For each of the pieces I wrote for this class, I did have a kind of process that I went through for writing it. Before I started writing anything, I had a relatively long period of what I’m going to call “pre-writing,” for lack of a better word. Pre-writing doesn’t really work to describe it, though, because it wasn’t writing that I did. What I did was think about my piece in great detail over the course of a few days. I’d think about what I wanted to say, how I was going to say it, and all of the details that I wanted to include. For some of the pieces, I had my piece almost completely crafted in my head before I put anything down on paper.
It usually wasn’t voluntary that I would think about the assignments like this-- it’s just a habit that I’ve fallen in to. Whenever I have a big assignment or something I need to write, it’s always on my mind to some degree, and every once in a while my brain will tell me to pay attention to it for a moment, because it’s just thought of something.
This was both how I planned my written assignments and how I picked my topics. For the topics of all three of my pieces, I brainstormed on and off for several days what it was that I wanted to write about. For some, like the perfect meal piece, I came to a decision on my menu very quickly, and had several days to perfect my meal before I begun the preparation. For others, such as the memoir, I went through several bad topics before finally settling on one I liked.
This process of “pre-writing” helped me work through writers blocks quite well. I rarely found myself staring at a blank document, unsure of how to start or what to write, because I’d already overcome all of those obstacles in my head. By the time I sat down at my computer, I was ready to write. The only frustration I had was if I struggled with how to transfer something from my thoughts to the paper--wording, that is. For the most part though, I found that the writing came pretty smoothly to me throughout this course.
When it came time to do revisions, I approached things differently. I didn’t really think about what I wanted to revise beforehand. Instead, when it came time to sit down and work on my revisions, I pulled out the notes I took during the workshop and set to work. I would read through my piece once or twice before beginning on my workshop notes, to look for things that I could catch and fix on my own. After that, I would make my way through each one of the notes, look for where that was in the piece, and either make the decision to follow that bit of advice, or not. There were several times when different things people said in workshop directly contradicted each other, so I had to find out what worked best for my by myself and go with it. Other times, I didn’t agree with something that someone said, and in this case as well I would make my own decision and change my piece accordingly. While I took the feedback and comments that my classmates gave seriously, when it came down to it I wasn’t afraid to do disregard something in favor of what I wanted to do or say. When I disagreed with the feedback in this way, it made me feel quite confident in my writing, because I would feel like I was giving my writing purpose and direction.
As I reflect on my writing from this class, it’s hard to believe that I’m able to narrow everything down to some sort of “process” like this, considering the great variety of things that I’ve written during the last 10 weeks. I’ve tested my feet in unknown waters during this class, writing my first ever food review, and I was also able to fall into familiarity with the memoir. I’m happy with all of the writing that I’ve done in this class, and I will look back on this class for years to come with a fondness.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
My Perfect Meal [Final Draft]
I have a confession to make: I’ve been looking forward to this assignment for about two months. Since I first heard that I would get to cook something, I’ve been mulling over ideas in my head about what exactly the “perfect meal” would be to me. I toyed around with the thought of cooking many different dishes, trying to decide exactly what was feasible with my limited resources and small cooking space. I took ideas from many different places and people, and my menu ended up being a little eclectic. As I look back at my meal, I can’t help but see it as a sort of metaphor for my identity. Several of my dishes-- the two entrees and the desert-- had their own unique meanings for me, and the resulting meal, however odd, somehow came together in perfect harmony.
The main entree of my dinner, and the first dish that I decided on making, was a soup called Spider Soup. Contained in the beef-stock broth are no creepy crawlies, but rather beef cubes, pasta, and a wide variety of vegetables. Spider Soup has a strong history to it; it was the first dish that I ever cooked by myself. When I was in 7th grade, we did a class activity in my Home Ec class in which we listened to a song called “The Spider Song” and made up a recipe to go along with it. The result was a recipe for Spider Soup. I, of course, promptly ran home and asked my mom to let me make it. This was only the second time that I’ve made Spider Soup, and all of the familiar smells and flavors made me feel like I was 12 years old, cooking soup for my family under the watchful eye of my mother. Spider Soup represents personal history, the idea that all of our past experiences contribute to who we are today.
The next dish I prepared was Banitsa, a Bulgarian egg and cheese pie that my Grandma Zonka used to make. My grandma died when I was about three, so I don’t have very many memories of her, but the stories that my family tells about her are more than enough to supplement these missing memories. I’ve heard stories about her ingenuity (she could fix anything from scissors to televisions, and helped build my dad’s childhood home from the ground up), her strength (she and my grandpa were prisoners in an Austrian work camp during World War II before they could escape to America with their two young daughters), and of course, her cooking. She was a wonderful cook, but Banitsa is one of only a handful of her recipes that we left. I had to call my aunt for this recipe, and she gave me the “shortcut” version-- instead of rolling out my own dough from scratch, she advised me to just buy a box of fillo dough from the supermarket. Banitsa is a thin, crispy, layered pastry, and there is an elaborate song-and-dance to follow when making it. As I layered the fillo dough, cheese, eggs, and butter, I thought about my Grandma Zonka. I thought about how many times she must have made this dish, rolling the dough from scratch with a wooden dowel (because she didn’t have a rolling pin). I thought about how and why she came to the conclusion that the second layer gets two sheets of fillo dough and is sprinkled with butter, while the fifth layer has only one sheet of dough and cheese but no butter. The Banitsa represents family history, my yearning to remember where I came from and what my family went through in their struggle to assimilate to American culture, and also how thankful I am that our family recipes and traditions have survived this assimilation.
For dessert, I made homemade chocolate chip cookie dough and pretzel ice cream. The ideas for this dessert came from two different friends of mine. Growing up, one of my best friends, Katie, introduced me to eating pretzels and cookie dough together. It is without a doubt one of the most delicious things I’ve ever tasted, a perfect culmination of salty and sweet, creamy and crunchy. So, I’d originally planned on just making cookie dough and serving it with pretzels for a dessert. The decision to make it into an ice cream treat was a spur of the moment one. I was talking with a close friend at K, Laurel, and she mentioned that she had an ice cream maker that she was eager to use. And so, just like that, my dessert morphed into a batch of homemade ice cream with cookie dough and pretzel mix-ins. This dessert represents the way in which my friends have influenced who I am, and how important friendship is to me.
Finally, the individual ingredients that I used in this meal have meaning for me as well. I did my very best, when shopping for my ingredients, to buy as many organic and unprocessed foods as I could. The Spider Soup was made of entirely organic vegetables (with the exception of the onion and the canned peas), and the cookie dough and the ice cream were made with organic half-and-half, whipping cream, and eggs. I was raised eating some local and organic foods, but after recently hearing several food industry horror stories that are hidden from the public, it has never seemed more important to me. The kind of ingredients that I chose represents my ideals and my personal opinions about food.
With a Caesar salad and some whole-wheat rolls added in to round off the meal and help appease the vegetarians, my menu was set. After roughly three hours of cooking, I was able to sit back and dine with eight of my friends. All of my hard work definitely paid off; everything was delicious. The soup was just like I remembered it, the Banitsa was flaky, and the ice cream was sweet, creamy, and mouthwatering. I was glad to see that my friends were enjoying the food as much as I was, too. Watching so many of my friends come together and share this meal with me was a wonderful experience; we talked, chewed, and laughed together, and though I can’t speak for anyone else, I definitely left the table with a full and happy belly.
The main entree of my dinner, and the first dish that I decided on making, was a soup called Spider Soup. Contained in the beef-stock broth are no creepy crawlies, but rather beef cubes, pasta, and a wide variety of vegetables. Spider Soup has a strong history to it; it was the first dish that I ever cooked by myself. When I was in 7th grade, we did a class activity in my Home Ec class in which we listened to a song called “The Spider Song” and made up a recipe to go along with it. The result was a recipe for Spider Soup. I, of course, promptly ran home and asked my mom to let me make it. This was only the second time that I’ve made Spider Soup, and all of the familiar smells and flavors made me feel like I was 12 years old, cooking soup for my family under the watchful eye of my mother. Spider Soup represents personal history, the idea that all of our past experiences contribute to who we are today.
The next dish I prepared was Banitsa, a Bulgarian egg and cheese pie that my Grandma Zonka used to make. My grandma died when I was about three, so I don’t have very many memories of her, but the stories that my family tells about her are more than enough to supplement these missing memories. I’ve heard stories about her ingenuity (she could fix anything from scissors to televisions, and helped build my dad’s childhood home from the ground up), her strength (she and my grandpa were prisoners in an Austrian work camp during World War II before they could escape to America with their two young daughters), and of course, her cooking. She was a wonderful cook, but Banitsa is one of only a handful of her recipes that we left. I had to call my aunt for this recipe, and she gave me the “shortcut” version-- instead of rolling out my own dough from scratch, she advised me to just buy a box of fillo dough from the supermarket. Banitsa is a thin, crispy, layered pastry, and there is an elaborate song-and-dance to follow when making it. As I layered the fillo dough, cheese, eggs, and butter, I thought about my Grandma Zonka. I thought about how many times she must have made this dish, rolling the dough from scratch with a wooden dowel (because she didn’t have a rolling pin). I thought about how and why she came to the conclusion that the second layer gets two sheets of fillo dough and is sprinkled with butter, while the fifth layer has only one sheet of dough and cheese but no butter. The Banitsa represents family history, my yearning to remember where I came from and what my family went through in their struggle to assimilate to American culture, and also how thankful I am that our family recipes and traditions have survived this assimilation.
For dessert, I made homemade chocolate chip cookie dough and pretzel ice cream. The ideas for this dessert came from two different friends of mine. Growing up, one of my best friends, Katie, introduced me to eating pretzels and cookie dough together. It is without a doubt one of the most delicious things I’ve ever tasted, a perfect culmination of salty and sweet, creamy and crunchy. So, I’d originally planned on just making cookie dough and serving it with pretzels for a dessert. The decision to make it into an ice cream treat was a spur of the moment one. I was talking with a close friend at K, Laurel, and she mentioned that she had an ice cream maker that she was eager to use. And so, just like that, my dessert morphed into a batch of homemade ice cream with cookie dough and pretzel mix-ins. This dessert represents the way in which my friends have influenced who I am, and how important friendship is to me.
Finally, the individual ingredients that I used in this meal have meaning for me as well. I did my very best, when shopping for my ingredients, to buy as many organic and unprocessed foods as I could. The Spider Soup was made of entirely organic vegetables (with the exception of the onion and the canned peas), and the cookie dough and the ice cream were made with organic half-and-half, whipping cream, and eggs. I was raised eating some local and organic foods, but after recently hearing several food industry horror stories that are hidden from the public, it has never seemed more important to me. The kind of ingredients that I chose represents my ideals and my personal opinions about food.
With a Caesar salad and some whole-wheat rolls added in to round off the meal and help appease the vegetarians, my menu was set. After roughly three hours of cooking, I was able to sit back and dine with eight of my friends. All of my hard work definitely paid off; everything was delicious. The soup was just like I remembered it, the Banitsa was flaky, and the ice cream was sweet, creamy, and mouthwatering. I was glad to see that my friends were enjoying the food as much as I was, too. Watching so many of my friends come together and share this meal with me was a wonderful experience; we talked, chewed, and laughed together, and though I can’t speak for anyone else, I definitely left the table with a full and happy belly.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
My Perfect Meal [Rough Draft]
I have a confession to make: I’ve been looking forward to this assignment for almost the entire quarter. Since I first heard that I would get to cook something, I’ve been mulling over ideas in my head about what exactly the “perfect meal” would be to me. I toyed around with the thought of cooking many different dishes, trying to decide exactly what was feasible with my limited resources and small cooking space. I took ideas from many different places and people, and my menu ended up being a little eclectic. As I look back at my meal, I can’t help but see it as a sort of metaphor for my identity. Each of my five dishes-- two entrees, two side dishes, and one dessert-- had its own unique meaning for me, and the resulting meal somehow came together in perfect harmony.
The main entree of my dinner, and the first dish that I decided on making, was a soup called Spider Soup. Contained in the beef-stock broth are no creepy crawlies, but rather beef cubes, pasta, and a wide variety of vegetables. Spider Soup has a strong history to it; it was the first dish that I ever cooked by myself. When I was in 7th grade, we did a class activity in my Home Ec class which resulted in the creation of a recipe for Spider Soup. I, of course, promptly ran home and asked my mom to let me make it. This meal was only the second time that I’ve made Spider Soup, and all of the familiar smells and flavors made me feel like I was 12 years old, cooking soup for my family under the watchful eye of my mother. Spider Soup represents personal history, the idea that all of our past experiences contribute to who we are.
The next dish I prepared was Banitsa, a Bulgarian egg and cheese pie that my Grandma Zonka used to make. My grandma died when I was about three, so I don’t have very many memories of her, but the stories that my family tells about her are more than enough to supplement these missing memories. I’ve heard stories about her ingenuity (she could fix anything from scissors to televisions, and helped build my dad’s childhood home from the ground up), her strength (she and my grandpa were prisoners in an Austrian work camp during World War II before they could escape to America with their two young daughters), and of course, her cooking. She was a wonderful cook, but Banitsa is one of only a handful of her recipes that we left. I had to call my aunt for this recipe, and she gave me the “shortcut” version-- instead of rolling out my own dough from scratch, she advised me to just buy a box of fillo dough from the supermarket. Banitsa is a layered pastry, and there is an elaborate song-and-dance when it comes to making it. As I layered the fillo dough, cheese, eggs, and butter, I thought about my Grandma Zonka. I thought about how many times she must have made this dish, rolling the dough from scratch with a wooden dowel (because she didn’t have a rolling pin). I thought about how and why she came to the conclusion that the second layer gets two sheets of fillo dough and is sprinkled with butter, while the fifth layer has only one sheet of dough and cheese but no butter. The Banitsa represents family history, my yearning to remember where I came from and what my family went through in their struggle to assimilate to American culture, and how thankful I am that our family recipes and traditions survived this assimilation.
The two side dishes, a Caesar salad and some whole-wheat rolls, have much less personal significance. The decision to make these things was partially arbitrary, in an effort to have a well-rounded meal, and partially influenced by my friends. Two of the friends that I invited were vegetarians and I knew that because of this, Spider Soup wasn’t going to be a big hit with them. I settled on these choices for side dishes so that my vegetarian friends would feel welcome and leave feeling full. Knowing your audience in this way is always important, whether it is in cooking, writing, or even just interacting with friends.
For dessert, I made homemade chocolate chip cookie dough and pretzel ice cream. The ideas for this dessert came from two different friends of mine. Growing up, one of my best friends, Katie, introduced me to eating pretzels and cookie dough together. It is without a doubt one of the most delicious things I’ve ever tasted, a perfect culmination of salty and sweet, creamy and crunchy. So, I’d originally planned on just making cookie dough and serving it with pretzels for a dessert. The decision to make it into an ice cream treat was a spur of the moment one. I was talking with a close friend at K, Laurel, and she mentioned that she had an ice cream maker that she was eager to use. And so, just like that, my dessert morphed into a batch of homemade ice cream with cookie dough and pretzel mix-ins. This dessert represents the way in which my friends have influenced who I am, and how important friendship is to me.
Finally, the individual ingredients that I used in this meal have meaning for me as well. I did my very best, when shopping for my ingredients, to buy as many organic and unprocessed foods as I could. The Spider Soup was made of entirely organic vegetables (with the exception of the onion and the canned peas). The cookie dough and the ice cream were made with organic half-and-half, whipping cream, and eggs. The cottage cheese in the Banitsa was from a Michigan farm. After ten weeks of this class, eating local, organic, and unprocessed foods has never seemed more important to me. The kind of ingredients that I chose represents my ideals and my personal opinions about food.
Once all of the cooking was said and done, I sat back and dined with eight of my friends. All of my hard work definitely paid off, and I was glad to see that my friends were enjoying the food as much as I was. Watching so many of my friends come together and share this meal with me was a wonderful experience; we talked, chewed, and laughed together, and though I can’t speak for anyone else, I definitely left the table with a full and happy belly.
The main entree of my dinner, and the first dish that I decided on making, was a soup called Spider Soup. Contained in the beef-stock broth are no creepy crawlies, but rather beef cubes, pasta, and a wide variety of vegetables. Spider Soup has a strong history to it; it was the first dish that I ever cooked by myself. When I was in 7th grade, we did a class activity in my Home Ec class which resulted in the creation of a recipe for Spider Soup. I, of course, promptly ran home and asked my mom to let me make it. This meal was only the second time that I’ve made Spider Soup, and all of the familiar smells and flavors made me feel like I was 12 years old, cooking soup for my family under the watchful eye of my mother. Spider Soup represents personal history, the idea that all of our past experiences contribute to who we are.
The next dish I prepared was Banitsa, a Bulgarian egg and cheese pie that my Grandma Zonka used to make. My grandma died when I was about three, so I don’t have very many memories of her, but the stories that my family tells about her are more than enough to supplement these missing memories. I’ve heard stories about her ingenuity (she could fix anything from scissors to televisions, and helped build my dad’s childhood home from the ground up), her strength (she and my grandpa were prisoners in an Austrian work camp during World War II before they could escape to America with their two young daughters), and of course, her cooking. She was a wonderful cook, but Banitsa is one of only a handful of her recipes that we left. I had to call my aunt for this recipe, and she gave me the “shortcut” version-- instead of rolling out my own dough from scratch, she advised me to just buy a box of fillo dough from the supermarket. Banitsa is a layered pastry, and there is an elaborate song-and-dance when it comes to making it. As I layered the fillo dough, cheese, eggs, and butter, I thought about my Grandma Zonka. I thought about how many times she must have made this dish, rolling the dough from scratch with a wooden dowel (because she didn’t have a rolling pin). I thought about how and why she came to the conclusion that the second layer gets two sheets of fillo dough and is sprinkled with butter, while the fifth layer has only one sheet of dough and cheese but no butter. The Banitsa represents family history, my yearning to remember where I came from and what my family went through in their struggle to assimilate to American culture, and how thankful I am that our family recipes and traditions survived this assimilation.
The two side dishes, a Caesar salad and some whole-wheat rolls, have much less personal significance. The decision to make these things was partially arbitrary, in an effort to have a well-rounded meal, and partially influenced by my friends. Two of the friends that I invited were vegetarians and I knew that because of this, Spider Soup wasn’t going to be a big hit with them. I settled on these choices for side dishes so that my vegetarian friends would feel welcome and leave feeling full. Knowing your audience in this way is always important, whether it is in cooking, writing, or even just interacting with friends.
For dessert, I made homemade chocolate chip cookie dough and pretzel ice cream. The ideas for this dessert came from two different friends of mine. Growing up, one of my best friends, Katie, introduced me to eating pretzels and cookie dough together. It is without a doubt one of the most delicious things I’ve ever tasted, a perfect culmination of salty and sweet, creamy and crunchy. So, I’d originally planned on just making cookie dough and serving it with pretzels for a dessert. The decision to make it into an ice cream treat was a spur of the moment one. I was talking with a close friend at K, Laurel, and she mentioned that she had an ice cream maker that she was eager to use. And so, just like that, my dessert morphed into a batch of homemade ice cream with cookie dough and pretzel mix-ins. This dessert represents the way in which my friends have influenced who I am, and how important friendship is to me.
Finally, the individual ingredients that I used in this meal have meaning for me as well. I did my very best, when shopping for my ingredients, to buy as many organic and unprocessed foods as I could. The Spider Soup was made of entirely organic vegetables (with the exception of the onion and the canned peas). The cookie dough and the ice cream were made with organic half-and-half, whipping cream, and eggs. The cottage cheese in the Banitsa was from a Michigan farm. After ten weeks of this class, eating local, organic, and unprocessed foods has never seemed more important to me. The kind of ingredients that I chose represents my ideals and my personal opinions about food.
Once all of the cooking was said and done, I sat back and dined with eight of my friends. All of my hard work definitely paid off, and I was glad to see that my friends were enjoying the food as much as I was. Watching so many of my friends come together and share this meal with me was a wonderful experience; we talked, chewed, and laughed together, and though I can’t speak for anyone else, I definitely left the table with a full and happy belly.
Caesar Salad
Banitsa
Spider Soup
Whole Wheat Rolls
The Perfect Meal
Cookie Dough Pretzel Ice Cream
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
The Omnivore's Delight
The final section of the Omnivore’s Dilemma was very interesting to me because it was so different than all of the other sections of the book. While the other two sections dealt with realistic and possibly food options for the average American, myself included, the third part described a lifestyle that was altogether strange to me.
Evan and I have joked before that we want to life in the woods and forage for food together, but never have I actually considered it as an actual possibility. For me to consider growing, hunting, and gathering all of my own food is almost a joke. I don’t know the first thing about hunting or gathering, and I’m not sure how much wild sustenance is roaming and growing near my home anyway, a suburb of Detroit. My family used to grow chives and tomatoes in our backyard when I was young, but that has long since become a way of the past. Nowadays, I would have no idea how to go about growing anything without some extensive research.
Reading this section was an interesting experience, because I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to emulate his actions or not. On the one hand, the thought of being completely responsible for my own food was tempting. He described the meal he ate as the perfect meal because he was completely aware of everything that had to go into making it. Especially after taking this class, that idea was a very appealing one.
The more I thought about it, though, the more pessimistic I became. I began to realize that, even if I could in theory eat a “perfect meal” of foraged food the way Pollan did, it wouldn’t exactly be the lifestyle change I was imagining it to be. Pollan wrote that it took a very long time to get to the point where he could finally complete his meal (the hunting license alone took a couple of months) and I began to wonder what he was eating during this time. No doubt, the answer to this question was corn, in varying quantities and forms. And so I found myself once again trapped in the first section, surrounded by all of this inescapable corn.
I began to realize, as he had written from the start, that this was not a viable solution to the food problem for the majority of people in the United States. It’s tempting to want to take yourself out of the food industry completely, whether as an independent farmer like Joel Stalin or as a forager like Angelo Garro, but the truth of the matter is that this isn’t really helping anyone but yourself.
To me, the most important thing still is food industry reform. Earthbound farms, for example, has industrialized their organic farming, which has resulted in a world of good; they’ve converted thousands of acres of land to organic farmland, cutting down on incomprehensible amounts of pesticides that otherwise would have been used to keep that land ready for growing. Industrialization may be a problem, but it my mind, the only realistic solutions are those that recognize the prevalence of the industrialization and aim to fix it, rather than those that cut it out altogether. Because, realistically, no one in the 21st century is going to agree to go back to the days of hunting and gathering. Getting people to buy organic, though, that’s something that still has hope.
Evan and I have joked before that we want to life in the woods and forage for food together, but never have I actually considered it as an actual possibility. For me to consider growing, hunting, and gathering all of my own food is almost a joke. I don’t know the first thing about hunting or gathering, and I’m not sure how much wild sustenance is roaming and growing near my home anyway, a suburb of Detroit. My family used to grow chives and tomatoes in our backyard when I was young, but that has long since become a way of the past. Nowadays, I would have no idea how to go about growing anything without some extensive research.
Reading this section was an interesting experience, because I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to emulate his actions or not. On the one hand, the thought of being completely responsible for my own food was tempting. He described the meal he ate as the perfect meal because he was completely aware of everything that had to go into making it. Especially after taking this class, that idea was a very appealing one.
The more I thought about it, though, the more pessimistic I became. I began to realize that, even if I could in theory eat a “perfect meal” of foraged food the way Pollan did, it wouldn’t exactly be the lifestyle change I was imagining it to be. Pollan wrote that it took a very long time to get to the point where he could finally complete his meal (the hunting license alone took a couple of months) and I began to wonder what he was eating during this time. No doubt, the answer to this question was corn, in varying quantities and forms. And so I found myself once again trapped in the first section, surrounded by all of this inescapable corn.
I began to realize, as he had written from the start, that this was not a viable solution to the food problem for the majority of people in the United States. It’s tempting to want to take yourself out of the food industry completely, whether as an independent farmer like Joel Stalin or as a forager like Angelo Garro, but the truth of the matter is that this isn’t really helping anyone but yourself.
To me, the most important thing still is food industry reform. Earthbound farms, for example, has industrialized their organic farming, which has resulted in a world of good; they’ve converted thousands of acres of land to organic farmland, cutting down on incomprehensible amounts of pesticides that otherwise would have been used to keep that land ready for growing. Industrialization may be a problem, but it my mind, the only realistic solutions are those that recognize the prevalence of the industrialization and aim to fix it, rather than those that cut it out altogether. Because, realistically, no one in the 21st century is going to agree to go back to the days of hunting and gathering. Getting people to buy organic, though, that’s something that still has hope.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Saffron Restaurant Review Final Draft
Most people who attend Kalamazoo College have heard of the infamous “K-Bubble.” K students are notorious for being unwilling to leave campus for things like shows, parties, and even restaurants. Despite this, Saffron, an Indian restaurant which is located just northwest of campus on West Main, is often visited by students from Kalamazoo College. Saffron is near and dear to the hearts of many K students, but after paying a visit to the all-you-can-eat lunch buffet, it’s hard to understand exactly why this is the case.
Saffron, which describes itself as a restaurant of “Fine Dining Indian Cuisine,” has a classy and open atmosphere. The artificial lighting within the restaurant is dim, but the large windows at the front of the establishment allow sunlight to stream in and help keep the place lit. The walls are covered in beautiful works of art, all of which seem to fit with the restaurant’s Indian theme. The walls and furniture are mostly dark shades of brown and beige, but bright, vibrant orange and red accents pop out periodically. Saffron serves a diverse crowd of patrons, who range from couples on intimate dates to large family gatherings.
Saffron offers two distinct dining options. A lunch buffet is available during the day, running from noon until 2:00 or 2:30 (depending on the day of the week). The restaurant closes after this is over. The next few hours are spent preparing for dinner, and Saffron reopens for the evening at 5:00. Saffron’s ten dollar lunch buffet will be covered exclusively in this review. Despite the high-class atmosphere and quality service, this buffet was unremarkable and altogether failed to satisfy.
The buffet table, which sat in the center of the restaurant, had only 10 chaffing dishes clustered atop of it. Upon further inspection, it became clear that almost half of these were filled with side dishes or deserts. The array of entree choices was limited, especially when one considers the typical abundance of choices associated with all-you-can-eat buffets, and several of the dishes proved to be disappointing. Thus, the grand total of worthwhile options only came to about three, a disappointingly low number.
Two different kinds of rice adorned the buffet table, a yellow one which was dubbed “Saffron Rice” and a white one described as “Plain Basmati Rice.” However, had it not been for the stark color difference, these two dishes would have been very difficult to tell apart. The yellow rice, which promised spice, was almost flavorless, as was the basmati rice. The rices served the purpose of mixing with the other dishes well, but were disappointing and bland when eaten in solitude. Next to the white rice sat a dish filled with Naan, Indian flatbread. It was fluffy, flavorful, and delicious; one of the saving graces of the buffet.
There were only two meat options on the table, Tandoori Chicken and Lamb Keema. The Tandoori Chicken seemed to be made from high quality meat; it was juicy, fresh, and perfectly flaky. It was definitely one of the more tasty options available, but even this dish had its drawbacks; the seasonings were sparse, usually covering only one side of each chicken cube, and it was sometimes hard to taste the spices at all. The Lamb Keema, on the other hand, did not have the same potential; it had the appearance of elementary school cafeteria ground taco meat, complete with a dull film which developed over the top the longer it sat out on the buffet table and a questionable orange liquid that leaked from it. Sampling this unappetizing goop is inadvisable; it was much too tangy, and the only real distinguishable taste was that of the lamb itself.
The Channa Saag, a dark brown vegetarian dish filled primarily with chick peas, was the spiciest thing on the buffet. This was not saying much, however, as the spice only begins to appear after several bites. The Channa Saag had a thick, porridge-like consistency to it. The chick peas were well-cooked, and though this meal had decent flavor to it, it did not linger; the only perceivable aftertaste was the twang from the heat.
A similar dish, the Mutter Paneer, was filled with peas and white rectangular lumps that turned out to be a type of cheese. This had a consistency closer to soup, and was actually quite delicious. It was not very spicy, and it had two distinct and strong flavors to it, one from the sauce and the spices and one from the peas themselves. The Mutter Paneer was particularly good when spooned onto a piece of the sensational Naan, and ended up being the only worthwhile entree on the buffet table.
The only cold dish aside from the dessert was an array of fruits and vegetables called Saffron’s Sensational Salad. Despite this cute wordplay, the salad was anything but sensational. It was a bizarre mixture of flavors; it paired apples and grapes with onions and tomatoes and covered the whole thing in oil, vinegar, and pepper. The ingredients were all visibly fresh and beautiful, but this awkward mixture of flavors was not well executed.
A lunch at Saffron is typically finished off with the buffet’s only dessert, an almond rice pudding called Badami Kheer. This sweet dessert was absolutely phenomenal. This was, without a doubt, the highlight of the buffet. It looked rather unappetizing, and may have been easy to accidentally pass up due to its dull white color and runny consistency. Once it is tasted, though, all of these negative opinions fall away. It was rich, sweet, and creamy, with soft pieces of rice and little bits of almonds providing a contrast of texture. This dessert was well worth it, but the bliss one can find in washing away the rest of the buffet’s flavors with this final dish doesn’t speak too well to the buffet’s quality as a whole.
The service at Saffron, like the decor and atmosphere, is top-notch. The servers are friendly and sociable, but also courteous; they did not hover near the tables when they were not needed, allowing the opportunity for serious conversations to bloom between patrons. The buffet, too, was replenished regularly. Fresh food continued to be put out on the buffet table even within five minutes of the buffet’s closing time.
All in all, Saffron had a strange dichotomy about it. It was well-maintained, the food was fresh, and the atmosphere was positive and peaceful. Despite all of these things, though, the food was, for the most part, unsatisfying. The few good dishes were not enough to counter-balance the general blandness and lack of choices that the buffet had, especially as the two best dishes were a side dish and a desert. The short walk and manageable price tag are a strong incentive for K students to venture to Saffron for a meal, but students should be prepared to either fill up entirely on bread and dessert or leave disappointed.
Saffron, which describes itself as a restaurant of “Fine Dining Indian Cuisine,” has a classy and open atmosphere. The artificial lighting within the restaurant is dim, but the large windows at the front of the establishment allow sunlight to stream in and help keep the place lit. The walls are covered in beautiful works of art, all of which seem to fit with the restaurant’s Indian theme. The walls and furniture are mostly dark shades of brown and beige, but bright, vibrant orange and red accents pop out periodically. Saffron serves a diverse crowd of patrons, who range from couples on intimate dates to large family gatherings.
Saffron offers two distinct dining options. A lunch buffet is available during the day, running from noon until 2:00 or 2:30 (depending on the day of the week). The restaurant closes after this is over. The next few hours are spent preparing for dinner, and Saffron reopens for the evening at 5:00. Saffron’s ten dollar lunch buffet will be covered exclusively in this review. Despite the high-class atmosphere and quality service, this buffet was unremarkable and altogether failed to satisfy.
The buffet table, which sat in the center of the restaurant, had only 10 chaffing dishes clustered atop of it. Upon further inspection, it became clear that almost half of these were filled with side dishes or deserts. The array of entree choices was limited, especially when one considers the typical abundance of choices associated with all-you-can-eat buffets, and several of the dishes proved to be disappointing. Thus, the grand total of worthwhile options only came to about three, a disappointingly low number.
Two different kinds of rice adorned the buffet table, a yellow one which was dubbed “Saffron Rice” and a white one described as “Plain Basmati Rice.” However, had it not been for the stark color difference, these two dishes would have been very difficult to tell apart. The yellow rice, which promised spice, was almost flavorless, as was the basmati rice. The rices served the purpose of mixing with the other dishes well, but were disappointing and bland when eaten in solitude. Next to the white rice sat a dish filled with Naan, Indian flatbread. It was fluffy, flavorful, and delicious; one of the saving graces of the buffet.
There were only two meat options on the table, Tandoori Chicken and Lamb Keema. The Tandoori Chicken seemed to be made from high quality meat; it was juicy, fresh, and perfectly flaky. It was definitely one of the more tasty options available, but even this dish had its drawbacks; the seasonings were sparse, usually covering only one side of each chicken cube, and it was sometimes hard to taste the spices at all. The Lamb Keema, on the other hand, did not have the same potential; it had the appearance of elementary school cafeteria ground taco meat, complete with a dull film which developed over the top the longer it sat out on the buffet table and a questionable orange liquid that leaked from it. Sampling this unappetizing goop is inadvisable; it was much too tangy, and the only real distinguishable taste was that of the lamb itself.
The Channa Saag, a dark brown vegetarian dish filled primarily with chick peas, was the spiciest thing on the buffet. This was not saying much, however, as the spice only begins to appear after several bites. The Channa Saag had a thick, porridge-like consistency to it. The chick peas were well-cooked, and though this meal had decent flavor to it, it did not linger; the only perceivable aftertaste was the twang from the heat.
A similar dish, the Mutter Paneer, was filled with peas and white rectangular lumps that turned out to be a type of cheese. This had a consistency closer to soup, and was actually quite delicious. It was not very spicy, and it had two distinct and strong flavors to it, one from the sauce and the spices and one from the peas themselves. The Mutter Paneer was particularly good when spooned onto a piece of the sensational Naan, and ended up being the only worthwhile entree on the buffet table.
The only cold dish aside from the dessert was an array of fruits and vegetables called Saffron’s Sensational Salad. Despite this cute wordplay, the salad was anything but sensational. It was a bizarre mixture of flavors; it paired apples and grapes with onions and tomatoes and covered the whole thing in oil, vinegar, and pepper. The ingredients were all visibly fresh and beautiful, but this awkward mixture of flavors was not well executed.
A lunch at Saffron is typically finished off with the buffet’s only dessert, an almond rice pudding called Badami Kheer. This sweet dessert was absolutely phenomenal. This was, without a doubt, the highlight of the buffet. It looked rather unappetizing, and may have been easy to accidentally pass up due to its dull white color and runny consistency. Once it is tasted, though, all of these negative opinions fall away. It was rich, sweet, and creamy, with soft pieces of rice and little bits of almonds providing a contrast of texture. This dessert was well worth it, but the bliss one can find in washing away the rest of the buffet’s flavors with this final dish doesn’t speak too well to the buffet’s quality as a whole.
The service at Saffron, like the decor and atmosphere, is top-notch. The servers are friendly and sociable, but also courteous; they did not hover near the tables when they were not needed, allowing the opportunity for serious conversations to bloom between patrons. The buffet, too, was replenished regularly. Fresh food continued to be put out on the buffet table even within five minutes of the buffet’s closing time.
All in all, Saffron had a strange dichotomy about it. It was well-maintained, the food was fresh, and the atmosphere was positive and peaceful. Despite all of these things, though, the food was, for the most part, unsatisfying. The few good dishes were not enough to counter-balance the general blandness and lack of choices that the buffet had, especially as the two best dishes were a side dish and a desert. The short walk and manageable price tag are a strong incentive for K students to venture to Saffron for a meal, but students should be prepared to either fill up entirely on bread and dessert or leave disappointed.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
The Complicated life of Corn (and Grass)
Because of the cancelled class from Tuesday, I’ve decided to treat this reading response as a combined response to the first two parts, and the book in general. First, for the few broad comments I have about the book. Simply put, I love it. It is educational, but doesn’t read like a textbook in any way. Pollan’s writing is clear, his explanations are simple and easy to follow, and he adds in just the right amount of humor to make the book feel light when it needs to, without taking away from the urgency of it. He’s writing about complicated, important things, and he pulls it off amazingly.
The first section of this book, about corn, had me both angry and terrified as I was reading it. It definitely made me think about junk food in an entirely new way. All of the reasons I’ve always considered for not eating processed foods were health reasons-- too much fat, too many calories, too much sodium, etc. I’ve never thought about it from any other perspective before, and after reading this section, I have to wonder why that is.
Pollan addresses many different aspects of the processing of food that I’d never considered before. Supporting and consuming processed foods has a great negative impact on many different things besides your own personal health. Corn processing is damaging the farming industry, the environment, and the economy. Pretty much every step that corn takes from a field in Iowa to a Chicken McNugget, as is the path shown in the book, harms someone new along the way.
In addition, reading about how we’ve taken the food out of our food, so to speak, was really alarming to me. Pollan helped make it clear to me how far away we are from the days when eating real, wholesome, natural foods was an everyday occurrence. The talk about how processed food was all about being one step ahead of nature and demands was alarming; I’m honestly a little bit scared for where our culture is heading after reading this book. What’s next? Willy Wonka’s meal-in-a-pill? I feel like all of America is just one short step away from turning into a giant blueberry.
The second section of this book had a slightly different effect on me. When I started reading, I felt like I was taking a breath of fresh air. The story of Joel Salatin’s farm was very reassuring. Here, finally, was someone who knew what they were doing! This is how it is supposed to be--cows eating grass, grass being fertilized by nature, and the whole system working in harmony!
I soon began to realize that this was hardly the norm, and that this second part of the book wasn’t going to be as filled with wonder as I had been hoping. The discussions about industrial organic foods and the flaws in these systems was shocking to me. It namedropped some brands that I’ve always trusted (my precious Horizon milk uses factory farms?!) and I began to realize how loose of a term “organic” really is. Apparently you don’t have to actually let your chickens roam in order to call them “free range” or shy away from all processing in order to call it “natural.” Once again, I came away from this reading feeling uneasy, lied to, and all-together appetite-less.
The first section of this book, about corn, had me both angry and terrified as I was reading it. It definitely made me think about junk food in an entirely new way. All of the reasons I’ve always considered for not eating processed foods were health reasons-- too much fat, too many calories, too much sodium, etc. I’ve never thought about it from any other perspective before, and after reading this section, I have to wonder why that is.
Pollan addresses many different aspects of the processing of food that I’d never considered before. Supporting and consuming processed foods has a great negative impact on many different things besides your own personal health. Corn processing is damaging the farming industry, the environment, and the economy. Pretty much every step that corn takes from a field in Iowa to a Chicken McNugget, as is the path shown in the book, harms someone new along the way.
In addition, reading about how we’ve taken the food out of our food, so to speak, was really alarming to me. Pollan helped make it clear to me how far away we are from the days when eating real, wholesome, natural foods was an everyday occurrence. The talk about how processed food was all about being one step ahead of nature and demands was alarming; I’m honestly a little bit scared for where our culture is heading after reading this book. What’s next? Willy Wonka’s meal-in-a-pill? I feel like all of America is just one short step away from turning into a giant blueberry.
The second section of this book had a slightly different effect on me. When I started reading, I felt like I was taking a breath of fresh air. The story of Joel Salatin’s farm was very reassuring. Here, finally, was someone who knew what they were doing! This is how it is supposed to be--cows eating grass, grass being fertilized by nature, and the whole system working in harmony!
I soon began to realize that this was hardly the norm, and that this second part of the book wasn’t going to be as filled with wonder as I had been hoping. The discussions about industrial organic foods and the flaws in these systems was shocking to me. It namedropped some brands that I’ve always trusted (my precious Horizon milk uses factory farms?!) and I began to realize how loose of a term “organic” really is. Apparently you don’t have to actually let your chickens roam in order to call them “free range” or shy away from all processing in order to call it “natural.” Once again, I came away from this reading feeling uneasy, lied to, and all-together appetite-less.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Pizza Day at Mangia Mangia
This is going to be a pretty random blog post, but I just felt like sharing with the class. This weekend, Evan came up to K to visit, so on Friday night we decided to walk downtown and honor pizza day together. We ate at Mangia Mangia and split a pepperoni pizza. It was a very classy joint and a different take on pizza day than we are used to, but it was a definitely a great night! Here's a picture of the partially eaten pie:
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