any of us receive it. And boy, do I want that change.

First D.C. Farmers' Market

I know it looks more like carnage, but I enjoyed homemade beet & goat cheese ravioli this evening (paired with a garlic butter sauce and a side of roasted broccoli) courtesy of the Rose Park Farmers' Market. I cannot possibly describe my excitement upon learning that this market is literally two blocks from where I work.

Additionally, I bought a chocolate & almond croissant and chicken pastry from this awesome French man. He's already a favorite.

In other news, I'm ready for the weekend. Alice Waters book signing, another farmers' market, potentially a food & wine tasting, and going out dancing, lots. Can't wait!

A food forum of celebs, then one of my own

It all started when my dear friend Brittany and I began having a rather intense discussion about food, all based on this video of a panel discussion called Food for Thought:

I'm with Waters on this one, especially because I think we can derive the same visceral pleasure from food that Bourdain discusses while we also revel in its freshness--in its authenticity as an actual food. My response to her saying that a food's origin doesn't matter (and that some people can't afford to care) is as follows:

I honestly think that we ARE on the same page here, hard as it is to believe. Because you’re right; when we eat, we shouldn’t have to ask where our food comes from. We should feel comforted by the fact that the government is monitoring our food systems well enough to keep us safe. But they’re NOT.

Just look at all the recent food safety scares with peanut butter. How did the salmonella get in the peanut butter? Well, nobody will ever know for certain because the journey from inside a peanut shell to onto a grocery store shelf is so long and convoluted that tracing it has become nearly impossible. Instead, companies spent millions of dollars to rectify the issue by pulling all products containing peanut butter off the shelves. If we knew where the tainted products came from, it would’ve been a hell of a lot cheaper to fix.

The point is, most of the food we as Americans are choosing to eat has a much higher cost than the price tag. The gas used to produce the food, to transport the food, is obviously taking a toll on the ozone. The high fructose corn syrup, the hydrogenated oils, well, those are taking a toll on our health. Obesity, heart disease, and diabetes are all increasing in prevalence at astounding rates.

The food we consume may seem to provide only sustenance, while in the meantime it’s degrading our water sources, our soil, our air, and thus the produce that still has some integrity left.

If anything, we can’t afford not to care. Those of us fortunate enough to feed ourselves have to speak out for those who cannot. When we stop accepting the way America currently produces food, the processes will have to change. And when they do, that single mother can ensure that her children will never eat a tomato picked by a pesticide-sickened migrant worker who was deported the day he was supposed to be paid. That college student can ensure that his or her burger was not made from a cow slowly dying in its own feces.

A love for weekends and a weekend of love

This weekend was especially enjoyable with all the Valentine's Day festivities. I didn't participate in anything too spontaneous or exciting, but I find that a combination of good food, good friends and a few favorite movies also do the trick.

Here's Katie snuggling in her festive red blanket-with-arms. I introduced her to the glory of Office Space on Friday night. And she looked so cute, an even better advertisement for snuggies than the television commercials, I just had to take a picture.

And these beauties are the absolutely delectable white chocolate cherry shortbread cookies I made to commemorate the holiday.

I ate a lot of really amazing food, which is crucial during this season. Eating is one of the most pleasurable experiences that exists. What better way to celebrate Valentine's Day than to eat lots and lots?

Lin, Elly and I tried Fiesta Grill, a restaurant 5 miles past the middle of nowhere. The place was incredibly crowded and we waited about 45 minutes for a table. When my flautas fiesta arrived, however, I forgot all about the wait. My plate, appropriately, represented a whole party of textures, and tasted like one big piece of fried tortilla and meat heaven. Totally worth the drive, and absolutely worth the $10 price tag.

Naturally, gorging oneself on Mexican ought to be followed up with chocolate. Bliss, the new boutique bakery on West Franklin Street, made the sweetest ending. Chocolate cupcake topped with chocolate ganache? Yes, please. Chocolate-covered strawberry on the house? Bliss accomplished.

Eating What You Are

My parents trained me at a very young age to adversely react to the word "aspartame." Equipped with the understanding that aspartame was "bad" and most likely caused brain tumors, I took it upon myself to educate anyone less well-versed in healthy eating behaviors.

We can all see how that turned out.

Besides aspartame, I soon scorned iceberg lettuce, questionable meat products (i.e. hot dogs) and any baked goods that came from a box. They were all just a little too unreal for me.

While I can blame my parents for establishing characteristics of good food versus bad food, in my mind I have expanded these rules to epic proportions. After all, they're still eating all of the aforementioned foods. (Sans baking mixes. I've never seen a box in our house. Ever.)

College did me in completely. Here, I am free to develop even greater food neuroses. No hydrogenated oils or high fructose corn syrup. No high fat milk or high sodium snacks.

But why?

I've already learned in my food studies class that while we define the foods we eat, the foods we eat also define us. Sure, my eating habits demonstrate my need for control (in all situations). But I'm also succumbing to a very human need for fresh food--for that just-off-the-vine aroma. Or that just-slaughtered flavor. Mm-mm.

I know my friends consider me a food snob, much like Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally. But I remain absolutely unapologetic; “I just want it the way I want it.” If we are what we eat and, more importantly, how we eat, then I think that being fastidious tastes pretty freaking delicious.

Una visita a La Tienda Hispanica

My very first assignment for my food studies class was to explore an ethnic market, conducting interviews with employees and soaking up the cultural bliss that accompanies ethnicity-specific grocery stores. Naturally, I just had to wait until the last day before the paper was due to begin my journey.

As I walked down Rosemary Street with the specific goal of entering the first ethnic market I came across, I chided myself for having never entered one of the local markets before. The extent of my cultural grocery-shopping experiences have been visits to Trader Joe’s, where I leave with basmati rice and frozen potstickers. I really have no excuse, considering the cultural diversity of the area.

As soon as I saw La Tienda Hispanica, I knew I had reached my destination. Upon entering the store, I was immediately struck by the large amount of brightly colored piñatas overhead. Other than that, the store seemed quite similar to a condensed version of a regular grocery store. Customers are greeted by the sight of plastic-enshrined convenience foods on the left and produce straight ahead.

Of course, as I entered the store further I realized the distinctive differences: tortillas where the bread would be, fruit offerings like papaya, raw meat laid out under a glass front, gelatin in clear plastic bags. With only two aisles, much of the food was typical American grocery products with Spanish names. Then there were also the specialty items, like dulces and galletas familiar to those with a Latino heritage.

As I sought to find the perfect food that would encompass my trip, I finally realized that I stood out like an apple in a bowl of bananas. All of the customers and employees were speaking Spanish, and I was floating around looking lost in a sea of palabras desconocidos. Little did I know that the cultural barrier would be the least of my worries during my trip.

"Hablas íngles?" I asked the man behind the meat counter, keeping my fingers crossed. "Un poco," he replied. Dios mio. Despite my best efforts to learn Spanish in class and while volunteering, I am not exactly a conversationalist. Employing dramatic hand gestures and Spanglish phrases, I tried to convey my hope to find a quintessential Mexican food. In the meantime, I learned that Cipriano was not related to the owner, though he has been employed at La Tienda for several years.

Cipriano was completely willing to translate my Spanglish into something moderately understandable, helping me with the Spanish words I struggled to recall—- about every three sentences.

Then, I met el jefe, Raymundo. He barely knew any English either, so I got in a lot of Spanish conversation practice in thirty minutes. He recommended that I try tortillas con queso, though, unfortunately, I needed something a little more practical for my walk to work. Raymundo explained how he has owned the store for five years, after moving to Chapel Hill from Mexico. He took me on a brief tour of the store, stopping in front of produce to point out their fruity options.

That is when I saw a thick, green, paddle-shaped plant being scraped by one of the employees. Though I was fairly certain of the plant’s identity, Raymundo confirmed it. She was scraping the spines off of cactus leaves. Raymundo said they taste excellent outside on the grill, cooked with a little bit of oil. When I leave dorm life behind, I just might have to try that.

Finally, I asked about the origin of the store’s customers. The cashier said they come from all over: Venezuela, Colombia, Mexico, and El Salvador, to name a few. Their allegiances are strong. I think the appeal of La Tienda Hispanica lies in that diversity. They accepted me just as they accepted the way more fluent Spanish speakers who came before me.

Though I was unable to experience the same community feeling that I am sure customers who can communicate more clearly do, I felt welcomed by Raymundo and his employees regardless. As I left the store, armed with a galleta gigante that Raymundo called pan (unlike any bread I've ever tasted, that's for sure), I enjoyed the sweet taste of a new tradition, topped with coconut and a cherry.