Gathering for dinner is something I do every night with my six siblings and parents. We say grace and then enjoy the meal as we talk about our days. But my most pleasurable experience with food is eating my dad’s favorite dish called “Pasta Madness” at my dinner table with my whole family. We call it “Pasta Madness”. Its name stuck after everyone decided it was our favorite dinner and we went “mad” if we didn’t have it. Every time we have Pasta Madness it is the highlight of our week--or even our month. We’re not the only ones extremely excited to eat the homemade spaghetti and Bolognese sauce; my dad says he’s even more excited than us because he gets the pleasure of watching his kids enjoy something he has made.

My sister and I can smell the roasted meat sauce cooking in the kitchen all the way from our bedrooms upstairs and immediately know that we’re having pasta madness tonight. The smell and excitement both grow stronger as we get closer to the dish. When my dad finishes preparing the sauce, all of the kids will sprint down the stairs after he calls us for dinner. I’m sure my siblings and I all share the feeling of satisfaction as we line up to eat. Pasta Madness is served by scooping as much warm spaghetti as you want onto a medium sized plate and then topping it with homemade Bolognese sauce and meatballs. Once I serve myself, I walk to the table and wait for my brothers to sit down with me. It is hard to resist temptation and start eating my steaming food while waiting for the rest to come, so sometimes I sneak a meatball in my mouth before my parents come to the table. I can’t hear anything for the first few minutes of dinner except for forks clinking on plates because everyone is so intensely eating their pasta. My siblings and I talk about how good this is as we all talk about our days. Eating this dish together just doesn’t get old.

Family is something I cherish more than anything. My dad learned his recipe for Pasta Madness from his father and enjoyed it with his siblings when he was younger. He continues the family tradition with his kids now, which brings him so much joy. As my older brothers are off at college these days, family dinners with everyone are rare occasions, so Pasta Madness has become even more rare. Now we enjoy our favorite dish on special occasions, such as birthdays, or when everyone is home together. Although we miss sharing this dish together so often, Pasta Madness is even more special when we are all together because you can’t get it anywhere else in the world.

My favorite pleasure is the Cellophane Noodles with Dungeness Crab at Slanted Door in San Francisco. My immediate family had never been to this restaurant but decided to go for dinner at around 6pm. We knew it was the top producing restaurant in the City. Additionally, it has a Michelin star so I expected the best of the best food. It is a Modern Vietnamese kitchen whose dishes are inspired by the roots of Vietnamese cuisine but works with American ingredients. We immediately sat down at our table just next to the kitchen which is enclosed with glass, so I am able to witness the chefs while I am eating. When you walk in, you have a perfect view of the transparent kitchen while looking out into the bay. I order a peach lemonade with basil from the extensive drink menu, which has a lot of interesting mock tails and I order l. The drink was outstanding.

Then we ordered the cellophane noodles and the dish arrived. The cellophane noodles were extremely thin and looked transparent. They were beautifully arranged in the plate that looked so organized but delicate at the same time. On top of the cellophane noodles, the Dungeness crab laid there amongst shallots. The fish/oyster sauce contributed to the flavor of the cellophane noodles. The noodles were in the middle of the plate, steam rising off them, the crab bulged on top. My mouth dropped in awe and in excitement as I considered the precious noodles. I indulged myself. The noodles felt like butter, melting in my mouth, and the luscious crab added to the flavor. At the same time, the sauces seemed to be integrated beautifully so that everything felt as if it were meant to be together. Additionally, on the side there was a strip of sauce that you were able to dip into the noodles to make the flavor pop out even more. On the side were spring rolls, full of vegetables, accompanied by an orange dipping sauce sprinkled with peanuts.

Every time I cook meals, I am inspired by the creativity of the dishes but also the effort that is put into every meal. There are so many different restaurants in the city, yet Slanted Door is so creative in the way they design and curate their dishes.

I love barbecue, so when I walk into Joe’s Barbecue in Kansas City and I am hit with the scent of the ribs, pulled pork, and barbecue sauce all at once, my mouth always starts to water. This restaurant is located in a gas station so when I went to this restaurant for the first time I was hesitant ,but my worries were quickly put to bed when I sank my teeth into the best rib I had ever tasted. It was so juicy and tender and I felt like I was in hog heaven. Since the restaurant is so far from home, whenever I go to Kansas to see a basketball game or see my grandparents, I make it a priority to get Joe’s Barbecue. When I get to have Joe’s for the first time in a while, I am always blown away by how good it is even though I’ve had it numerous times before; it is so delicious that it consistently surpasses even my highest expectations of what I remember having last time.

I usually go to Kansas during the winter when it's either snowing or just pretty cold, so whenever I think of Joe’s, I think of wearing my thick jacket into the restaurant, feeling the rush of warm air mixed with the smell of barbecue, and I instantly feel warmer. Once I sit down with my food, I just stop caring about how messy my hands and face get because I am so focused on devouring the delicious food in front of me. I devote all of my attention to enjoying the deliciousness of the meal because it would be a shame to avoid eating the ribs or something for fear of getting a little dirty. My favorite food is without question the ribs, but they do everything well. The pulled pork is so soft and delicious, and the mac and cheese is so cheesy and warm and is the perfect compliment to the meats on your plate. The beans are perfectly cooked and always a great addition to any barbecue meal. I always wish I could just teleport to Kansas City just to get Joe’s Barbecue but it’s probably for the better. if they had a local location, half of my diet would be Joe’s.

My connection to Joe’s has given me a stronger connection with my dad because he grew up going to Joe’s and he still longs for it. For my dad, Joe’s is a childhood staple and for him to be able to share it with my and my siblings is very special for him. I also have been able to deepen my connection with Kansas and the Midwest overall because Joe’s is the local spot and being from out of town, I feel like I am part of the community going to Joe’s.

The thrill of realizing an ingredient is missing incites panic in my home. My mom yells for me, telling me we need parsley for the oxtail stew, my family’s favorite dish. It's a special treat. My pleasure is the rush of running through the store, racking the shelves, looking for that spice, I mean that parsley, that would complete the medley of flavors cooking in the pot at home. Mom calls, telling me to hurry up. My pleasure is the excitement of knowing how important this missing ingredient is, and the eagerness of getting back home to finally taste what I’ve been smelling for hours. Though the initial shopping may be tedious, and forgetting an ingredient may be frustrating, I think it's fun to walk into a store knowing exactly what I want, the look of determination plastered on my face.

Driving on the wet roads, the bright traffic lights have a slight blur to them. The fluorescent lights beat down on me, aggravating my eyes adjusting to the darkness of the world outside. It’s 6:30, dinner is at 7:00, so the pressure is on. The dampness from the light drizzle clings to my sweatshirt, and raindrops run off my cheeks. The stagnant lines of oblivious patrons that fill the store are obstacles who, on any other day, would be of no bother. Tired parents don’t hold back their kids, who step on everyone’s toes. Finally making it to the produce section, the water drizzles down, and I can see the droplets running off each vegetable. Making my way to the organic section I focus on the scribbly font that labels the produce. The slippery plastic baggies are way too difficult to open. Why does parsley look so similar to cilantro? Italian parsley costs $1.99. Self-checkout is one of the best inventions. The ding of the cash registers and the huff of annoyed parents brings back the nostalgia of my childhood, coming to the grocery store with mom. I scan my things, help the old guy next to me, and scurry out. Avoiding eye contact with the man who’s pretending to be on his phone about 20 feet from my car, and I hop in and lock the doors. The slight stress of this last-minute trip is invigorating in some strange way. I get home, walk in the door, and the finishing touches are made with my rushed ingredients. I sit down to eat, and the product is unmatched. My mom's oxtail stew is sprinkled with the parsley. The tender meat falls off the bone, the soft-cooked carrots and mashed potatoes mix with the stew, and I take the perfect bite.

The extensive pleasure in this scenario is the moments leading up to the delicious meal. The mistakes. The experience of a 10 minute trip to the store, which was probably avoidable if things had been more organized, but they were not. The pleasure of getting exactly the right thing, the thing that brings the meal together, makes the frustration worth it. All the small inconveniences that drive me crazy, that also probably could have been avoided, don’t matter when I get the finishing touch and take a bite into that perfect meal.

Do you recall the heavenly sensation of letting the aroma of your favorite food fill your nostrils as you enter the kitchen? For me, it is the scent of something savory, something warm. When my family makes pastina, the kitchen fills with a wonderful smell. Pastina is a warm pasta-soup made with pasta, broccoli, and chicken broth. The base of the dish consists of many, many tiny pieces of pasta. The miniature pieces of pasta stand together like the millions of stars in our skies. The once golden yellow pastina is now tinted green with the addition of the broccoli. Simple, yet delicious, pastina gives you that warm feeling inside. The warmth fills your stomach as you swallow your first few bites, a sensation unlike any other in the world. Images of a warm coat on a winter's day, of a burning fire, all fill the mind as you continue to taste the dish. The beautiful simplicity of the dish is what makes it so appealing. The familiar flavors of chicken and vegetables promote a feeling of comfort. This amplification of comfort is what has makes this dish so special in my family.

The tradition of making pastina traces back to my grandma. My grandma taught my mom to make it; and following suit, my mom taught my sister and me how to make it. Though it is not a complex dish, my mother took the time to teach us the correct way of making it because of its importance. She always reminded us to first boil the chicken broth, then add the pasta, and finally to add the broccoli. Pastina brings back fond memories of my grandmother when we used to make the dish together. It was comforting and filling on cold, rainy days. Eating the dish with my grandma is a fond memory, but I continue to create memories with those I love over my grandma's dish. This meal is what plants me in both the present and the past, allowing me to appreciate the beauty in both.

My favorite eating experience is making mother earth bowls, salad bowls with grain and vegetables, at home. I love flavor and sauces, and this bowl never has the same tastes. It has layers: with the base--quinoa or rice, then protein--steak, grilled chicken, or shrimp, with toppings--my favorite is arugula, peppers, cucumber, carrot, and finally a sauce--fresh basil olive oil and vinegar with lemon, or pesto. My mom has always incorporated foods your body needs, from grains to proteins to vegetables. Although eating the bowl is my favorite part is making this bowl because it does not follow a recipe and always includes something new!

On top of a steel stovetop, the quinoa grains fall through your fingers and hits the sizzling surface. Sparks fly from the shiny pan. There is a faint oil smell when the grain is cooking. Then color arrives in light pink circles, leaving a hard-shelled tail. The shrimp is frosty, so your fingers turn cold to the touch. More color comes in the pan, red and yellow from peppers orange from the carrots, green from the arugula the crisp freshness of handpicked veggies, this is the vegetable layer. Finally, I whisk lemon juice, basil, olive oil, and vinegar in a small bowl to make the sauce, which turns bland grain into basil seasoned quinoa. This is a mother earth bowl-the perfect lunch.

My favorite part of this meal is making it not just for myself but for others. When you create something for others, there is a satisfaction of the consumer’s rewarding reaction. This is enhanced in cooking because it is a creative process, and you can learn about the taste or preference of others. When I make this bowl for other people, I can learn about new flavors they enjoy! For instance, I started making this bowl for my family members, and each person in my family has a different bowl at the end of cooking. Cooking brings people together to share a meal and create an array of different tastes and flavors, which I love. There is excitement in being creative in the kitchen using preferences, and altering a dish can turn out to be a reward.

My greatest experience of eating food has been eating a tomato and lettuce salad. This dish is exceedingly dull; it is only lettuce, tomatoes, and vinegar piled onto each other inside a bowl. It doesn’t seem like anything special, but it is where the food came from that makes this meal so important to me. The lettuce came from my hydroponic garden and tomatoes from my greenhouse. They were evidence of my green thumb and success.

Hues of lime and red reflected back to me and I looked upon my dish. Digging in created a beautiful symphony. My fork swirled around the bowl like a melody, the lettuce snapping like drums and the tomatoes sang the lyrics, in a predictable ebb and flow of crunch. The tomato bounced back like a spring to the touch, that way when I bit into it, my teeth go through like a knife instead of sinking and squishing like slime. The lettuce was a wall, not bending to the touch. The richness of flavor in the tomatoes and lettuce were incomparable, maybe it was the pride I was tasting. My hands had created and natured the plants I was consuming, and when I bit into the lettuce, I could taste it. I could taste my sweat and my anxiety, but more importantly, I could taste my triumph.

The smile that jumped across my face while consuming food that I had grown with my own two hands, was incomparable. My goal was accomplished. I had managed to grow food in my hydroponic garden and it was the best version of those foods that I had ever tasted.

One of my favorite food moments was when four of my Robotics Club friends and I went to dinner after a robotics event. The restaurant was Gen Korean barbecue, an unrivaled favorite of the club as you will soon see. We talked and ate endlessly until we realized our parents would be worried if we were out any later. The experience of being part of the cooking process at a Korean barbeque is always pleasurable, and was only heightened by the close company present that night.

When we arrived at the restaurant, it was already past nine o’clock, and the ocean-blue mood lighting created a much needed calm after our work filled day. We were seated, and one of our friends, Matthew, who was most acquainted with the menu generously ordered enough for all of us. The food arrived in waves, with a constantly full table, despite the constant consumption of the food. There were onions, carrots, rice, and many different kinds of meat. We were all delighted in the ability to cook for ourselves and each other. The ever present sizzle of the grills both between and around us filled the lulls in our conversation. We cherished each wave of food: The vegetables were bittersweet, and the wide selection of meats, from ribeye to Kobe, allowed everyone to partake in a savory experience that diffused in our mouth. A chewy rice was a part of every bite, capturing the flavors and making the phenomenon last even longer.

The experience is significant to me because it reminds me of the relationship I was able to build with friends during high school. I do not try to put myself out there to be friends with everyone in the grade or school, so the close relationships I have that I can remember with shared meals are particularly meaningful.

My most pleasurable experience with food was making Christmas cookies from scratch with my younger sister, Aspen. Creating bright white, green, and red holiday themed cookies was a riveting idea that I had been obsessed with for some time. Being stuck in quarantine once again, I thought this would be a fun activity to pass the time. I went to the grocery store which was a bit chaotic during the holiday season. I purchased milk, eggs, yeast, frosting, tinfoil, frosting, a rolling pin, cookie cutters in shapes of Santa, presents, bells, angels, and other important ingredients to help create my festive holiday treats. Back home, my little sister and I broke up the tasks. To say there was some fighting would be an understatement, Aspen wanted to do the entire project on her own and I strongly disagreed. She decided to kick me when I had mentioned that we should make the cookies together, but finally we came to an agreement once my mother got involved. I looked up some recipes online and prayed that the cookies would turn out perfectly.

After gallering the ingredients, it was time to make Christmas sugar cookies from a recipe I found online from Food Network. It was quite interesting making the dough myself, mixing warm water, sugar, and yeast together. I placed the dough in the oven and waited for the yeast to rise like a mountain. The time squealed, “Ding!” and I could smell the doughy sweetness coming from the oven. After taking the finished dough out of the oven, I rolled it out till the sticky, warm dough until it was broken up in perfectly flat pieces. My little sister and I had previously purchased cookie cutters in shapes of Santa, presents, bells, and angels. I could see her face light up when she created her miniature, Santa Claus, and I knew he was having an exciting time. After the cookies had been in the oven, we decided to design some patterns with the sweet-tasting green and red frosting. I took out the can of white frosting I had purchased and put a good amount in two separate cups. In one cup I added green food dye and in the other I added red food dye. I mixed the dye and the frosting until one cup was perfectly bright green and another a vivid red. I grabbed a spoon to taste the frosting, and was overcome by the sweetness and silkiness of the frosting, it tasted spectacular.

After we had finished frosting the cookies it was time to taste the final product. The cookies were surprisingly delicious, they were hard but not burnt, and the vanilla frosting really put the cookies over the top. It felt like heaven in my mouth and I was quite impressed we had made such delicious cookies. I will never forget this bonding experience with my sister. Creating and tasting these cookies was most definitely pleasurable but does not compare to the smile on my sister’s face as we created the cookies together. This experience showed me that I am capable of creating things I want in my life and giving me another way to bond with my siblings.

Out of all the foods that exist, my favorite one has to be pupusas. I remember every time I would come home from school and the aroma would hit me: my grandmother was in the kitchen with a batch of pupusas hot and ready to be eaten. Think of pupusas as hot flatbread made out of flour, stuffed with ingredients like meat, beans, cheese, or more, all fried together. On top of that, you can add a cabbage relish called curtido made out of cabbage, thin carrot slices, onion, oregano, and fine sea salt and add that with Salvadoran salsa de tomate and you get the perfect dish. Pupusas are the Salvadoran national dish, and it’s best to eat this dish with your hands, to get that authentic Salvadoran experience.

The hardest part of eating the delicacy is choosing which will be the first one you’ll eat, as they will be stacked together onto one plate and you better be ready to choose the best one possible that you will eat, the one that looks big but not necessarily the biggest with a good amount of brown spots, and if you get lucky, one with cheese coming out of the side. After that, make sure to put in the curtido and salsa; there is no specific order but I place the curtido then salsa so that the curtido can soak up the salsa. Then, take that first bite and allow your mouth to enjoy the fusion of flavors entering, from the flour to the cheese, to the beverage of your choosing; it feels like a fiesta has just entered your mouth. Next, make sure to open up your pupusa, and see how the cheese separates and the smell just comes out. Although it may sound weird, make sure to have a napkin by your side: the salsa drips and you’ll want to wipe your hands. And if curtido falls onto your plate, don't panic, just add it to your next pupusa. By the time you stop realizing how delicious they are, you will have eaten around 4.

Not only is this dish from my family's country El Salvador, but although it's the same dish, everyone has a different way of making them, such as preparing the flour differently or using different color cabbage for the curtido. However, despite the differences, at the end of the day, we all enjoy the same delicious dish. This dish allows us to come together and enjoy the moment. It's a popular dish that will remain in our family for generations to come.

I close the sliding doors to the kitchen so I have the place all to myself. Then, I connect my phone to the Bluetooth speaker and play my favorite Johnny Cash songs. I have the best chocolate chip cookie recipe. The recipe is in my bookmarked tabs on my computer, and I pretty much know it by heart, but need to double check the measurements. Lastly, I take the trays out of the oven and begin to preheat it to 350˚.

As the sugar, eggs, flour, vanilla, baking soda, and butter go into the bowl, one at a time, they all become one; until it smells like sugar and vanilla and is a perfect texture, like a dense, thick caramel. My brother hears the mixer and comes in every time it stops. He wants to taste the mixture after every step. Even though it’s not good for you, I admit, I do the same. The purely nostalgic smell of cookie dough is like fall and winter and as the cookies bake, spreads through the house and makes the house smell like a home. It is one that almost anyone can point out. Instantly as the cookies come fresh out of the oven, my whole family comes in to enjoy them. The smell of these cookies reminds me of two things. The best cookies I have ever had come from one of the lodges at a ski resort in Idaho. They are massive --the size of a plate. I wish I could make mine that big, but it would take forever to cook all of them. The second memory is visiting my dad’s cousins’ house in Tahoe. They have a house walking distance from our own, and their house is beautiful. The smell of the cookies greets you even before you walk through the front door. Although it is summertime, I sit in the white and grey marble aesthetic of the kitchen overlooking the lake with the taste of these gooey chocolate chip cookies in my mouth.

The memories and experiences I have with my cookies are all with my family. Everyone in my family loves my cookies, and it brings us together whenever I make them. Chocolate chip cookies remind me of how much family means to me and how simple it can be to be reminded. I eat the cookies in Idaho with my brothers and my dad. The cookies in Tahoe are my dad’s relatives’. Although baking cookies is really simple and seems meaningless, it shows how food is always there to bring the people you love the most closer.

In 2019 my family decided to go to Costa Rica for spring break. We had lots of fancy dinners while we were there, but my favorite moment with food happened after a long day of river rafting. We woke up at 4am and went to a river rafting site. Once we got on the water there were no breaks or stops for food along the way. My stomach was aching by the time we got back at around 3pm. The tour guides who took us rafting were preparing fish tacos. On the side of the river there was a small grill and a couple of benches. We were surrounded by giant trees and the rushing river. Small iguanas were bustling through the nearby bushes. We stuffed our soft flour tortilla full of black beans. fish, cheese, fresh guacamole, fresh salsa,. All the ingredients were provided from local farms around the area. After a long day of paddling and sweating out in the hot sun the fish tacos just hit the spot perfectly. It was the most satisfying meal of my entire life.

The tacos were warm, savory, spicy, and tangy all at the same time. I have had fish tacos in the past, but the ambiance of being in nature surrounded by trees and the river made the tacos taste that much better. The juice of the lime squeezed on top stimulated my tastebuds, creating a mini euphoria . The smell of the fish tacos filled my nose, making my stomach rumbling like a small earthquake. Each time I added a new ingredient into my flour tortilla the fragrance of the taco became more intoxicating. My mouth watered and I yearned to just take a bite. Finally, with each bite I felt replenished and at ease. The cheese on the fish melted with the black beans, the guacamole cooled the heat of the tortilla, and the salsa added spice. Each ingredient combined together to provide a satisfying meal. In the moment my mind went blank from bliss.

This was the perfect meal. This meal reminded me that a good meal is never the most expensive, or most obscure. I was filled with glee fullness to know that I was eating food that someone worked hard to produce. The memorable meal of my soft flour taco in Costa Rica has changed the way I think about food and increased my standards for all future fish tacos I will eat.

Cooking dinner with my mom is enjoyable and fun. It takes the chore of cooking away from my mom and creates a time for conversation and togetherness. We are both busy, and I can’t cook with her every night but most school nights I try to spend 20-30 mins with her to help cook dinner. I love cooking and the creativity that comes with a new dish, like the first time we made homemade tomato sauce, which is surprisingly simple. I love cooking with my mom because we work together perfectly. I’ll cut veggies while she is seasoning the meat, or I make the sauce while she makes the salad. We have this weird way of knowing what each other needs and how to finish the meal without saying it. As a teenage girl I fight with my mom, but when we cook, we never fight because it's an activity without any agenda. We talk sometimes but not always. We taste different things and work together to find what it is missing or needs more of.

Every weekday I hear my mom open up the fridge and I glance up to my screen’s clock. I see 7:00 PM and yell to the kitchen, “Mom, are we cooking?” I hurriedly finish what I am doing, slam my laptop closed, and go out to the kitchen. I already know what we are having--greek marinated grilled chicken with my homemade tzatziki, roasted cauliflower, and pita--because on Saturdays I decide what our dinners will be for the week. My mom has pulled the meat out to get it to room temperature, and I turn on the oven for one of my favorite dinners. I start to clean the cauliflower. After wiping off my cutting board, I grab the big chef’s knife that I got for my 8th grade graduation. I start chopping in a rhythmic, circular motion. Once finished, I grab a sheet pan, throw the cauliflower on it, and squirt some olive oil all over. I grab a hefty pinch of salt, a little rosemary and some black pepper and start massaging the oil and seasoning into the little trees. I open the oven, toss the pan in, and I quickly close it to trap the heat. My mom comes in to sit down while the chicken is grilling. She says, “Alexa, play Zac Brown Band.” The strum of guitar and banjo comes on and she sits across from me asking how my day was. We chat while I grab the tzatziki that I had made earlier in the day to get it in a serving container. I always like things to look good when I cook them, which contrasts with my daily messiness, so I swoop a spoon over the top to give it a little design and put a little olive oil and fresh dill on top. We're a little hungry, so, while the chicken is cooking, I cut up a cucumber to snack on with the extra tzatziki. A few minutes later mom checks the chicken while I set the table. I am very specific about how much ice I like in my water and that my water is from the Brita, so I always set the table to ensure it's how I like it. I grab the pita and wrap it in some tinfoil so it doesn’t dry out in the toaster oven. In a few minutes, my mom walks in with the delicious smelling chicken and I quickly put the pita in a basket and place the finished cauliflower in a serving dish. As my mom is cutting the chicken, I text “dinner” to “ppl who are forced to live together,” our family group chat. Within seconds my hungry siblings and dad make their way to the table. My dad pours wine. I put the food on the table. We say a quick family prayer and we begin to eat.

As I have gotten older, I spend a lot less time present and engaged with my family. My mom and I have always been close, but getting genuine time together is sometimes hard. These times, even if they don’t occur daily, create a space for connection and casual conversation that we almost never get. We don’t have to talk about something due to a time crunch or need to fight about weekend plans because those are not talked about when we cook. I know exactly what to help with and we work in partnership to accomplish something.

While I can and do make my own mac and cheese now, I loved sitting in the kitchen while my mom made it or smelling her making it from another room. I would get excited and suddenly hungry, just as I did every time my mom cooked. I love being in my room smelling whatever she is baking or cooking in the kitchen and knowing what we are having for dinner or wondering if there will be a possible surprise. Eating her food knowing she made it special for me brightens up my day. I also love opening the door after being at school or out with friends and being hit with a waft of bread or cookies. It welcomes me, and inside, I go directly to the kitchen, where I usually find my mom with a freshly baked good.

Whenever I think of my favorite food my brain flashes to the blue box of Annie's mac and cheese. I absolutely love white pasta. Growing up my mom only allowed me to eat whole wheat pasta, but Annie’s are made with white flour. The elbow shaped pasta, engulfed with the cheese sauce is so simple yet so delicious; the powdered cheese mixed with milk and butter creates a delicious, not very natural looking orange sauce. The pasta and the sauce are paired perfectly, like yin and yang. The pliable pasta with the creamy sauce is so smooth, you barely have to chew. The pasta mixed with the sauce contains a yellow hue in the bowl. Right before it is eaten it just looks like a mound of elbow pasta with a yellow sauce over it with a fork in the bowl. While it looks and tastes simple it is delicious.

Throughout my life, food has always been something I relate with family and home, especially my mom. She is the one who always cooks for me and I hang out with her in the kitchen while she does it. Food for me is a comfort; it reminds me of family and sometimes my friends. Mac and cheese is my ultimate comfort food though because it is something that doesn't deviate. It’s flavors always stay the same. Anytime life is stressful, or there are any changes, mac and cheese is one of the foods that never changes which is why it’s so comforting.

My most pleasurable moment with food is the conversation that begins after sharing a meal together. A meal gives people something to talk about regardless if they are lifelong friends or complete strangers. By either commiserating over how dreadful a meal or celebrating a delicious one meal can act as an icebreaker to further and deeper conversations. These meals often lead to spellbinding hours of conversation that can lead late into the night and are usually only ended by an impatient waiter.

The most Ideal meal I had was in Rome a few days after Christmas. It was just before sunset in Rome 2016. Dusk was fast approaching and my family and I were walking down a quiet, dark alleyway towards an outpost of light and life. When we arrived, it was clear the restaurant was completely full, but the polite host informed us that if we were willing to share a table we could eat sooner. A few minutes later, the polite host sits us down with an older European couple in their mid fifties. In the lead up to the meal, the table engages in the usual small talk such as work, family, possible things they have in common. When the food arrives, the night really began. The conversation almost immediately shifts to what food certain people are having or if they are enjoying their meal. My Mom is celebrating the wine and gnocchi, she had, and the elder man and I are bonding over our love of the veal with the white wine sauce. By this point, everyone at the table is brought to an equal and casual playing field where new conversations may begin. Here is where the table became its own little world in the restaurant and the people involved become spellbound by those leading the conversation. The older man told us stories about his youth in Lebanon, while my Mom shared tidbits about her short stint in the late USSR. My mind and the minds of others around me were not on the hustle and bustle of this sardine can of a restaurant, but focused on the tales being told by those at the table. Within 45 minutes this group of strangers were able to speak like close friends.

This pleasure I receive from this aspect of eating has to do with my own personal value of learning and listening to others. These conversations that take place at restaurant tables after the meal itself are some of the most genuine and eye opening conversations I've had in my life. These conversations allow people to truly reveal who they are because of the relaxing setting. The honesty and depth this allows people to go to is what makes these types of conversations so interesting and memorable.

When you were a child did you ever experience that feeling of complete awe when you watched your parents cook? My spot was sitting on the counter in the corner of the kitchen. Every night I would watch and try to help prepare that night’s meal.

Do you have a specific meal that your parents would make if you had a bad day or if you were sick? I come from an adventurous family so I have been exposed to many types of cuisines. However, at the end of the day, I always crave my mother’s makeshift Udon, a Japanese noodle soup. Traditionally, Udon has the daishe based broth, noodles and sometimes fish cakes. This is the meal that reminds me of home, warm and satisfying, but the way my mother prepares it is different. This makeshift Udon is made up of a bunch of chopped vegetables, tofu, eggs, noodles, fish cakes, and whatever else we find that looks good. The style of just throwing everything into a pot and letting it cook is always the part that amazed me. I have studied my mother from the countertop, but every time I try to imitate her recipe there is always something missing. I soak a tea bag filled with daishe in a medium size pot. As I wait for the daishe to saturate the water and fill the room with delicious aromas, I chop the vegetables. Refreshing napa cabbage, bright orange carrots, bouncy enoki, and Tokyo green onions from the Japanese market? are the basic vegetables that I throw into the pot. I plop the vegetables into…? once the smell of dashi fills the room and I let the vegetables absorb all of the flavor from the base. Once a few minutes have passed I quickly scoop tofu out of its little container. After that I scramble an egg or two in a small bowl and fill another pot with water. To that pot I add the desired amount of noodles. When the noodles are almost finished I add the mixed egg/eggs into the vegetable pot. I strain the noodles and put them into a bowl, then I add the vegetables and broth. It never has that same homey feel that my mother’s has. It always feels a little off like wearing shoes that are just a little too big. Even though my mother’s recipe is different every time, every time I eat it I get that warm and fuzzy feeling. I have watched her from my spot so many times that I know that I didn’t make any mistakes, but it still isn’t the same. When I make it the vegetables never melt into my mouth or the broth is either a little too salty or not salty enough. Most of the time the combined flavors, even though I am using the same ones as my mother, don’t seem to flow as cohesively like hers.

The perfection comes from the imperfection. After watching my parents cook for 18 years, I have learned that it is not about the recipe or ingredients. When they cook it is almost like an improvised dance. They let the vegetable, spices and flavors flow together and let their stomach decide whether or not it is ready. I have to master the art of imperfection to make the food that makes me feel at home.