W4 "Americn Food"

             America is a melting pot, with influence from countries and cultures all over the globe. When the world thinks Italian food, spaghetti, pizza, red wine, anything with marinara sauce, or anything that ends with an “ini” (like linguini or panini), comes to mind. When the world thinks German cuisine, they picture giant bratwurst with a side of sauerkraut and a stein of beer to wash it all down. Mexico has got their tacos, burritos, and nachos that define what their food is like. When I try to think of an American menu, I try to leave out the influence of these other regions of the world. I specifically try to think of food that reminds me of America, and cannot be traced to other countries.

            First item of food that just screams “U.S.A.” is Buffalo wings. My restaurant would have an array of flavors and sauces to show non-Americans that the chicken wings are not just sauced with buffalo. Wings were made famous in the United States and therefore they are a given on the menu of my American restaurant. They are completed with a side of celery sticks and ranch or bleu cheese dressing. Americans do not like to use silverware and foreigners will understand that when dining in an American restaurant.

            Americans also loved fried chicken. Whether it is succulent KFC like crisp breast meat, or just some simple chicken fingers, fried chicken is a must. Sauces including barbeque, buffalo, honey mustard, ranch, bleu cheese, sweet and sour will al be accompanying the fried chicken dish. The dish would be completed with mash potatoes and gravy, but unfortunately silverware is now needed.

            One famous cooking technique that started with the slaves of America was the art of barbeque. Slow roasting pig meat so that it is juicy, succulent, and falling off the bone is an art that is not easily mastered. Barbeque ribs would be an essential item on the menu because of its historical significance in American History. They would be served along side corn bread and corn on the cob to make the dish feel like the fourth of July, a pretty important date for Americans.

            Soda, ice tea, and shitty beer would be the American beverages served in the restaurant. Desert would consist of ice cream Sundays or root beer floats. They remind me of the malt shops in the fifties, which are extremely unique to America, and an important part of American culture.

            These dishes on my restaurant menu represent America because Americans made them, for American eaters. Anything that could be eaten with the fingers, or anything fried, or anything saucy is what wets an Americas palate. I would tried to incorporate as much of Americas culture in to the menu, which is why we see fried chicken, chicken wings, bbq ribs, and malt Sundays all on the menu.

           

W3 teachers

             It is not hard for me to admit that I am not a good chef. Although I make a mean bowl of cereal, there are not too many hot dishes I can honestly say I can make taste desirable. One person who has always tried to inspire me and teach me how to cook the easiest of meals has been my mom. Whenever I am hanging out in the kitchen while she is cooking she ask me if I would want to help out, and generally I agreed. Over the years, she has taught me to make a variety of things: Philly cheese steaks with sautéed onions, mushrooms, and peppers, homemade spaghetti sauce, chocolate chip cookies, Belgian waffles. She also taught me that an easy way to make delicious pasta is to sautee some garlic and onion in olive oil or butter, and add some chicken or canned clams. This meal is particularly easy to make, but tastes very fancy, which is good for any bachelor who wants to trick people in to thinking he is a great chef.

            My dad really can’t cook any better than me, but he has shown me the way of the grille. Steaks, shish ka bobs, chicken, ribs, fish, and burgers are now in my grilling arsenal because of the many summer nights we spent outside on the patio, firing up the grille and talking about whatever came to mind. If I had to say I was good at one specific grilling item, it would be the big slabs of London broil. Simply marinade the meat for a couple hours in half soy sauce, half olive oil with some steak seasoning on top, and then throw it on the grille. At first the grille must be set on high for a minute, to sear the outside of the meat, locking the juices inside. After that minute you then turn that level down to medium low and cook on each side for about ten to twelve minutes. When it is finished it has a nice, almost burnt outside, but the inside is pink and juicy. I would not recommend this technique for people who like their meat well done, or “ruined” as my dad always says, because it is dripping with steak juice.

            My grandma on my mother’s side taught all of us grandkids how to make pancakes from scratch as I have mentioned in an earlier post, but my grandpa on my dad’s side of the family taught me, and only me, how to make delicious beef jerky. His recipe consists of soy sauce, hot sauce, worcestershire, curry, liquid smoke, lots of ground pepper, chopped garlic, and chopped ginger root. It is a favorite and a delicacy in my family. I taught my oldest brother how to make it, but other than him, only my grandpa and I know how to make it. That means if all of us suddenly died in some freak and coincidental accident, the recipe would be lost forever because it was never written down. Hopefully that does not happen so I can continue to hand down the recipe of grandpa’s beef jerky, and also live life.

            Cooking is not a necessary skill to have, but it does make life a lot easier. Cooking your own food can be healthier, cheaper, and more rewarding because you appreciate the food more. I am glad to of learned so much about food from my parents and grandparents, and am even happier to know how to cook and grille a decent meal. Hopefully I can learn more things about food from more teachers in the future.

W2 Family Food Cultures

             One of my fondest memories growing up was spending the day at my Grandparent’s house. They lived on a 36-acre farm, and grew everything from sweet corn, to cabbage, to tomatoes, to the highly praised turnips. My mom would drop my brothers and me off around noon, and Grandma would take us on a picnic out in the fields. Our two cousins, who were my age, lived next door and they would join us. After a delicious picnic consisting of watermelon, potato chips, and delicious chicken salad sandwiches, my Grandpa would load up the trailer with hay and tug us around on the John Deere. We explored the woods behind the crop fields, the many trails swerving around the property, looking to spot some deer, or a rare and mysterious coyote. After the hayride was over, each grandchild got to spend time driving the tractor around, of course in plain sight of the house. It may not sound like much now, but to a little kid being able to drive a huge tractor was pure ecstasy. The rest of the day consisted of playing cards with grandma, eating ice cream, a shower, followed by a movie to put us to sleep.

            As I woke up in my mom’s high school bedroom, I could hear the commotion in the kitchen downstairs: voices chatting, dishes clanking, kids laughing, and the sound of the T.V. buzzing. All the grandchildren were on the island-bar in the kitchen, surrounding the stove where Grandma’s “made from scratch” pancakes were being concocted. Grandma took tremendous pride in whipping up the batter before the grandchildren woke up. Each grandchild, one at a time, would splash some water on the stove to hear the sizzle, and then pour the batter on and wait for the pancakes to bubble before flipping them over. She always suggested being creative when creating our pancakes, “make Mickey Mouse” (or some other weird shape). The pancakes were served with homemade maple syrup, which was much sweeter, thinner, and runnier than the store bought corn based syrup. She always stressed the ingredients in pancakes from scratch, in all honesty I can only remember a few: flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, eggs, vanilla, and buttermilk. It has been a while since I have been cooking breakfast with grandma but I do remember the taste quite vividly. The pancakes were very soft, fluffy, moist, and gooey on the inside, and had a real creamy, butter like taste. They were very thin compared to the instance batter stuff, and they seemed to melt in your mouth. Needless to say, the mornings were the best part of the visit to the farm.

            The reason Grandma’s pancake recipe is so significant is because she was making them with my mom and her siblings when they were little kids growing up. Grandma once said, “ When I am dead and gone I guarantee I will be remembered from my home made, from scratch, pancakes”. She is absolutely right. When I think of pancakes in general, even the store bought mix, I think of Grandma and the farm. I do not know if someone taught her how to make the pancakes, or how long the tradition has been going on, but as far as I am concerned they were the best flapjacks in the world. The recipe and the memories are shared between my brothers, cousins, and me, forever linking us with Grandma and the farm.

Ciezadlo

           Sometimes doing the right thing is not always easy. Especially for Ali, Jassim, and Ahmed who have left their jobs, families, homes, and lives behind in Iraq in order to not join violent Shiite militias. By leaving everything behind, they give up their culture, and are now in a part of the world, in a culture where they do not belong. Despite their unfortunate circumstances, these refugees are able to keep morale up by cooking their native Iraqi dishes. The tashreeb dijaaj, amongst many other Iraqi dishes, is what keeps these three men together and optimistic. To them, Iraqi cuisine represents their home, family, and culture.

            Tashreeb also represents their pride. Ali invited Annia Ciezadlo (author of the “They Remembered Home”) to his apartment to show off his native cuisine and culture. He wants her to know where he and his roommates come from. It makes him happy to see others enjoy his native cuisine. Him being proud of his heritage and native cuisine is not any different from American fans chanting “U-S-A! U-S-A!” at an Olympic event. Everyone is proud of where they come from, and everyone loves showing off their culture and pride. With the Tashreeb dish, not only do the Iraqi refugees remember home, but also they show their Iraqi pride.

            When I first learned of the Iraqi refugees in the writing, I did not think of then to be violent, American hating terrorist. What I did not understand until the end of the piece was how similar these men were to me. I understand that I am not from the Middle East, or a refugee, but I know what it is like to miss home and to miss my culture and customs. I spent two weeks in Germany a few years ago, and even though they had McDonald’s and other small examples of American culture, I felt out of place. The food is different, the language is different, the architecture is different, and the culture is different. Although I felt like an outsider, I had a sense of satisfaction when I would walk by a McDonald’s and see it packed with Germans, enjoying hamburgers and French Fries. The same can be said about the refugees feeling out of place and away from home while living in Lebanon. They too are able to get a sense of satisfaction and pride by sharing their native dishes with outsiders such as Ciezadlo.

            After reading this piece I realize that people might be on opposite ends of the earth, and might even have conflicting viewpoints, but are not so different when it comes to representing where they come from. Always remembering home and what made us the people we are today is a valuable lesson Ali and his roommates have taught me. No matter where we end up, or what the future brings, we will always have something like a tashreeb dish, or McDonald’s, to bring us back home.

W1 Remebering Home

            There is a weird, anxious feeling one gets when he returns home for the first time after moving far away. I remember waiting at the curbside pick up at the airport for my dad to pick me up. I have not seen him or anyone else in my family for about two and a half months, and for some reason I was a little nervous. I wondered if my home was just the way I left it. Or perhaps I have changed and would not perceive things the same way I have for the last eighteen years of my life.

            About ten minutes of waiting and I see my dad’s car pull up to the curb. He looked different since he dropped me off at school a couple months ago. He lost some weight and had a new haircut, but about 5 minutes in to the ride I felt like we picked up right where we left off. We did not even feel the need to make any small talk. We just listened to the radio for the journey home. Although I was again completely comfortable with my dad, I was still anxious about going home and seeing everyone else. Would my dogs remember me? How has everyone else changed?

            We pulled in to the garage and went in the house. Upon entering I caught the scent of an amazing, familiar aroma in the oven. It was my mom’s homemade Chex-Mix, or “Snicker Snacks” as she calls them. She only makes them on special occasions, mainly holidays or when the family is back together again which is only a few times out of the year. Immediately my small anxiety left me, as I took in that amazing smell of roasted nuts and Worcestershire soaked Chex. It consisted of simply chex, peanuts, pretzels, and Worcestershire, with a few secret spices. It was a smell I always associated with home and my mom. Later that night, when all my brothers got home, my mom put a giant bowl of her Chex Mix out and we sipped some beers and took turns telling everybody what we have been up to the passed few months. It was almost like we never left.

            My mom’s Chex Mix is something I am very proud of, and something I will always cherish. Whenever she makes it, it is not too long before the entire batch is gone, and somebody is dabbing there fingers in the bowl, trying to eat the salty crumbs left behind. I know whenever I return home from an extended time away, I can count on her to have a fresh batch of “Snicker Snacks” in the oven to welcome me back. To me it is like she is saying, “Although you are almost out of the nest, you will always be a part of the flock, and here is a treat to remind you of that.” I do not believe I will ever be anxious about returning home again, especially when I have home made Chex Mix to look forward to.

Janzen Response