Fettuccine Alfredo VS. Raw Eggs--Memoir

Before

People are the common denominator of any meal for me and also the best predictor of the success of a meal. Before my junior formal in the winter of 2007, Fazoli’s had always been a good food experience for me, the few times I’d dined there anyway. My family had occasionally frequented the joint and my usual was the Chicken Fettuccine Alfredo. It’s a creamy dish that is fun to eat. I liked the flat noodles and, of course, the unlimited bread sticks that taste like a fluffy butter and garlic combination on a soft stick reminiscent of bread that melts in your mouth. One day my grandmother took me there after a shopping trip we’d taken to buy clothes for my birthday.

We both ordered the Alfredo, I knew better than to request the adult size and opted instead for the child’s portion—my grandma didn’t know better and so she ended up with leftovers that are about two rungs up from McDonald’s leftovers on the ladder of comparison. That day I had ordered, for the first time, their new frozen lemon drink. I drank it slowly in order to savor each sip. It was a good day in a decent and satisfying restaurant. But my feelings toward Fazoli’s would soon change.

Winter formal was coming up and I didn’t have a prospective date. It was my first year at Mattawan High School and I definitely could scrounge up a few crushes but there wasn’t anyone that I was particularly interested or close to. I wasn’t really worried about it, I thought I would probably just skip because I planned on attending my old high school’s formal the weekend after either way. But, to my excitement, Mike Reiter a goofy looking, but still moderately cute boy from my English class walked up to my locker about two weeks before the event and asked if I’d like to go with him. I said yes.

I shouldn’t have said yes. I should have found a group of girl friends to go with or hell I could have gone by myself or really, I didn’t have to go at all. That’s how bad it was. To be honest I think I nudged him into asking because I knew he took an interest in me and I wanted a date. But he wasn't all that attractive and he wasn't a terribly interesting person to talk with mostly because we had little to nothing in common. But I said yes so I figured, ‘I’ll get the dress and he’ll make the reservations and it’ll be a semi-successful night’.

He didn’t make reservations! And, expecting him to do the honors, neither did I. He picked me up at my house the night of formal. The roads were horrible that night—really slick and snowy white visibility. We had to drive slowly even though he brought a four wheel drive big black something or other and we unfortunately ran out of talking points before we were even half-way into town. His plan was to tag onto another groups’ reservations at Carraba’s and it didn’t work. We were on Westnedge and our non-reservation options were Applebee’s, Bilbo’s, and Fazoli’s. I opted for Fazoli’s because I knew what I liked, I knew what to expect and it was the closest and fastest. I wanted to get to the dance before we absolutely ran out of talking points.

We were seating immediately which wasn’t surprising considering we were the only customers. I ordered my usual. I don’t recall what Mike ordered. He talked about the golf team (I have zero interest in golf) and we quickly degenerated into conversation about class assignments in English. It was terrible. And consequently so was the food. Fazoli’s isn’t gourmet food but still, it was delicious before and that night I choked it down while the scrawny, brown-eyed, dirty blonde in front of me struggled to form the simplest of conversation.

The noodles went cold faster than they ever had before. The Alfredo sauce was flavorless and even the break sticks held no appeal. Case and point: it wouldn’t have mattered one bit if my Chicken Fettuccine Alfredo had been prepared by a famous chef that night, I would have hated it either way. The quality of the company who surrounds has the biggest effect on the overall quality of my meal. When we arrived at the dance I ditched, I don’t think he was too surprised. 

One of my earliest food memories actually didn’t even end in eating but it is fondly remembered. I was at my best friend Abbi’s house in the middle of July and we wanted to cook something. We weren’t particularly hungry; her parents always fed us well. But a large part of our adventures included doing what we weren’t supposed to do. So we devised a plan to sneak two eggs out of her kitchen and then proceed to cook them outside on a large rock on the edge of her yard. To do this we had to sneak past the her dad her was lounging in the living room right of the dining room that flowed directly into the kitchen and then walk out the door that lead to our rock unsuspected in plain view of the living room lounge chair.

After shakily grabbing the eggs I hid them in fists and walked on the far side of dining room trying to keep a steady calm pace. It was my job to do the dirty work because we figured I we wouldn’t get in as much trouble if we were caught as long as the guest (me) was the one with the red paint on her hands. Heart beating rapidly, I made it outside undetected and I ran down to our makeshift skillet excited to crack open our mid-afternoon lunch. We each cracked one of the eggs and waited expectantly for the food to cook. It didn’t cook. Later on in life I wondered what would have happened if we had used a magnifying glass but I haven’t tried it yet. That ‘meal’ was one of the most exhilarating meals of my life and I would trade that day and that summertime flavor that tastes like childhood and sweat over the taste of the Fazoli’s debacle every time.

I am the Cow

After reading the first part of Michael Pollen's "The Omnivore's Dilemma" I was taken aback by how calmly he writes, especially compared to Anthony Bourdain in "A Cook's Tour". When Bourdain was in Tokyo he experienced a breakfast that he absolutely hated and he wrote, "All I wanted to do was hurl myself through the paper walls and straight off the edge of the mountain" (152). I thought this was definitely over the top and ridiculous. Bourdain's use of exaggeration is a part of his style and in his book it works to his benefit especially in creating himself as a character in his travels.

On the other hand, when Pollen relays atrocities of the 'industrial-food system' he more or less states the facts plainly. Sometimes he adds a characteristic anecdote but it's always closer to the truth of the matter than it is to ridiculousness. It might be because the horrible facts in "The Omnivore's Dilemma" tend to speak for themselves. Or maybe his subject matter isn't as powerful when reduced to dramatics. I appreciate this lack of drama; however, I was absolutely heartbroken almost the entire time I spent reading the first part of Pollen's book.  I wondered how much Pollen's heart hurt too and why it didn't always show if it did. 

Pollen's style of not always showing his emotions gives him a higher quality of credibility than Bourdain's. His book is more research based and more 'journalistic' in nature. I'm not claiming that it's 'better' but because of Pollen's style his book is immediately more credible. Credibility is also much more important to Pollen's subject matter. The issue of the 'industrial-food system' is incredibly serious and important to me so I really appreciated how Pollen wrote about it. The way he breaks down such a complex issue is definitely helpful and at the same time he shows the reader how complex it is. 


Pollen also does an excellent of representing both sides of the issue while clearly standing on one side over the other. This is a great example of one of the many types of 'journalism'. For me, it shows how you can let the other side have the same type of legitimacy as your own. This is a great technique of argumentation too. Instead of winning the agreement of readers by showing how terrible the 'bad guys' are Pollen wins me over by letting the facts speak for themselves (along with a little bias or at least a specific perspective) but by also putting me in the mind of the other argument so I can understand where it comes from. 


Pollen says that you can't argue with the economic logic of the 'industrial-food system' but you can argue with a different set of tools as well as a variation on the economics. Like how the economic logic argues that the industrial system saves the consumer money and gives them 'variety' but also from a money standpoint, the industrial system wastes more than the natural system and indirectly costs much more when you consider the price of energy. 


I am still trying to figure out what I will do with this new information I have accumulated after reading part 1 of the dilemma all I know for now is that I feel sick like the cows who can't eat grass. :*(

"A Cook's Tour"

While reading "A Cook's Tour" by Anthony Bourdain an interesting thread kept appearing. I couldn't understand what purpose it served. This thread revolves around women and their seeming ability to make a contribution to Bourdain's writing. What that contribution is I cannot see but for him it must mean something.

In the second chapter he compares returning to France and tasting fish soup again to seeing an old girlfriend and wondering what he had seen in her. I can relate to this comparison however his next choice contrast seems a little extreme as far as relate-ability goes. He writes that he remembers sitting on a dock near his old haunts as a teenager and feeling bitter--"I was a lonely bitter kid. I never got so much as a hand-job in this fucking town" (36). While I appreciate Bourdain's honest writing I didn't think this morsel of his tour was as satisfying. In this particular passage Bourdain sounds awfully spoiled. He is in France for the summer for gods-sake!

Later he writes that he had hoped that re-visiting oysters would bring back his first seminal experience. He compares his hope to "buying your girlfriend flowers, jewelry, perfume, and candy as well as the bathing suit Ursula Andress wore in Dr. No and stating that you expect the best sex of your life" (41). I get that he wants the reader to know he felt he was trying too hard but I'm wondering why that is where his mind goes to when thinking of an example to explain his feelings. It's really interesting to me.

In a subsequent chapter he talks about guys night versus girls night. Bourdain contradicts himself stating that guys night lacks "the civilizing perspectives of women" but later writes, "I'd learned painfully at times, that women have nothing to learn from men in the bad behavior department" (66 and 71). I think he gets it more right in the second passage but why are these details important to him and why does he create a paradox on the page?

The chapter on how to drink vodka is equally perplexing. Bourdain says on page 89 that he is in love, that is, if he could ever fall for someone who reminded him of Broderick Crawford. It's a different kind of compliment if I've ever heard one. I'm not saying that I am offended by his comments but rather that I am intrigued by them. There is a small commentary to be had about Bourdain's choice of female muses. What it all means I have yet to decide.

Family Dynamics

In the second half of “Stealing Buddha’s Dinner” I was interested in how the rest of her family dynamics are explored. One of the most relatable scenes in the book was of Bich at the homes of extended family on Rosa’s side. She describes her time there as a place where she is asked to love people she does not know and where she attempts to hide away and be in her comfortable solitude with a good book.

I knew my family growing up but still I tended to be the one who wanted to do my own thing. All of my cousins are either several years older or several years younger. My brother could hang out with older cousins and my sister, the more sociable one comparatively speaking, hung out with however she wanted. I was more cautious and ‘heady’ about the whole process of socialization. I remember the meal time being the best part especially in the wintertime when we all were cooped up inside the house. I wanted to be social but like Bich she just wasn’t interested in what the other groups around her were doing. And somehow it’s never enough to be in the room where the others are. You have to participate in some way.

Once at my grandma’s house I was knitting a blanket in the living room while my cousins were playing a game. One of them asked me why I’m always doing something on my own and I thought because I want to. But I also remember wishing that someone else would be interested in what I was doing so I wouldn’t be alone.

I also remember being the older sister figure much like Crissy in some ways. My younger sister would always be clamoring to hang out with me and my friends but I could never accept her. I felt the power that I held over her. I used to get so annoyed because I had a friend who didn’t mind hanging out with my sister and she would invite her along knowing full well that I didn’t want my sister following. My friend even went so far as to play with my sister when I was grounded because I had been mean to her earlier in the day and my mom had decided to punish me. So the power dynamic wasn’t all one sided but I can definitely relate to the basic situation.

A really interesting part of the second half of the memoir was when Bich described the realization that her parents didn’t like her face. Even when she was being “good” she wasn’t really being good because her face revealed her true feelings. She was defiant even when she wasn’t trying to be outwardly defiant. I really felt for Bich here because it feels so unfair when we are judged for our facial expressions. I am also the kind of person whose emotions are unintentionally splayed across my face.

Remembering...

The most intense reaction I had to “Stealing Buddha’s Dinner”, by Bich Minh Nguyen, was that I could relate on some level with almost every childhood experience Nguyen relates in her memoir. She writes on page two that she and her sister “didn’t know [they] were among the lucky. What Nguyen is referring to in this section is the fact that she did not know her family was in want at times or that her father got up in the middle of the night to work at the factory.

I remember growing up constantly trying to fit into hand-me-downs because I realized early on in life that new-clothes-shopping was for special occasions. It happened but when it did I sensed the reluctance and the stress in my mom’s demeanor as the numbers were added at the check-out counter. I had no idea I was so lucky. As a youngster you learn quickly how to compare yourself to others and notice what they have and you don’t. I often forgot to appreciate what I had because I would only be satisfied with more.

Another really interesting section in the memoir is on page 10. Nguyen recounts that “as a kid, I couldn’t figure out what “all-American” was supposed to mean. Was it a promise, a threat, a warning?” I have never considered this question before but now that I do I have come to the conclusion that it does not mean so much. The phrase “all-American” feeds into our eagerness to believe in the American dream. It is more like a promise than anything else; it used to stand for a certain quality in things.

Today though, with outsourcing and globalization the “promise” is an empty one. In elementary school I remember being taught that America is a melting pot but the reality is much less appetizing and like all the candy that tantalized Nguyen, I think too many things in America are sugar coated too often for a benefit that does not exist. The reality is often more like “the voice saying, come on in. Now transform. And if you cannot, then disappear” (11).

I also could really relate to Nguyen’s struggles with silence in herself and her household. She writes on page 26 that “there were so many things that could never be spoken”. And on page 29 she relates her experience with taboo subjects like sex. In her household there were no bedtimes, she did not always have the watchful eye of a house maker mom on her but still, the sticky subject of human relations as well as her mother and other questions of her past could not be discussed. Sex is how we all came in to this world and it is amazing to me how there are so many American households in which the subject is not breached.

Nguyen’s memoir stirred my own memories and brought back pieces of childhood I have both remembered and had forgotten. I remember how it is impossible to steal ice cream and how the question why always got me nowhere. I know what it is like to try and be saved. I know how unsettling inconsistent parenting can be and how I too privately admired the rebellious kids in school. I remember how important school was to me and how I would have nightmares of being late. I also recall how nerve racking it was to visit someone’s house and have dinner with them. And to this day I still accidentally throw meat on the floor.

Most importantly I remember as Nguyen does on page 116, what it is like to realize that you have always had a choice whether you knew it or not.