Murali Dreams of Good Food

This is my last article. I’ve been writing for the Dining Department for four years now, and, to be perfectly honest, I am not ready to say goodbye. But, that’s mostly because I have annoyingly discovered that I have multiple thoughts left to tell all of you about! So, I guess instead of multiple separate posts, you’ll have to deal with the abridged versions. Boba is not that good.

Food Ethics | To Make Margaritas

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To make margaritas, you need lime juice, and a lot of it. Limes are not native to central New York, so I knew this would constitute the greatest sacrifice of food miles. However, due to our special occasion, I decided it was a worthwhile sacrifice. Isaac is Mexican and missing home, so I hoped this would bring him joy. As we were both very hungry, Isaac offered to help me juice the limes.

A Spicy Take on Chronic Pain

One of my earliest memories is of being five or six and having my father, a spicy food fanatic, make me eat one of the dried chilis that comes in kung pao chicken. That was the day I learned that the best antidote to a mouth on fire is not water or even milk, but mouthfuls of plain, steamed white rice. It was also the beginning of my own descent into what my mother felt was madness. From then on, my dad and I were like a cult, only instead of a god we worshipped capsaicin. We went to fancy hot sauce stores on vacation.

Food Ethics | Worries to Wonder

When I was 14 years old, I went hunting with my dad on youth hunting weekend. It’s the weekend before the official hunting season begins, giving novice hunters a better chance. Going into this, I asked two questions: ‘do I deserve to eat meat if I can’t kill an animal? ,’ and, more importantly, ‘how will I feel after this?’ The best way to find out seemed to be to shoot first and ask questions later. I was even planning on butchering the animal myself, which I felt was a crucial step in answering these questions.

Food Ethics | Beans and Bread

The 40-acre farm in Hawai’i which I called home for the fall of 2017 was riddled with homemade signage. Pieces of wood were painted to remind that there was  “no toilet” and to “use tree! ,” to teach you “proper poopage” in a compost toilet and to tell you to “Get naked!” in the shower. There was also less informational signage that reinforced some important life lessons like “be with the flow” and to “eat your food like water, and your water like air.” One of these signs hung in a particularly prominent place next to the picnic tables at which we ate. It was framed by bunches of ripening plantains and written with a washed out orange and pink paint.