Rats

I don’t think I could ever eat a rat. Bourdain made beating cobra heart sound interesting and appealing. But rat?! I can’t imagine actually sitting down for dinner and having rat on your plate. I don’t care if it was from the city or the mountains. Rat is rat. And in my opinion, rat seems like it would be pretty gross. As for the rest of the readings, I found it interesting how in one way or another most of the pieces addressed a special food and why it was great. “The Secret Ingredient” very clearly talks of finding that one special ingredient that sets a dish off from its competitors. In the piece “Nor Censure Nor Disdain” the author gets at the idea of making a dish the right way. Fisher acknowledges the many ways a casserole can be prepared using all types of ingredients, but at one point she clearly states what type of ingredients “should” be used when making a casserole. The authors quest for a certain type of bagel in “The Magic Bagel” tells the story of a man who has his heart set on finding the exact bagel he ate with his daughters years ago. A duplicate will not do. It would be easy for him to find a pumpernickel bagel, the challenge comes in finding the exact pumpernickel bagel. “The Homesick Restaurant” presented a yearning for special food in a different way. The Cubans found a little piece of home at Centro Vasco. No, the food technically wasn’t Cuban, but the atmosphere and the memories were. The Cubans living in Miami could sit down for a meal at Centro Vasco and remember what Cuba used to be like. They can feel the sense of community they once felt and are reminded of Cuba through the tastes on their plates. It was interesting that although the dishes had changed at the restaurant in Cuba, they still retained a connection to the original owner through the design and appearance of the restaurant. “An Attempt to Compile a Short History of the Buffalo Chicken Wing” was an amusing look at the history of a truly popular item. I’d say on average that .8 times a day one of my roommates proclaims, “I’ll go to b-dubs.” Half the time they’re probably not serious, but the point is that Buffalo Wings are damn popular. I found it interesting that the history was not more clear cut. It was cool to hear a little history behind something I am confronted with daily. It seems to me that the Buffalo Wing is done right in Buffalo. Every place seemed to have their own little variations about cutting and what not, but the basic structure seemed the same. The delicate manner in which such a generic food is handled is interesting. Forget B-dubs, I’d go to Anchor Bar. Maybe I just have simple tastes but I’m pretty satisfied with Buffalo Wild Wings. I can’t help but wonder how much better the wings in Buffalo are though. Maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to deny rat then. Rat at a restaurant in Kalamazoo or Detroit? Count me out. But if I was Luogang? Maybe...but probably not.

Day at Comerica

     “Ice cold pop! ice cold water!”

     “Do you want something to drink?” I turned to my girlfriend, Karianne.

     “Are we going to get food?”

     “Yea, want to go up after this inning?”

     “Ok, I’ll wait to get a drink up there then.”

     Two outs later we climbed the stairs to the main concourse. I always do my best to wait until a stop in action to make my way up toward the food even though I know I will still miss something. The concourse has a way of trapping you in its never-ending circle of intriguing smells and menus. 

For Karianne, it’s always an easy choice. We headed straight for Little Caesars’ to put more money in Mike Ilitch’s pocket. I still can’t figure out how a Little Caesars’ pizza costs $5.30 on the street and a single slice costs $5.50 inside the ballpark. To be fair, I guess they do sell deep-dish slices inside Comerica so I should be comparing the $5.50 slice to something more like a $6.50 pizza. Either way you spin it, it’s thievery. It’s worth it to Karianne though. The thick square piece of melted cheese and marinara sauce did attract my attention for a brief moment, but I knew I could steal some bites of hers and that would suffice.

     Personal pizza box in hand, we continued on to find something to satisfy my hunger. As we walked the sweet smell of roasted almonds drifted into my nostrils. My speed slowed as we passed the white-topped booth distributing the nuts. Every time I’m here I go through an internal battle on whether or not to get bag of the delectable nuts. Their smell is infatuating (someone should make a candle that smells like roasted almonds), but I know they won’t fully satisfy my growling stomach so I carried on just thankful for the free smells.

     Stopped in a line few hundred feet down, I could see the game had started up again. No runners on base, my attention turned to the menu next to the monitor. We got in line for pop, but I always have to look just in case something catches my eye. Classic ballpark food: hot dogs, nachos, pretzels, ice cream, fries and pop. “Ooo those look good,” Karianne pointed at a guy walking away from the register carrying a cup of fries. Safe to say, we would be getting an order of those. I contemplated getting a hot dog or two, but I knew I had not seen all of my options yet and decided to wait. I could always come back. The line shrunk in front of us until we finally reached the front. I was happy I passed on the almonds when the woman at the cash register told me my total, “$8.00.” Robbery.

     We snacked on the fries as we maneuvered our way along the concourse. I had my head on a swivel scanning for possible food options. A small cart selling a special nacho supreme fascinated me. A person sitting close to us had been enjoying an order in the first inning and they did look delicious. Not perfect though and I was searching for the perfect item. I knew anything I ate would be good, nothing could taste bad at Comerica Park when the Indians were in town.

     Leo’s Coney Island was too packed to go in and I can’t figure out why. Who would sit down at a Coney Island at a baseball game? I’m down with stepping up to the concourse to snag some food if it means missing an inning, but sitting down at a restaurant inside a ballpark you paid $50 to get into just seems stupid to me. Sell your ticket, stay home and go to Coney Island with the money you just made. 

We stopped to look at thick grilled bratwurst and another cart selling chicken tenders, but I could not settle. Karianne began to get annoyed with me, “Just pick something!” If only it were that easy. Having seen almost everything, I knew I would have to decide soon. I had one more spot in mind to look at though. 

     I peeked down an aisle way and saw the Tigers were just coming up to bat and had not given up any runs in their defensive half. Happy about that, we slipped into the Big Cat food court. To enter we had to pass by yet another white topped booth exuding the intoxicating smell of roasted almonds. Karianne saw me looking, “Just get some. I’ll pay for it.”

     “No no,” I shook my head and continued moving. The circular area off the main concourse had restaurants around the entire perimeter and was highlighted by the large merry-go-round in the center. We strolled around the perimeter, gazing upon the menu options. Elephant ears, cotton candy, frozen lemonade, chicken tenders. I stopped at one counter, staring at the white board menu. Chicago style hot dogs. The pickle spear, sweet relish, peppers and mustard looked divine smothering the hot dog snuggled inside the poppy seed bun. My mind was clouded with uncertainty. Surrounded by so much food, a decision seemed almost impossible. 

     Finally, I realized what I really wanted. I walked away and got at the end of the Tigers’ Grill line. Karianne rolled her eyes, “Weren’t we already here?” I had passed around thirty Tigers’ Grills and already given one money for fries and pop. “Two hot dogs please,” I said when I made it to the front a short time later.

     I grabbed my dogs and made my way toward another much shorter line for condiments. Just relish on one, mustard and relish on the other. It took me 20 minutes to finally settle on something I knew I had wanted the entire time. It’s tough to turn down something you love in favor of something new. Tough for some of us at least, “Can we please go sit down now? I’m dying to eat this pizza.”

A Cook's Tour

The second to last sentece of Bourdain’s Introduction reads, “Traveling around the world, writing, eating, and making a television show is relatively easy.” Would anyone argue otherwise? Sure, worldwide travel supported by the Food Network’s dime has its issues. Vomiting, land mines, potential for alcohol poisoning and did anyone think the book was going to end with Bourdain’s death on the boat in Cambodia? In class we talked about some of Bourdain’s best qualities and what attracted some of us to him. I think Marin put it best when she said he can tell a story. Every adventure had me intrigued and truly jealous. Bourdain’s book does not contain any hidden metaphors.  This is real life. I found that simple aspect to be the most attractive piece of his book. I do not consider myself to be a picky eater, but I am definitely not a “foodie” either. Growing up I was rarely presented with the opportunity to dine on many types of food and I blame this for my lack of a sophisticated palate. I have simple tastes. After reading Bourdain’s book though, I feel almost inspired to expand my eating horizons. He has a way of making even the most disgusting sounding food seem intriguing, unique and delicious. Bourdain’s tales make me feel like I’m missing out on special parts of life. I need to try beating cobra heart for myself. Bourdain was blessed with an opportunity to explore cultures of the world through food. Not only was I envious of the delectable meals he described, but of the company he kept as well. I wish I could meet Madame Ngoc or hang around a group of men from Basque and just take in what they have to say. Food is something every culture partakes in. Although we all do it differently, everybody does it. Food is life. To be able to enjoy such a simple, but sacred action with people all over the world is an amazing opportunity. Preparation and taste are one thing, but in many instances ceremony is just as important. Bourdain witnessed first hand that in many places, food meant a gathering with specific actions followed to the T. He was able to experience each dish exactly how it was designed to be enjoyed. He ate in packs, in solitary, restaurants and homes. He sometimes ate with only his fingers, while other times he used those same hands to kill the meat he would soon enjoy on his plate. It’s fitting that Shelby presented her choose your own adventure topic right before we began Bourdain’s book. He constantly gets at dining experience and it’s addition to the meal at hand. Throughout his adventures, Bourdain never did find the perfect meal, but I think he returned home from his journey with a better understanding of what the perfect meal means. Setting, company and the amount of alcohol consumed are all a part of the ideal meal. When it comes down to it though, taste, the universal language, is what’s most important.  

Food Bonds

As I was reading the second half of Stealing Buddha’s Dinner I began to understand that the narrator’s family uses food as a source of bonding. The family trips to Ponderosa are one example of this. At home each family member seems to operate on their own schedule and they rarely make time to spend as a family. The children avoid their father and their father seems to avoid the house. Each person has a different daily ritual, their trips to Ponderosa, however, were family trips. Throughout the book, the family struggles to form emotional bonds with one another. The narrator especially feels detached from her family members. She offers limited emotional insight into the lives of her family. I was troubled at first as to why she never really fully explained a character and instead only gave small snippets of their lives. I now believe she writes like this because it is all she knew. Throughout the second part of the book, the family dynamic becomes a little more clear. While reading, I began to understand that her deepest connection to her family was through food. Food was the one thing their family was forced to come together over. Another example of using food to bond and be with one another comes when Rosa tells the children about her divorce with their father. Although they spent a long time at the restaurant, the narrator tells of no deep conversation and instead describes the mess they made with ketchup and sweet n’ low. The narrator struggles with her identity throughout the book and attempts to form an identity through food. She attempts to mimic eating patterns of her classmates and constantly mentions that if her step-sister liked something, she would try to like it too. Bich looks up to Crissy. Although she begins to question her behavior as they get older, she still wishes to be like Crissy. One way she tries to do that is by mimicing the food Crissy eats. Despite her efforts, Bich does not possess the self-confidence Crissy displays and she cannot imitate the way Crissy dresses or does her hair, she can, however, copy the things she eats. Although she tries other ways, Bich seems to see food as her greatest chance to form a strong bond with her step-sister. After Bich goes off to college she explains that her father’s way of asking how she was doing consisted of him asking, “‘You want to eat something?’” Bich’s father detaches himself from the family. He does not seem to possess a strong relationship with any of the children, he does however ensure that there is food on the table. Bich grows to appreciate the work her father and Rosa did to make sure the children had their necessities. She did not grow up with a strong emotional family dynamic and this upset her at times; food, however, was always on the table at night and the family used that food to create bonds with each other.