Finger Food '19

` CREME de cornell

Finger Foods

fall 2019 / vol xiv

SAY HELLO TO THE STAFF

Editor in Chief ABBY REING Layout Director MUFFIN LAOSIRI- CHON Layout Staff KWAN ASADATHORN, VICTORIA LU, SARA CHUNG Culinary Director JEREMY SCHECK Webmaster JANICE JUNG Publicity/Social Media JULIE CHEN

Contributing Writers ALEXANDRA CASTROVERDE, SABRINA CAMPOS NOGUERA, LUCAS GRAY, RILEY HOLLERAND, GRACE TRAN, ANNIE WEISS, CANDICE MAHADEO, GRACE YANG, ANDREW JOE, CONSUELO LE, TRIN KITISOONTORNPONG, DANA SLAYTON, RENYOU (MOLLY )HUANG

Managing Editor PRIYA PRADHAN Editing Staff SUE CHO, IIANA HILL, SERENE CHEN, DANA SLAYTON, LUCAS GRAY Photography Director KEVIN CAVALLO Photographers EMILY LAM, HAILEY SCHWARZ, TARA KHANNA, LUIS ENRIQUEZ, DAPHNE TAN, WINNIE CHOW, DESAI WANG Event Chairs VICTORIA ZHU,

ROBERT BROOKS Treasurer CHASE LIN Advisor HEATHER KOWLAKOWSKI

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A LETTER FROM THE EDITOR As I stand in the kitchen, kneading dough or mixing a steaming soup, I can’t help but swipe up a bit in my fingers and pop it into my mouth. I’m looking for the ingredients to communicate to me; to tell me what they need in order to blossom into a decadent meal. In these moments of urgency, I don’t have time to take out a tasting spoon- a quick taste is all I need, and my hands do the trick perfectly. I’m listening, I’m improvising, and most importantly, I’m working with my hands.

This being my first semester as Editor-in-Chief, I’ve been doing alot of improvising. Overseeing our publication requires me to keep a hand in everything, constantly sampling from pots of photography, event-planning, or budgeting.

Our new ambitions to improve social involvement, increase articles published, and expand distribution have required all of e-board to figure things out as we go along. Now, it has all paid off, and I am so proud of our e-board for all of the hard work they have put in, fueled by our common passion and dedication.

Everyone in Crème de Cornell has a deep connection to food; it’s emotional and raw. At our (first ever!) date night, we enjoyed dinner at Hawi Ethiopian Cuisine to connect directly with the delicious food, without the formality of forks and knives. As we got our fingers covered in berbere sauce and ate copious amounts of injera, the laughter and conversation was evident of the human connection sparked through finger food.

Our writers have interpreted the finger food theme in many ways, but beneath it all lies the experience of sharing, and how that can define a meal. Narrating her experiences at Buffalo Wild Wings, Dana Slayton recounts international friendships formed in the most unlikely of places. Maia Lee documents students’ memories of family bonding through finger foods, in The Ratatouille Moment. From nostalgia to hectic enthusiasm, our Culinary Director Jeremy Scheck gives us a tour of tapas he enjoyed with friends.

We hope that this issue of Crème de Cornell emboldens you to try new cuisine, sparks a new connection through food, and inspires your upcoming holiday festivities. Just don’t forget the napkins!

Abby Reing, Editor in Chief

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CONTENTS 06

the ratatouille moment

24

para chuparse los dedos

08

six months - one bite

26

kefte kebab

10

pâte à choux

28

an experience with injera

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finger lakes eclair

lessons from the buffalo

12

miang kham

30

14

finger laking good

16 challah 20

jello shots

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high tea

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he

t

ratatouille

by Maia Lee

photographer: Daphne Tan

Several Cornell students share their personal emotions and memories associated with finger foods they enjoyed as children.

mo

ment

Everyone remembers that one scene from the animated film Ratatouille in which food critic Anton Ego takes a single bite of Remy’s take on the eponymous classic French dish and is suddenly transported to his childhood, when his loving mot her would lift his mood by serving him a bowl of ratatouille.

In this piece, myself and a few other Cornell students conjure memories from our youth, reflecting on our own personal Ratatouille moments.

Ariana Garcia-Cassani: Croquetas Laughing little children run around the small kitchen in Spain, and in their tiny hands hold warm croquetas, freshly made by Abuela Conchita. As soon as one is taken out of the fryer, one of the children grabs it and devours it. The crunchy, fried outer layer encases a soft, buttery bechamel filling. Scattered throughout the savory sauce are gamey morsels of jamón iberico--more folded in than normal to satisfy her son-in-law’s fondness for the cured meat, even though each slice cost a fortune. Ariana and her siblings, unable to speak Spanish and a bit intimidated by their headstrong be coaxed into spending time with her through her delicious food. In this way, Abuela Conchita succesfully broke down the language barriers that separated her from her grandchildren, communicating her love for them through her cooking. Every time Ana-Rose Garcia attempts to make croquetas, she is overcome with mixed feelings of sadness and

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nostalgia as she thinks of her late mother. Abuela Conchita never failed to provide a feast for her family visiting from America, even in her final years battling terminal lung cancer. Despite her debilitating illness, she visited the Spanish grocery market alone to purchase all of the ingredients for the croquetas, vigorously whisked the labor-intensive bechamel sauce, and perspired over the scorching frying oil. Whenever Ariana eats croquetas, she is reminded of her grandmother and how she is the strongest person she will ever know. market alone to purchase all of the ingredients for the croquetas, vigorously whisked the labor-intensive bechamel sauce, and perspired over the scorching frying oil. Whenever Ariana eats croquetas, she is she is reminded of her grandmother and how she is the strongest person she will ever know.

Ecem Ertas: Dolmas

Maia Lee: “Dong-Geu-Rang-Ddaeng” Korean Meat Patties On the night of December 31st, eight pairs of hands work busily around the large dining table. It’s a dong-geu-rangddaeng assembly line: everyone is assigned a specific station.

My younger brother and I shape the ground meat into flattened circles, our two cousins cover these with white flour and beaten eggs, and the parents grill the patties on a large hot plate. These little morsels are made of soft ground beef and pork, crushed tofu, diced onions, minced carrots, and shiitake mushrooms. They are usually accompanied with other dishes, also floured and covered in an egg wash: jeon, bite-sized whitefish patties, gochu-jeon, stuffed jalapeno peppers, and bossam, boiled pork belly paired with salty, spicy baby shrimp paste.

This array of traditional Korean dishes are all made on New Year’s Eve for Seol-Nal, Korean New Year’s Day. Before my grandfather passed away in high school, he would always insist that we make this feast annually to ring in the new year together as an entire family. His daughter-in-laws--including my mother--would groan and complain about spending hours in the kitchen during their precious vacation time, but even after he left us, we still continue this yearly tradition. Every January 1st, with our generous stash of food packed safely in our laps, we make the long drive to Koreatown in Los Angeles where my grandmother still lives, and join my cousins, aunts, and uncles to celebrate the New Year. We always set aside a small table with my grandfather’s picture on it, placing in front of him a plate heaped with offerings of the food we’ve diligently made. In these happy moments, I am always grateful to him for bringing our busy family together every year to celebrate Korean culture, family, and food.

Aunts, uncles, children, mothers, and fathers crowd around the dining table in Anneanne Hafize’s tiny apartment in Turkey. Everyone grabs a dolma, a traditional Turkish dish, slightly bitter peppers stuffed with succulent rice and flavored with vibrant tomato paste and bold spices. This delightful finger food is topped with Ecem’s grandmother’s special touch: sweet, chewy raisins and tart Greek yogurt. Anneanne Hafize’s paramount concern upon her children and grandchildren’s arrival is to fill their stomachs as quickly as possible, so she always starts off the homecoming meal with dolmas, made fast and easy. As soon as a plate of these small bites were on the table, each member of the extended family would take turns grabbing a handful and then moving aside to make space for another person to eat their fair share. Every time Ecem bites into a dolma, she is brought back to the hot summers in Turkey filled with delicious food, laughter, and family.

Angela Shen: Spring Rolls Angela and her two younger cousins carefully examine the vegetable section at the grocery market: they are competing to find the most perfectly-shaped, flawless carrot. This orange veggie, once shredded, will join other ingredients including creamy tofu, cabbage, and wood ear mushrooms to create the perfect, gooey filling for the crispy spring roll. Every Lunar New Year, Angela’s family joins her uncle’s at her grandparents’ home, in a large group effort to make dozens of piping hot, fried spring rolls to celebrate the occasion. As part of a special Chinese tradition, Waipo Yufang always puts a special ingredient in one of the spring rolls; one particular Lunar New Year, it was an action figurine from a McDonald’s Happy Meal. That year, Angela discovered the little gift in hers. Her family members were extremely jealous, as it meant she was to have good fortune for the rest of the new year. Whenever Angela orders spring rolls, she is transported back to family fun and festivities.

Inexplicably, food posseses an unbreakable tie to family, the common thread among all four of these stories. Recipes and traditions are handed down generation by generation, from grandparent to parent, from parent to child. Food is a powerful thing: alone or around a crowded table, regardless of generation or language, a single bite can remind us of vibrant memories of childhoods spent with loved ones.

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six monthsone bite

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How do you begin planning a menu for hundreds of guests? What if those guests are big shot hospitality executives, some of whom are restaurant executives and celebrity chefs, all expecting to be wowed?

The Hotel Ezra Cornell Conference (HEC) is a flagship event within Cornell’s School of Hotel Administration. In its early years when the hotel program was struggling to get off the ground financially, it served as a marketing tool that ultimately generated the funds to support what the school has become today. The three-day long conference, hosted in the spring and run entirely by Hotel School Students, is the culmination of over six months of hard work. It brings together the crème de la crème of the hotel industry for a weekend of extravagant hospitality, interesting guest speakers, and tons of delicious food.

When I applied for the culinary team, I was shocked by the level of culinary expertise my fellow students had. Many of them had worked at the finest restaurants in the countryGramercy Tavern, The French Laundry, and Per Se to name a few. The manager I was working under was no exception. I was hired as the assistant manager to the Executive Pastry Sous Chef. The two of us were charged with menu development and execution for the Closing Cocktail event - a last-hurrah cocktail party to mark the end of the conference- complete with drinks, music, and an array of bite-sized desserts.

The creative process for an event like this is an interesting one. My manager and I had lots of meetings early on where we sat down over coffee and spent hours brainstorming ideas for our menu. We combined his knowledge of advanced techniques with my enthusiasm for innovative and unconventional flavor combinations. After an entire month of brainstorming, we were left with an array of dishes that had a lot of potential with respect to the types of desserts they were, yet our flavors were deemed too simple by the Executive Student Chef.

Heading back to the drawing board armed with a healthy amount of frustration and a determination to perfect our flavors. It became our sole fixation; we met more frequently, texted each other whenever we had a potential lead on a great new taste, and even started bringing notepads to class solely for writing down recipe ideas as soon as we thought of them.

Doodles on notes turned to drawings of mini desserts and eventually after approval from the executive chef, the student executive board, and a panel of chefs and faculty at the Hotel School, we had a set menu: a macaron tower of strawberry champagne, apple fireball, buttered popcorn, and lemon verbena apricot macarons; a raspberry goat cheese petit gateaux (mini french mousse cakes); an ice cream sandwich station with cranberry walnut and chocolate chip cookies with burnt honey streusel, blueberry basil, and vegan coconut ice creams; and a cannoli filling station with dark chocolate sesame, pistachio baklava, and white chocolate salted pretzel fillings.

After confirming our menu, the next three months were dedicated to developing and testing our recipes. Hours were spent in test kitchens, apartments, and houses, adjusting amounts, temperatures, and flavors. By the time the event rolled around, we had tasted our dishes so many times we were nearly tired of them, yet beyond proud of them.

The night of our event was successfully chaotic to say the least. Making all of the dishes, plating them perfectly, and ensuring they worked logistically was an enormous challenge resulting in sticky fingers, dirty aprons, and exhausted volunteers. Nonetheless, it was all worth it though when the guests arrived.

The light hum of conversation in the air slowly turned to a steady buzz, then a full symphony of loud, extravagant conversation. College professors and hospitality CEOs, executive chefs and hotel owners, financial gurus, and data analysts poured into the hall (decorated to look like a modern night club) with drinks in their hands and music blasting. They came in droves to load cocktail plates high with macarons, cannolis, ice cream sandwiches, and petit gateaux. Standing behind the table in my chef whites, grinning proudly from ear to ear, I greeted every one of them and watched the hospitality elite rave about the desserts I helped create.

Months of work- of brainstorming and presenting, thinking and rethinking, cooking and baking- all to treat the guests.

All for a single bite or two of an idea I had, brought to life in a kitchen and served in the most glamorous way.

That’s how it’s done.

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How to: to: How

Pâte à Choux

Ingredients for the dough:

1/2 cup (125 ml) milk 1/2 cup (125 ml) water 2 tbsp sugar (omit for savory recipes) 1/2 tsp kosher salt 1 stick/half cup (113g) unsalted butter 1 cup (150g) all purpose flour* 4-5 large eggs at room temperature

1. Preheat the oven to 425° F. Measure the flour into a small bowl. Pour the milk, water, salt, sugar, and butter into a medium saucepan and bring to a boil. Immediately remove from heat once it reaches a boil.

2. Add the flour to the saucepan all at once and mix with a wooden spoon until it looks homogeneous.

3. Return to medium heat and cook the dough (it should look like a thick paste) for 2 minutes while stirring constantly.

Transfer to a mixing bowl and set aside for 5 minutes to let cool.

4. Add 4 eggs one at a time, mixing vigorously with a wooden spoon or a dough whisk after each incorporation. It takes a bit of time for each one to mix in.

5. After adding your 4 eggs, you may need to add all or part of the fifth egg. ** The finished dough should be slightly sticky, paste-like, but firm enough to hold after being piped, almost the texture of toothpaste. Mix into the dough well.

6. Pipe round, conic shapes (the same shape as cupcake frosting) onto a silpat or parchment-lined baking sheet.

7. Bake at 425° F for 15 minutes, then reduce the temperature to 350° F bake for 15-20 more minutes. Bake one tray at a time. Do not open the oven while baking. If you have multiple batches, don’t forget to bring the temperature back up to 425°.

8. Right after baking, use a paring knife to make a small slit in the bottom of your baked choux to let steam escape.

Transfer to a wire rack to cool.

9. Fill with homemade whipped cream and berries; top with powdered sugar or chocolate ganache. *For this recipe, if not weighing the flour, measure the flour by scooping the measuring cup into the container of flour (without fluffing the flour), first then level.

Technically this is the wrong way of measuring flour as a cup weighs about 120g when spooned and leveled (the right way to measure flour) but this recipe calls for what I call a “heavy” cup of flour. **This really depends on the humidity, the size of your eggs, and how much flour you add (this is why weighing is so much better). Use your judgment in deciding whether you need more egg. To add a partial egg, beat the egg with a fork and add as much as you think is necessary.

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Jeremy Scheck

Pâte à choux is the light and crispy dough behind countless delicacies, including éclairs, profiteroles (cream puffs), gougères, and Paris-breasts. These pastries are often dramatically displayed with mountains of cream and colorful glazes, seemingly impossible to recreate at home. However, the dough actually only takes about 10 minutes to make and requires just four pantry staples: water, butter, flour and eggs. Milk, sugar, and salt are often added for flavor and richness, but in a pinch the dough can be made with the core four. The liquid in the dough turns to steam in the oven, puffing the pastries out to double in size, and leaving the center hollow for all sorts of pastry creams and fillings. A piping bag is ideal for easy preparation and optimal presentation, but like the additional ingredients, is not necessary; you can spoon the dough out onto a sheet.

The possibilities are endless, but I like to keep it simple by making cream puffs with fresh whipped cream and berries.

Finger Lakes Eclairs

Alex Castroverde photographer: Winnie Chow

The Finger Lakes are famed for their wonderful fresh produce, especially apples!

To capture the essence of the region, I’ve created, tested, and refined a recipe that is the perfect finger-licking dessert.

Apple Cream 1.5 apples 2 tbsp lemon juice 1 tsp mixed cinnamon, nutmeg, and ground cloves ½ cups brown sugar 2 cups milk 1 tsp vanilla extract 4 egg whites 1 /6 cup sugar 1 tbsp salt 4 tbsp unsalted butter ¼ cup cornstarch

To make the apple cream: 1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

Remove the core from apples and dice into ⅛ inch cubes.

In a bowl, add apples, lemon juice, the spice mixture, and brown sugar. Stir together until fully incorporated. Let the mixture sit aside.

Chop the butter into 1 tbsp cubes.

In a medium saucepan, pour in the milk and vanilla. Bring the mixture to a boil, while stirring constantly to prevent film-forming.

In another bowl, whisk the sugar, cornstarch, and salt. Add 4 egg yolks until it turns light yellow and has a visibly creamy consistency.

Temper the egg mixture with hot milk by adding 1⁄4 of a cup of the milk into the egg mixture. Stir together.

Add the tempered egg mixture to the rest of the milk. Stir constantly to avoid curdling. Bring the mixture to a boil while whisking constantly until the mixture is thick and pudding-like.

Add the pastry cream to a medium bowl.

Add the vanilla and the cubes of butter one at a time until fully incorporated.

Transfer the cream to a piping bag and cool it in the fridge.

Caramel Glaze 1 cups light brown sugar ⅓ cup heavy cream 1 tbsp unsalted butter 1 tsp pure vanilla extract

To make the caramel glaze: 1.

Add butter, sugar, and heavy cream into a saucepan. Heat the pan on medium heat, while stirring constantly, until mixture begins to boil.

2. Once the caramel has thickened, take off the heat and stir in vanilla extract.

To assemble: 1. Make pate a choux (previous recipe), piping into traditional oblong eclair shape.

2. Let the shells cool for 5 minutes. Poke three holes with a piping tip or chopsticks equidistant from each other for the apple cream filling.

3. Using a piping bag, twisted firmly at the top, gently fill each eclair shell with the apple cream and then set aside.

4. Dip each eclair into the caramel to finish off the dessert

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Miang kham by: Trin Kitisoontornpong photographer: Desai Wang After moving to the United States nearly a decade ago, I spent much of my time listening to my mother reminiscing about the spicy, sweet, savory, and umami-rich snack wrapped in fragrant betel leaves. The essential ingredients such as high quality dried shrimp and betel leaves are practically impossible to find here in the U.S. When we stumbled upon a small Thai restaurant in Manhattan that serves a derived version of miang kham called miang kana, we were ecstatic. While it may not be exactly the same, this meaty simplified version of miang kham managed to satisfy my mother’s craving.

accompanied by sweet palm sugar sauce. Eaten in a similar manner to the famous Vietnamese nam neung, a betel leaf is folded into a cup and filled with whatever ingredients you like before being topped with sweet sauce. The sweetness of the sauce balances beautifully with the umami-rich saltiness of the dried shrimp. Fresh chili, onion, and garlic add refreshing spices to the sweet and salty bites. The toasted coconut gives a smoky aroma that mellows down the intense flavors of the fresh ingredients. All of this is followed by the intense arugula-like fragrance of the betel leaf and the wedge of lime that cleanses your palate.

Hailing from Northern Thailand, miang kham made its way to the palace of Bangkok during the late 19th century, brought along by a princess who was destined to marry the young King. Soon after, this traditional one-bite wonder became popular across Thailand and abroad.

This version of miang kham is inspired by miang kana, a dish on the secret menu of the famous New York City restaurant, Wondee Siam. The elusive betel leaf is replaced with either kana, or young Chinese broccoli leaf, or lettuce leaf, and the dried shrimps are substituted with dried shredded pork. While the pre-mixed version may not allow for the same customization found in its traditional form, the dish is both convenient and yummy-- a perfect way to introduce such a unique snack to people who’ve never tried miang kham before.

Miang kham features an assortment of ingredients and preparation techniques unique to Southeast Asia such as dried shrimp, betel leaves, lime wedge, and toasted shredded coconut. All of which are individually laid on the plate

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directions 1. In a small bowl, mix together the sugar and fish sauce until the sugar is fully dissolved. Then add the lime juice.

ingredients 2 Teaspoons of Fish Sauce 3 Teaspoons of Lime Juice 2 Teaspoons of Sugar* 1 Finely Cubed Medium Red Onion 2 Tablespoon of Finely Julienned Ginger Half Young Fresh Lime Finely Cubed** 2 Minced Thai Chilis 4 Tablespoon of Crushed, Toasted Peanuts

2. Add the red onion, ginger, chopped lime, and the Thai chili to the sauce and stir to combine.

3. Preheat the oven to 325 F. Spread the shredded pork thinly and evenly on the baking tray and place it in the middle rack of the oven for 10 min. *** 4. Mix the sauce with the roasted pork. Flavor to taste with the lime juice, sugar, and fish sauce mixture. The concoction should be sweet with refreshing spiciness from herbs and lime.

5. To prepare the lettuce leaf, cut the bottom portion of the lettuce head to separate it into individual leaves. Clean them thoroughly. As only the leafy green part is needed, the lower white portion which is composed mostly of stem can be removed. **** 6. Enjoy this modern take on a traditional Thai recipe by folding the lettuce into a cone shape and filling it to your desire.

3 Cups of Dried Shredded Pork Romaine Lettuce

notes *Brown sugar or palm sugar will make for better sauce due to its molasses flavor, but white sugar will also work **Young lime tends to have thinner and softer skin which is lighter in color. Choose lime with light green skin with a hint of yellow pigment. If young lime is not available, normal lime can also be used by removing the outermost layer of the skin using Microplane. ***Keep an eye on the baking tray and remove it from the oven immediately after turning crispy as it will burn quickly if not monitored ****If prepared with Chinese broccoli leaf, remove the stem all the way up to the bottom-most portion of the leaf.

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Finger Laking Good

By Riley Hollerand photographer: Hailey Schwartz

Finger Foods from the Finger Lakes

The Finger Lakes are at their best during the fall season, boasting rich harvests of classic foods like apples and grapes. However, the region takes celebrating local cuisine to the next level by hosting food festivals that highlight the unique recipes which make this area so alluring to locals and visitors alike. The rich histories of these towns and the creative contributions of the residents have led to inventive and inviting culinary creations that are just finger-licking good.

Apples

Apples are big business in the Finger Lakes, with hundreds of orchards, cideries, and distilleries based around these famous fruits. Our very own Ithaca hosts its annual Apple Harvest Festival in September where students, locals, and visitors can support this major industry and sample delicious creations like apple beignets and apple grilled cheese. You can go classic with some apple cider donuts and apple turnovers, or opt for something a bit more savory like these apple walnut blue cheese tartlets.

Sauerkraut

While the Finger Lakes shine in the fruit market, they also stand out when it comes to sauerkraut, finely fermented and flavored cabbage. In the 1900s, Phelps was home to two major sauerkraut production and canning companies and became one of the largest producers of sauerkraut in the world. To celebrate this distinction, Phelps, NY holds an annual sauerkraut festival on the first weekend of August, where residents and visitors can try classic creations like a Rueben sandwich or satisfy their sauerkraut cravings in a more unique way.

Past festival creations include Sauerkraut Beet Red Velvet Cake and Blueberry Sauerkraut Cobbler for those who are adventurous enough to try a little sweet with their saur.

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Finger-licking Finger-licking Recipes Recipes Tarts e p

Gra

Grape Pie

While it’s no secret that many flock to the Finger Lakes for a weekend of wine tasting, the real prize is getting to taste a slice of Naples’ famous grape pie. With its blue cafes and purple fire hydrants, Naples takes its status as the grape pie capital of the world very seriously. The tradition started in the 1960s, when a local baker named Irene Bouchard was asked to create a pie with the region’s famous Concord grapes.

The creation was a hit, and grape pies became the star of the annual Naples Grape Festival. Held in late September, the festival serves every grape product under the sun, from grape gummy bears to wine slushies, but the undeniable highlight of the festival is the contest where local bakers enter their takes on the town’s specialty. If you want to get your hands, or fingers, on a famous grape pie, consider making some grape tarts and having a little festival of your own!

“If you can’t head to Naples, NY for”

some award winning grape pies, make your own finger friendly version at home.

Tart Pastry

Filling

½ pound Concord grapes 1 cup sugar 2 tbsp. Cornstarch ¼ tsp. Salt ½ cup water 1 ½ tbsp fresh lemon juice 2 tsp grated lemon zest

In a large bowl, whisk flour and sugar together. Cut butter and combine with dry ingredients. Whisk together yolk and cream and stir into dry ingredients until a soft dough is formed. Divide the dough into 2/3 sized piece and a 1/3 piece. Shape the dough into two flat disks and wrap with plastic. Refrigerate dough for 1 hour.

2. Simmer the grapes and water in a saucepan and mash until fruit is soft. Drain the pulp/ juice to remove the grape seeds.

3. In a large pan over medium heat, combine the grape pulp/juice, sugar, lemon juice, and salt. Add the cornstarch to the mixture.

4. Stir constantly and cook for

1 ¼ cups unbleached all-purpose flour, plus extra for dusting ¼ cup sugar ½ cup cold unsalted butter 1 egg yolk ½ tsp. salt 4 tbsp cold regular whipping cream

Crust

1 large egg 1 tbsp. water

1.

5.

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4-5 minutes, until mixture is thick like jelly.

Remove from heat and stir in lemon zest.

Roll out bottom crust (2/3 sized disk) on a lightly floured surface. Fit dough into mini tart pans, pressing the dough onto the bottom and up the sides of the pan to create the crust.

Roll out the top crust (1/3 piece) and cut into strips.

Scoop the tart filling into the shell. Place strips in a lattice over the tart and crimp edges.

Whisk together 1 egg and 1 tbsp. water. Brush the dough with egg wash.

Bake at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for 12-15 minutes or until golden brown.

green apples and these warm buttery tartlets.

1.

In a medium skillet, saute apple and onion in butter, stirring frequently, until tender. Remove from heat; stir in the salt, blue cheese, cinnamon, nutmeg, and most of the walnuts.

2. Place phyllo shells on an ungreased cookie sheet. Spoon the

Dash of cinnamon Dash of ground nutmeg 1 package frozen miniature phyllo shells

ets r tl

chopped 1 tbsp. butter ½ cup blue cheese, crumbled ½ tsp. salt

Bl

Cheese Ta

½ Granny Smith apple, peeled and finely chopped ½ medium onion, finely chopped ¼ cup walnuts, toasted and finely

Walnu t

ue

“As the weather cools down and the fall colors heat up, you can embrace both, with cool-colored blue cheese and ”

ple p A

mixture into each shell. Sprinkle the phyllo shells with the remaining walnuts.

3. Bake at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for 7-8 minutes or until cheese is melted and the tartlets are lightly browned.

“If you’re feeling daring, try mixing your sweet and sour in this festive fall creation. You can combine Ithaca’s apples and ”

le Cup s

Phelps’s sauerkraut to create a dessert truly representative of the Finger Lakes.

1.

pp A r Sau

Cookie Cups ½ cup unsalted butter, softened ½ cup granulated sugar ¼ cup brown sugar ½ egg 1 tsp vanilla 1 ½ cups flour 1 tsp cream of tartar

In a medium bowl, cream together the butter, granulated, and brown sugar with an electric mixer. Mix in the egg and vanilla until well combined.

2. In another medium bowl, whisk together flour, cream of tartar, baking soda, ground cinnamon, and salt.

3. Add dry ingredients to the wet and mix together until well combined.

4. Scoop out the dough and roll into a ball. Mix together the ¼ cup

½ tsp baking soda 1 ¼ tsp ground cinnamon ¼ tsp salt Cinnamon Sugar Coating ¼ cup granulated sugar 1 tsp ground cinnamon

5.

6.

7.

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Filling 8 oz canned apple pie filling 2 tbsp canned sauerkraut ½ tsp nutmeg 1 half green apple

granulated sugar and 1 teaspoon cinnamon and coat the balls in the mixture.

Place the dough in a greased muffin pan, pressing the dough onto the bottom and up the sides of the pan to form cups.

Bake at 350°F for 12-15 minutes.

Mix together apple pie filling, sauerkraut, and nutmeg and spoon into each cup.

Garnish with green apple slices.

“If you’re more of a traditionalist, try incorporating some of Phelps’s famous sauerkraut into a more classic” 4 large hard-boiled eggs 2 tbsp 1000 island dressing 2 slices corned beef 1 tbsp sauerkraut with juice 1. Hard boil eggs for 7-10 minutes.

2. Cut the eggs into halves and separate the yolks from the egg whites. Place the yolks in a small bowl and mash with a fork to break them up.

3. Add the 1000 island dressing, corned beef, and sauerkraut with juice. Stir to combine completely.

n be Reu

creation: a Rueben. For a finger friendly twist, swap your sandwich for these delicious deviled eggs.

De v

iled Eggs

4. Put mixture in a piping bag or zip top bag with a corner cut out and pipe into the egg white halves.

5. Serve with a few pieces of chopped corned beef for garnish.

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CHALLAH

by Jeremy Scheck Like it or not, bread is the quintessential finger food. It may not be the first thing that comes to mind, but when was the last time you ate bread with utensils? We don’t just eat bread with our hands, bread is also the vehicle by which other foods become finger foods, just think of your sandwiches, avocado toast, and hot dogs.

Bread is so closely tied to centuries of sociocultural development — as wheat agriculture shaped much of civilization as we know it — how could a food that predates forks and knives by thousands of years not be a finger food?

Within my own family’s culture, the most widely appreciated bread is challah. Although the word challah is mentioned in the Old Testament, braided loaves that we would recognize today date closer to the 1400s, made by Ashkenazi Jewish communities in Europe. My ancestors likely made some form

of this bread as a weekly celebration bread for Shabbat. Modern challah is a braided loaf made from enriched dough, which means it has fat added in addition to the flour, water, yeast, and salt in almost every bread. Challah is characterized by its rich eggyness, which also contributes to it being a celebration bread rather than a daily bread. Its ornate braided structure facilitate the “finger food” function of the bread as the bumps allow for easy grabbing and tearing.

I use a recipe developed my Grandma Karen, which she originally got from my cousin. My grandma prints out every recipe she wants to make and organizes them into large binders.

She is very precise when she cooks and bakes, choosing to measure out even ingredients like salt. I love the notes she scribbles in the margins such as “double recipe for Thanksgiving” or “don’t freeze unbaked didn’t rise fully”. When reading her notes, I feel like I am baking there with her, witnessing her process of trial and error. Her recipes list the ingredients when they are called for, not all at the beginning — there is a beautiful method to the madness, but she types up these recipes for her own use, her mixer, her oven, her microwave— who cares if it makes sense to anyone else? I especially love seeing the palimpsest-like layers of notes; you can sometimes observe over five different types of pen and pencil markings with different measurements crossed out and adjusted. There are many stages of development before she will confidently stamp a recipe as “Karen’s Best”...it’s clear my own passion for recipe testing is in my genes. The challah recipe that I’ve now made at least a hundred times in fact “Karen’s Best”. This version is written in her typical fashion, but it’s also backed up digitally in our files. The difference is subtle but I think the evolution is really interesting to observe. And she doesn’t say “Basic Chollah (BEST)” lightly, it is truly the best challah I have ever tried; crisp crust with a sweet and tender crumb and most importantly, never dry. I hope you enjoy making it as much as I do.

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making the dough:

ingredients for the dough: • 1–1/4 cups (288ml) water • ¼ cup (50g) sugar • 3–1/4 tsp dry yeast • 1/3 cup (65g) canola oil or olive oil • 1/3 cup (100g) honey • 3 large or extra eggs • 1–1/2 tsp kosher salt • 5–6 cups (650–780g) King Arthur Bread Flour

ingredients for the final prep: • 1 egg beaten well with 2 teaspoons of cold water • Poppy or sesame seeds (optional for sprinkling)

1. Heat the water to 110°F. The easiest way to approximate it is to place room-temperature water in the microwave 50 seconds. In a measuring cup, mix half a cup or so of the warm water with the yeast and sugar and set aside for 5 minutes, until it bubbles a lot.

2. In the large measuring cup with the rest of the warm water, whisk the oil and honey and with the water.** Add the eggs and beat well.

3. In a large bowl (or bowl of a mixer fitted with a dough hook), mix 5 cups flour and salt. Add all the wet ingredients and mix. Knead 10 minutes, either by hand in a lightly floured surface or in the mixer. Resist the urge to add a lot more flour in the kneading process as that will make it more dense; a bench scraper allows me to handle the dough enough without having to add too much.

4. Oil the mixing bowl and return the kneaded dough to it, covered with greased aluminum foil. l. At this point you can place the bowl in the fridge to use the next day or let rise for 1-2 hours in a warm place.***

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first rising: Take the dough out, place on a lightly floured surface. Clean the mixer bowl, then spray with canola oil. Return the dough to the bowl, and cover with greased aluminum foil. At this point you can place the bowl in the fridge to use the next day or let rise for 1-2 hours in a warm place.**

shaping: My grandma and I like to shape our challah with a large 3 strand braid on the bottom, and a smaller 3 strand braid stacked on top.

We weave the two ends together. This shape gives more height to the loaf and definition to the plaits. You can just do a three stranded braid but it will be more flat.

second rising, final preparation, and baking: My grandma and I like to shape our challah with a large 3 strand braid on the bottom, and a smaller 3 strand braid stacked on top. We weave the two ends together. This shape gives more height to the loaf and definition to the plaits. You can just do a three stranded braid but it will be more flat.

* Measuring the canola oil first lets the honey out of the measuring cup more easily. **My grandma and I like to make a nice environment for the dough by boiling water in the microwave then placing the bowl of dough in the microwave (without taking the cup of water out) and letting the dough rise in the turned off microwave. ***Rushing the second rising results in unattractive spreading between the braid peaks.

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Jello shots‌what comes to mind?

I was going to spend the next year making (and more importantly)

enjoying, some of the most insane

jjeelllloo shots 20

Crappy vodka?

Little plastic cups?

Sticky frat floors?

Your bed spinning 12 hours later?

Not for me. For me, jello shots bring to mind: fresh mint and lime juice enveloped in dark rum and reposado tequila; layered passion fruit margaritas with fleur de sel sprinkled on top; and, floral St Germain wrapped around lychees, raspberries, and Veuve. I think of the hours and hours in my kitchen, executing the most official R+D, at least that’s how I framed it with my parents.

Baking is my truest passion, followed by discovering crazy cocktails. After an intoxicated viewing of Bad Moms with friends, and one Ms. Martha Stewart serving Mila Kunis, Kristen Bell, and Kathryn Hahn fancy shmancy jello shots, I decided I was going to combine passions. I was going to spend the next year making, and, more importantly, enjoying, some of the most insane jello shots.

I set out researching recipes and ingredients. After Martha’s cameo appearance, her website published three recipes for adult Jell-O shots. Then, BuzzFeed compiled a list of 21 of their favorite recipes. This was my starting off point. Immediately, I decided only organic unflavored

gelatin was going to cut it for me and my obnoxious palate. Fresh juices were a given, as was quality liquor. I used these recipes as a base, but improved the ingredients. Nevertheless, the resulting shots weren’t up to my standards.

I kept tinkering with them until I finally got somewhere. Once I perfected the first recipe -- Blueberry Mojito Jello Shots -each subsequent “cocktail” became easier to develop. I learned the correct ratios of juices to alcohol to gelatin and how to utilize the flavors offered by the ingredients to their fullest potential.

I became invested and enthralled by my creations and the process. Little by little, I started pouring more money into the project. From the get-go, I refused to use single-use virgin plastic cups, and my 13x9 baking dish just wasn’t cutting it anymore. I did a little research and decided that the silicone molds chocolatiers and candy makers used were going to enable me to make my delicious cocktails not just presentable, but really noteworthy. And then, boom: it all came together.

And not long after, I had a list of my 20 favorite Jell-O shots.

How to Jell-O: 1 cup sugar 1 cup water 3 envelopes unflavored gelatin 3/4 cup fresh lime juice 1. In a pot, heat water and sugar over medium heat until sugar dissolves. Remove from heat and stir in the gelatin. Add the lime and blueberry juice and 3 mint stems. Steep for 15 minutes.

Remove the mint stems and stir in the rum.

⅓ cup blueberry juice 4 stems fresh mint leaves 1 carton blueberries 1 cup white rum 2. Fill molds with the jello mixture and sprinkle in some chopped fresh mint and blueberries. Place in the refrigerator and allow to set for at least 4 hours.

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H I G H T EA You’ve probably seen the pictures: many-tiered platters of delicious-looking, albeit minuscule, snacks placed next to an ornate teapot pouring steaming amber liquid into dainty matching teacups. It’s a sight to behold, and incredible to experience. Born out of mid-19th century England, afternoon tea is a must for finger food enthusiasts. A typical tea time meal consists of fragrant tea accompanied by a variety of morsels such as savory finger sandwiches, flaky pastries, and delectable bite-sized cakes. Originally eaten as a small meal when one became peckish, afternoon tea is now a high society indulgence usually taken on special occasions. This midday meal has also become a staple tourist attraction in many cities around the world that have developed their own variations of this quintessential British phenomenon.

Whenever I go to a different country with my mom, we always try to see what form afternoon tea takes on in a new place. While most serve the standard offerings of tea, starters, and dessert, there are endless possibilities to what makes up each category. The Tea Rooms at Edinburgh Castle offer a variety of unusually flavored teas like elderflower and lemon, lemongrass and ginger, and mango and strawberry. At Queen’s Cafe in Hong Kong, my mom and I had fried croquettes and sliced rolls rather than sandwiches. This is what I love about afternoon tea: no two places are really the same.

Each place puts their own unique little spin on things; in my hometown of Portland, Oregon, I’ve even had afternoon tea at a steampunk store that changes its menu based on different literary themes.

While the food is admittedly a delicious (and aesthetic) way to abate our hunger between meals, my mom and I don’t just go for the food; over each of the small bites, we find time to talk about what’s new in our lives and what we have enjoyed on the trip so far. It’s a great way for us to come together and enjoy both the food and each other’s company without the heaviness of a full meal getting in the way.

If there’s no place near you to attend a tea, it’s easy to host your own! We’ve included a sample menu below, as well as a few recipes to get you started. Whether you buy the food or make it yourself, it’s a surefire way to spice up a normal day and get some drool-worthy pictures!

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by: Grace Tran

Finger Sandwiches Cucumber and Cream Cheese on Wheat Bread Chicken Salad on Wheat Bread* Savory Bites Deviled Eggs Broccoli and Cheese Mini Quiche Mini Sausage and Onion Hand Pies Sweets Petit Fours Cheesecake Bars Chocolate Orange Macarons* Chocolate Strawberry Scones with Clotted Cream and Jam Teas Earl Grey Chamomile Black Currant English Breakfast

Sample recipes to have an afternoon tea in the comfort of your own home:

Chicken Salad on Wheat Bread 4 slices of wheat bread ¾ cup cooked chicken ½ cup cranberries ¼ cup mayonnaise ¼ cup celery, finely chopped ¼ cup red onion, finely chopped Salt, to taste Pepper, to taste Paprika, to taste Garlic Powder, to taste

Chocolate Orange Macarons what you’ll need: 2 Ziploc bags, with ¼ inch cut off the corner (or pastry bags with a ¼ inch tip) 3 large bowls Saucepan Whisk or electric mix Baking sheets Parchment paper, if desired Grater or knife, for zesting

ingredients for the cookies: 2 cups of powdered sugar 1¼ cup almond flour 3 tablespoons of cocoa powder 3 egg whites (large eggs) ¼ cup sugar

ingredients for the filling: 3½ ounces chocolate, broken up into small pieces ¼ stick unsalted butter, cut into cubes ½ cup heavy cream 1 tablespoon orange zest, or 1 orange, to be zested (keep orange juice for flavoring in the cookie, if desired)

preparation: Cut the crusts off of the slices of bread.

Mix the chicken, cranberries, celery, red onion, salt, pepper, paprika, and garlic powder in a large bowl. Stir in the mayonnaise completely.

Spread mixture onto the slices of bread.

Slice sandwiches in half.

Enjoy!

to make the cookie: Preheat the oven to 325°F. Butter baking sheets or line with parchment paper in preparation.

Mix the powdered sugar, almond flour, and cocoa powder in a large bowl. The juice from the zested orange can be squeezed into this mixture.

Beat the egg whites in a separate bowl for approximately one minute until the color turns white. Continuing to beat the egg whites, gradually add the sugar tablespoon by tablespoon. This step can be done manually with a whisk or with an electric mixer on medium-high. Continue to beat until there are stiff peaks.

Slowly and gently fold the meringue into the large bowl from step two.

Transfer the meringue into the Ziploc or pastry bag.

Pipe coin-sized dollops about one inch apart from each other onto the baking sheets. Leave them alone for about fifteen minutes, until the tops of the cookies seem dry.

Bake for fifteen minutes. Allow the cookies to cool.

to make the filling: Zest the orange, if needed.

Pour the heavy cream into a saucepan and bring to a boil over medium heat. When the heavy cream is finished, mix in orange zest.

Meanwhile, put the chocolate and butter together in the third bowl.

Pour the heavy cream into the bowl with the chocolate and butter.

Whisk until the consistency is smooth.

Refrigerate for approximately 20-25 minutes, until the filling is firm.

Transfer the filling into another Ziploc or pastry bag.

On the flat side of a cookie, pipe a small amount of filling. Be sure to leave some room around it for the filling to spread out. Sandwich the cookie and filling with a second cookie.

23 Repeat until finished!

Para Chuparse Los Dedos

by: Jeremy Scheck

What makes ribs more exciting than a roast or fondue better than the sum of its parts? Uninhibited by utensils, perhaps we are more connected to our food in a more primal, intimate experience. Or perhaps, it is that finger foods have to act as their own vessel, automatically adding a layer of texture and complexity. Or is it that they are inherently sharing foods?

After all, who’s frying french fries or folding samosas for one?

Finger food are inherently the most special in any culture, but these ideas in particular apply to my experiences with Spanish cuisine. We all know paella and gazpacho, but it was the finger foods which single-handedly define my food memories made in Spain this summer .

A tapas lunch in Madrid with my close friend, Lavinia. From left to right all finger foods, a montadito of brie and pork tenderloin, croquetas de jamón, and tempura vegetables.

Among the many different types of Spanish finger foods, there are three large categories that I observed in my three months living in Spain as an Au Pair: tapas, montaditos, and pinchos. Although each category has defining characteristics, it should be noted that they can overlap and the lines between one and another can become quite blurry.

In general, a tapa is a small plate, usually a house specialty, at a local bar or bistro. The name tapa comes from the verb tapar, which means “to cover”; legend has it that tapas were originally served as a plate on top of your drink, as a way to cover it and keep out flies. In many Spanish cities and bars, a house tapa is included in the price of your drink and served to you whether you asked for it or not. Of the three categories, the tapa is the most ubiquitous and broad, it could be any kind of food — finger or not — and it’s usually the size of the portion that separates it from a ración, a full portion. Some tapas are inherently finger food, like croquetas de jamón (ham croquettes) or a plate of hand-sliced jamón ibérico.

Even though not every tapa is eaten with your hands — it

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could be difficult if you are served saucy patatas bravas or ensaladilla rusa — the action of going for tapas is a haptic, finger-oriented experience. You may order 2-3 tapas per person and you’re constantly passing around the small plates and pointing to what you want next.

A montadito is a little more defined than a tapa; it is agreed that it should be mounted on bread, with the word montadito originating from montado, meaning “mounted”. Usually montaditos are little sandwiches, served in what look like miniature baguettes; however, they may occasionally resemble an open-faced sandwich. Anyone who has been to a major Spanish city has undoubtedly passed numerous 100 Montaditos restaurants, a chain that serves 100 different types of these little sandwiches. These montaditos can come in many distinct flavors, from a classic serrano ham with tomato and olive oil to manchego, turkey and arugula, and even dulce de leche and almonds served on chocolate bread. At the iconic 100 Montaditos restaurant, most of the sandwiches are priced between €1 and €2, so you can economically try three or four for a big lunch or just nosh on one for a light snack.

Pinchos (also pintxos in Basque) are defined by the presence of a skewer. They are often served on bread, but they could be as small and simple as a one-bite toothpick of manchego, quince, and chorizo. In the small town, La Cabrera, where I spent close to 3 months, I could get a pincho of tortilla española (Spanish potato and egg omelette) served on a hunk of baguette and a café con leche for €2.50. Breakfast doesn’t get much better. Another iconic Spanish chain restaurant that focuses on pinchos is Lizarran, where you can choose what you like as the waiters circulate plates of pinchos and they charge you based on your accumulated skewers at the end.

Pinchos, montaditos, and tapas are indeed iconic categories in Spanish cuisine, but I’d be amiss not to mention the delights of churros and freiduría. Churros are obviously enjoyed by hand, but Spanish churros are slightly different from the Latin American varieties which are generally served coated in cinnamon sugar. Spanish churros are usually long and thin, and on their own don’t have much taste.

However, when sprinkled with table sugar and dipped in rich dark chocolate, they become a bewitching delight.

Freiduría is the typically Andalusian deep fried seafood that you haven’t lived until you have tried. If you’re nervous, you could start slowly with just calamari (calamares) — always ask for extra lemon — but if you’re feeling adventurous, ask for chopitos, tiny whole squid which you peel and devein when eating.

Churros, a porra, hot chocolate, and café con leche at the iconic Chocolatería San Ginés in Madrid

Whether you’re partial to tapas, pinchos, or montaditos, the variety in Spanish cuisine is endless and you are sure to find something you like. Just make sure to wash it down with a tinto de verano or a caña de Mahou!

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Kefte Kebabs

Traditionally, these little lamb kebabs are made in parts of the Middle East (kefte), Turkey (köfte) and the Mediterranean (kofta). I’ve added charred green peppers of the Turkish variety (or Shishito, Italian long peppers) for added dimension to this appetizer.

by Candice Mahadeo photographer Emily Lam

Makes 16 appetizer-size kebabs Prep Time: 15 minutes Cook Time: 40 minutes

Ingredients: 1½ tsp 2 tsp 3 ¾ ½ cup 1½ tsp 1½ tsp 1 tsp

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Diamond’s Kosher salt (1 tsp if Morton’s) Freshly ground black pepper Cloves of garlic, crushed Sweet, yellow onion, roughly chopped Parsley (curly, preferred), roughly chopped Ground cinnamon Ground all-spice Aleppo pepper (or mild paprika)*

½ tsp 1 lb 2

Sumac (or lemon zest)* Ground lamb (or ground beef) Turkish green long peppers (or 16 shishito, 4 Italian long peppers, any variety mildly spicy peppers

6 tbsp 16

Olive oil Toothpicks (or equivalent)

Directions: 1. Blend first 9 ingredients (spices, herbs, and onion) in a food processor for 1 minute. (Alternatively, mince the fresh ingredients on a cutting board, almost forming a paste.Then, add all the dry ingredients and mix them together on the cutting board.)

2. Divide the ground lamb into 3 equal parts. Add 1/3 of lamb to food processor and blend the meat with the seasoning mixture for about 30 seconds. Add the remaining lamb. Do not overmix. This will combine the ingredients together for a consistent texture. (Alternatively, you can knead the mixture from Step 1 into the lamb on your cutting board for 2 minutes.)

3. Let this mixture sit for 10 minutes at room temperature to marinate.

4. Meanwhile, toss peppers in 2 tablespoon of olive oil. Let sit.

5. Divide the lamb mixture into 16 rounded kebabs with your hands. Each kebab should be 2-3 tablespoons, around the size of golf balls.

6. Heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil over medium-high heat in a frying pan for about 1 minute.

7. Working in 2 batches, cook 8 kebabs for about 15 minutes. For the first 5 minutes, let the bottom half of the kebab brown. Then, using a spatula or the back of a spoon, flatten the kebabs slightly and flip to the opposite side. Lower the heat to medium and let cook for the remaining 10 minutes. Monitor intermittently to avoid burning.

8. Remove the kebabs with a slotted spoon and rest them on paper towels to soak up excess oil.

9. Add the remaining 2 tablespoons of olive oil and repeat cooking process for the last 8 kebabs.

Notes: *these spices may be difficult to find in a typical supermarket, but Amazon and eBay sell them. **Use a mildly spicy pepper if you cannot find Turkish peppers.

It is important that you know the spice level of the pepper before serving your guests. Shishito peppers can be mild but on occasion, they can be too spicy for some. Opt for a milder sweet pepper if your guests are not fond of spicy peppers.

Remember to proportion your peppers to the size of the kebab to make for easy snacking.

10. Once the kebabs are done, set them aside to stay warm.

11. Use a nonstick pan or frying pan for your peppers. Heat the pan over high heat for a full minute.

12. Char the peppers for 2 minutes on each side, or until you see that they have browned enough.

13. Remove from heat, sprinkle with kosher salt if desired. Chop peppers to be bite-sized when cool enough to handle, about 2 minutes.

14. Assembly: Top each kebab with a pepper piece, stick a toothpick into the pepper/kebab to hold them together. Serve immediately.

Wine pairing: When using a spicy pepper, any dry Riesling will counter with its sweetness. For more depth, try the kebabs with a Malbec from Argentina.

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One Saturday night, I walked through the Ithaca Commons and stopped in front of Hawi Ethiopian Cuisine, a small restaurant tucked behind Ithaca City Hall. After hearing my suitemate gush about the amazing food they offered, I was excited to try it for myself. As I swung open the door, a mix of spices and herbs immediately washed over me and traditional Ethiopian art pieces and masks greeted me on the walls. As I sat down, I noted the cloth napkin and the filled water glass, but no silverware. The waiter quickly resolved my curiosity when he placed the menu in front of me, and I read the words in bold: Ethiopian food is traditionally eaten by hand by wrapping food in injera bread. If you would like to use utensils, please ask for assistance.

Although this was my first experience of eating without utensils, eating using the hands is the norm in many non-Western cultures. For most, it allows humans to create a stronger spiritual connection to their meals.

Using the injera - a traditional Ethiopian bread made of teff, an Ethiopian grain - to scoop up various meats and vegetables evokes the sense of touch, allowing us to create a more sensual and deep connection with our meal rather than just scarfing it down.

An Experience with Injera by: Connie Le

photographer: Luiz Enriquez

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Western cultures tend to stigmatize touching food with fingers. On the surface, we consider eating with our hands to be a reflection of immaturity. It conjures images of children shoveling everything they touch into their mouths--an act offensive to the societal norms set for adults.

But on a deeper level, much of society sees eating with hands as unhygienic. People are anxious about ingesting germs that they may have picked up throughout the day. Yet contrary to all these suspicions, the act has a surprising health benefit: the fingers produce enzymes and digestive juices that can help break down meats and bread in the stomach. And for those who remain skeptical, the Ethiopian culture incorporates sanitation into their eating traditions. Ethiopians use a unique hand-washing technique before and after meals, in which one person holds their own hands over a basin while another person pours water. Hawi even provides cleansing towelettes for guests to use after their meal.

The concept of hygiene, closely linked to purity, is ingrained in the culture; for instance, Ethiopians primarily eat with their right hand because their left hand is considered ‘unclean.’

Even before I saw the waiter bring the dishes out, I could pick up the enticing and savoury aromas wafting out from the kitchen-- the garlic, the ginger, the chili, and most of all, the roasted meats. As the waiter brought the dishes to my table, my eyes feasted on the most decked-out plate I have ever seen. In front of me was tibs, one of the most popular dishes in Ethiopia. Sliced beef, tossed with butter, garlic, and onions in a pan, laid atop flattened pieces of injera covering the entire bottom of the plate. The meat was accompanied by a variety of roasted vegetables, which were enveloped by much of the amazing sauce from the tibs. On a separate small plate were a few sambusas--savory pastries typically filled with potato, meats, and rich spices and prepared in ghee. Originating in the Middle East and eaten in Ethiopia, sambusas are also one of the various finger-food dishes that gives restaurant-goers a taste of traditional Ethiopian flavors. And to top it all off, the table was finished with the addition of a basket of warm injera rolls.

Initially, I wasn’t sure how to begin - an entire plate of delicious morsels lay before me, and I had no idea how to consume it. So, as all millennials do, I took out my phone and Googled ‘Ethiopian cuisine’. Each video I found taught me a similar method of using the injera as a sort of spoon, in which it would both pick up food and soak up the sauce to get a taste of everything. And most promisingly, each piece promised me a fantastic meal. Confidently, I tore off a small piece of injera and used it to scoop up a few pieces of meat and vegetables, making sure to dip it in the wonderful-smelling sauce. Immediately, I felt the warmth of the tibs radiating to my hand, but the injera kept it from burning me. And when I raised the food to my lips, I was met with a beautiful mix of spices intertwined with the meat, but also a bit of bitterness from the injera. Together, they created a perfect little bite of everything--delivered to me in a perfect little package. And even though a bit of sauce got on my hands here and there, I didn’t really mind; after all, it was a part of the whole affair.

My first taste of Ethiopian food was not just a meal-- it was an experience, a chance to be a part of a new culture and its traditions. My actions were not just routine motions, but a connection to everything the meal represented, and the history behind it. My thanks go to Hawi for giving Ithacans an opportunity to try something out of their comfort zone; I will most definitely be back soon.

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Lessons from The Buffalo

by Dana Slayton

photographer: Kevin Cavallo I would like to write a love letter in the language of the Buffalo Wild Wings in Bemidji, to immortalize that small, poorly-lit warehouse of a temple in northern Minnesota with the words that it deserves -- with trails of grease and cheese curds abandoned to empty black countertops, with the overwhelming chill of the air conditioner working far harder than the night air this far north deserves, with late-night echoes of laughter. I would like to write that letter in poetry, to pour my love of boneless wings onto pages with genuine devotion, to construct a paean to the pinnacle of Americanism that unassuming, beautiful place represents. I would like to recommend to you the best flavors in a neat little list, or rank the plethora of side dishes from best to worst. I would like to write this article as a love letter to wings and Sunday night football, to oily hands and fifteen kinds of sauces and everything fun about finger food.

Unfortunately, though, I will never be able to. That language remains foreign to me. I will never convince myself that the wings are anything more than glorified chicken nuggets, even if I will always respect them for the good memories they gave me. I will never appreciate the grease on the countertops or the roar of the air conditioning as aspects of ambience, even if I love them for the dissonant, beautiful backdrop they made for the memories. I will never look back with culinary fondness on the honey barbecue residue that lingered on my hands after every visit, even if it makes me smile to recall the necessary beauty of sticky, uncomfortable things.

I cannot speak the language of the Buffalo Wild Wings, so I will write this letter in the only language I know. I will write it in the words of the linguistic mess that is my heart, in the words that changed the people and the place for good when they collided. I will write it in the language of Arabic teachers brought together in this forgotten corner of America by the draw of chicken wings, the promise of a seat at the table, and a share in the proverbial harvest, greasy as it was.

This language is neither familiar nor foreign, neither home nor away. It lives somewhere in the distance between Bemidji and Bethlehem and Cairo.

It is sometimes Arabic and sometimes English. It is both holy and profane.

This is not the language of the chicken wings, but of the hands that held them.

I have spent my last two summers teaching Arabic at an immersion camp in the Minnesota woods. For every week we worked, we were granted four hours’ leave to venture into the tiny, quiet town of Bemidji for a taste of the real world before returning to camp. Our small caravan of Arabic teachers would clamber into a dilapidated van and make the twenty-minute pilgrimage from our campsite-cum-classroom in the woods to civilization as manifested in the Buffalo Wild Wings. The trek became a sort of unifying religion, founded on the core principle that Nothing Else Is Open On Sundays In Bemidji. We were tired pilgrims, in love with our work, but exhausted from teaching Arabic, wrangling children, and living with ourselves as we did so. Buffalo Wild Wings was the closest thing to a sanctuary we had. It was our Minnesotan Mecca. We did not break bread together, but we snatched chicken wing after chicken wing from the same basket. After a week in the woods, something about it felt holy.

“I will write it in the words of the linguistic mess that is my heart.”

The first word I learned in the new language of our Buffalo Wild Wings caravan was laughter.

Sharing wings and a table with strangers from far-flung corners of the world I had never seen or even really thought of was humbling.

The chatter was incessant, rapid, and in three languages at once.

The Palestinians danced between their own speech and the dialect of the Egyptians with the kind of experienced grace that only comes from lifetimes spent speaking a language I was only beginning to grasp. Most of the jokes went over my head -- especially when they all started laughing until tears came out of their eyes, forcing out words in this strange new language of joy and chicken wings from lips stretched wide with barbecue-sauce-stained smiles. Laughter has the strange capacity to make listening both easier and more difficult. It colors our words all differently, distorts them until they’re almost unrecognizable, but somehow makes the emotion easier to understand.

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The second word I added to my lexicon in that Buffalo Wild Wings was persevere.

There were times when we came to the table nursing our wounds rather than celebrating our victories. This was only natural, given the circumstances of our work. At camp, the water smelled like sulfur and iron. It stained our hands, our clothes, and our attitudes. For every well-planned lesson, it seemed, we suffered two fiascos, and the constant responsibility for other people’s children weighed heavily on us after weeks in the woods living with them and teaching them Arabic. Their worries became ours; tasked with creating a nurturing environment, we often forgot how much of our role was reduced to acting. We tried to make the kids forget about the sulfur water, the mosquitoes, and the terrifying world of a whole new language by pretending it didn’t faze us at all. We tried to cover the bags under our eyes with coffee and enthusiasm. We tried. We pretended.

What started off as an alternative to camp food became an exercise in tenacity. Wings were the push I needed to face another seven days of ceaseless work -- not because of their taste, but because of the people I shared them with. I realized that even after witnessing each other daily during weeks of sulfur-stained, barely-controlled chaos, even with all of our differences, we could still stand to look each other in the eye and laugh over chicken wings. We believed in each other, and we believed in the Buffalo Wild Wings.

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The Buffalo Wild Wings in Bemidji is not a perfect place, nor is the Parm-Garlic sauce infused with some yet-undiscovered miracle serum which erases all conflict. Granted, those grease-stained tables have seen our uproarious laughter. They have seen us become friends with one another for the first time and reunite after long separations.

However, Buffalo Wild Wings has never promised endless happiness; if it did, there would be no reason to write about it other than to announce that the wings are subpar (with the important exception of Parm-Garlic). Those tables have heard us bitterly debating the underlying meaning of some particularly controversial verses of the Qur’an. They have witnessed us cracking under the pressure of a job that was difficult on the easy days and damn near impossible on the hard ones.

They have seen us angry at the world, at the work, and at each other. They have seen all the many faces we wear when we stop pretendin

deserves this love letter. Summer is over now, and we have all returned to our respective corners of the world since converging in that restaurant. Over time, our skin will stop smelling of sulfur and the northern Minnesota woods will fade into memory. We are chased by the inevitability of the present.

Now there are protests in Cairo, occupations in Bethlehem, and burgeoning revolutions in Lebanon. There are thousands of miles between us and no more chilly, grease-stained tables to bring us together.

Yet even through the strife of a chaotic summer, the most important word that I learned in the language of our strange and beautiful caravan was love.

But if a Buffalo Wild Wings in the farthest corner of the northern Minnesota woods can still open its doors every Sunday, even when all that stretches around it is empty miles of darkness, then it stands to reason that there will also always be a chance we meet again. I have faith in the Buffalo Wild Wings of the world, the beacons bring us together and call us home.

I have faith in grease-covered tables, in words, in Parm-Garlic sauce laced with laughter.

I learned that love is the root of our laughter and that it bridges the impossible oceans between Bemidji and Bethlehem and Cairo, that love is believing even when you feel defeated, that love is listening. I learned that there are things about food more important than taste.

It is for that reason that the Buffalo Wild Wings in Bemidji

There will always be distances.

More than anything, I have faith in chicken wings.

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SPECIAL THANKS TO Our creative Crème contributors.

Our advisor Heather A. Kowalkowski for being a friendly source of advice.

June-Summer Kim for replying to all of my facebook messenger questions.

Each and every e-board member: Chase Lin for keeping us, and our money, organized despite chaos.

Janice Jung for giving our website a facelift.

Jeremy Scheck for lending us his culinary expertise.

Kevin Cavallo for not only taking incredible photos, but teaching our Gbody.

Priya Pradhan for her needed enthusiasm and dedication.

Muffin Laosirichon for melding all of our work in the most beautiful way.

Steph Tan for her networking skills.

Robert Brooks and Victoria Zhu for bringing us all together at the best social events.

And from the e-board to Abby Reing, our fearless leader, who guided us through this semester with her wonderful zeal and zest :)

“To me, there is no great chef without a great team.” - Daniel Boulud

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C R E` M E de cornell