PA Food Society: Volume 2, Issue 2

PA FOOD SOCIETY

D A Y G L O W nostalgia

NEW! Critiques of nostalgia, fond memories of childhood delicacies, and an assortment of fun recipes for all to enjoy!

PA FOOD SOCIETY volume 2, issue 2

Dear Reader,

Throughout many trials and tribulations, we’ve finally made it to winter term, and the Seniors on this board are finally able to enter into the stress-free paradise of Senior Spring. That, however, doesn’t mean we’re going to be slacking on this club of ours; alongside the rest of our hardworking team, we’ve been preparing another exciting issue for your viewing pleasure.

Once again, we’d like to take the time that we have here to issue our thanks for the people who have helped make our dreams for this magazine a reality. PA Food Society is made possible in part by a grant from the Abbot Academy Fund, continuing Abbot’s tradition of boldness, innovation, and caring. Our club is extremely appreciative of the opportunities that this generous fund will allow us to accomplish — so please stay tuned as we plan for collaborations, festivals, and open kitchens in the future! Secondly, nothing we have here could have been completed without the help of our dear faculty advisor Dr. Martinez; everyone at PA Food Society here is thankful for the care that she has extended to us.

—Jackie Li, Editor-in-Chief

Courtesy of Jackie

RECIPES

family samosas

by tasnia begum

Family recipes are passed down by generations so it is hard to find the exact measurements of its ingredients. Often “eyeballed,” this recipe sought to find and use exact measurements for others to follow. I hope you enjoy my family’s samosa recipe.

ingredients

• 1.19 lb chicken keema

• 1 onion

• 2 green peppers

• 4 tsp of corn oil

• 2 tsp of garlic paste

• Salt to taste

• 1 ½ tsp of garlic

• ¼ tsp of turmeric powder

• ½ tsp of chili powder

• ½ tsp of coriander powder

• ¼ tsp of cumin

• ½ tsp of curry powder

• 3 bay leaves

• 1 cinnamon stick

• ½ tsp of sriracha hot sauce

• 1 tbsp of diced coriander leaves

• spring roll pastry sheets

• 1 cup of all-purpose flour

• ½ cup of water

- Tasnia instructions

samosa filling

1. Blend garlic and water and oil as needed together to make garlic paste.

2. Wash the chicken keema in a bowl of water.

3. Strain the chicken keema.

4. Slice one onion and two green peppers.

Step 4. Slice one onion and two green peppers.

5. Set stove to medium heat.

6. Add 4 tsp of corn oil and 2 tsp of garlic paste to pot.

7. After mixture becomes light brown, add the sliced onions.

8. Add salt to taste.

9. After the onions become soft, add the strained keema and ginger.

10. Cover with lid and mix with spatula occasionally.

11. Add ¼ tsp of turmeric powder, ½ tsp of chili powder, ½ tsp of coriander powder, ¼ tsp of cumin powder, and ½ tsp of curry powder.

12. Add 3 bay leaves and a cinnamon stick.

13. Add ½ tsp of sriracha hot sauce.

14. Add 1 tbsp of diced coriander leaves.

folding samosas

follow the instructions as depicted in these images!

and last but not certainly not least...

Steps 5-10. Preparing the samosa filling.

Steps 11-12. Adding spices and flavor to the filling.

(yan du xian)

A Classic Soup for the Teenage Soul

I’ve always believed that there’s nothing better to eat on a cold winter day than 腌笃鲜 (pinyin: yan du xian). Whether as a quick breakfast in a Thermos as I ride to school or shared as a family meal at the end of the day, the gentle broth is a dish that permeated warmth into every one of my childhood memories.

The essence of the soup is captured perfectly within the name itself. The first character, “腌” (pinyin: yān), means “cured,” in referenced to the smoky and savory cured Chinese pork. The second character, “笃” (pinyin: dǔ) has its roots from Shanghainese, the Shanghai dialect of Chinese, with the word itself being the local reflection of “炖” (pinyin: dùn), meaning “to stew.” Lastly, “鲜” (pinyin: xiān) means “fresh” encapsulating not only the usage of fresh meat in this soup, but also the diverse yet light umami accompanying ingredients such as tofu knots and bamboo shoots provide.

This soup originates from my father’s home province of Jiangsu, and it has always reminded me of home. Each cuisine in China has its own specialties — for example, Sichuan food is known for their extreme spice. Jiangsu cuisine, on the other hand, has its culinary cores in its fresh, mild, and lightly sweet flavor, along with the masterful preservation and layering of the original flavors of all the ingredients to create a rounded, layered taste. Within a sip of Yan Du Xian, the crisp smokiness of the meat will always be the first to hit your throat, the intense palette then cleansed out by the delicate aftertaste of fresh vegetables, tofu, and broth. Altogether, they form a ray of winter sunshine that fills your heart from the first bite to the last.

BY ANNA DU

DIRECTIONS

1. Wash the salted meat and cut it into slices.

2. Wash the fresh meat and cut it into chunks.

3. Cut the tofu skin into strips and tie them into knots.

4. Peel and wash the fresh bamboo shoots and cut them into chunks or slices.

5. Peel the lettuce and cut it into small cubes.

6. In a pot, add the fresh meat, salted meat, tofu skin, fresh bamboo shoots, ginger, spices, and enough water to cover the ingredients by 1 to 2 centimeters.

7. Bring to a boil over high heat, then add the cooking wine and reduce to medium-low heat.

8. Cook for about 40 minutes and add more water if necessary.

9. Add the Celtuce and continue cooking for another 20 minutes.

10. Taste and adjust the seasoning with salt if necessary. Garnish with chopped scallions before serving.

INGREDIENTS

For the Soup:

• 100g salted meat, bacon or pork belly

• 100g of fresh meat, pork ribs are recommended

• 5 to 6 pieces or around 50g pieces of tofu skin

• 50g of fresh or canned bamboo shoots

• 150g of Celtuce or broad beans

For the Seasoning:

• A few slices of ginger

• A splash of cooking wine

• A pinch of spices (optional, depending on personal preference)

chicken paella

by corey shen

ingredients

• 4 chicken thighs with bone and skin at room temperature (recommended to remove from fridge about 1 to 2 hours before cooking and pat dry)

• 1 tbsp vegetable oil

• 2 cups long-grain rice

• 1 tbsp vegetable oil

• 1 ½ cups sliced mushrooms

• 2 garlic cloves, chopped

• 1 cup chopped onions

• 2 tbsp butter

• Either 2 cups of water OR 2 cups of chicken broth

• 10” dutch oven or frying pan with lid

instructions

in no specific order*

brown mushrooms

On medium to low heat, melt the butter and then add mushrooms and salt to taste. Saute for 10 to 15 minutes. Remove from pan.

caramelized onions

On medium to low heat, melt butter and add onions to cook for about 5 to 10 minutes and add salt to taste. Remove from pan. make a warm and comforting meal for wintertime with this recipe!

Courtesy of Corey Shen

*Note: DO NOT WASH PAN AFTER COOKING EACH INGREDIENT. THE BROWN ON THE BOTTOM OF THE PAN ADDS FLAVOUR TO YOUR DISH.

Courtesy of Corey Shen

chicken

rice

On low heat, add rice and 1 tbsp of oil and slowly brown the rice by occasionally mixing for about 15 to 20 mins until the rice becomes light brown. Remove rice from pan.

On medium heat, heat the pan and add 2 tbsp oil. Sprinkle chicken with salt on both sides. In a skillet, brown chicken skin on both sides for 4 minutes (2 minutes on each side). Remove chicken from pan. Remove excess oil.

mix it all together!

Add rice, mushrooms, and onions to the pan evenly. Add chicken. Pour chicken broth or water until about ¼ inch above the rice. Bring to a boil then immediately turn to low heat and cover tightly with a lid. Cook for about 25 minutes. Salt to taste. Optional sprinkle with parsley. Serve in a pan immediately.

enjoy!

Courtesy of Corey Shen

Courtesy of Corey Shen

ChildhoodCheese Bre by corey shen

Cheese.

A word that is a part of countless memories of my childhood: cheese pizza, Chuck E. Cheese, grilled ham and cheese, cheese bread, and even those awkward pictures my parents would take of me, using the word’s vowels to create a half-smile on my face. But as I grew older, many of these memories have evolved, even if only slightly. Rather than eating a plain cheese pizza, I would eat a BBQ chicken one with other herbs added on. The hours I used to spend at Chuck E. Cheese were repurposed, now being valuable hours I use to finish my homework. Even grilled ham and cheese sandwiches became BLTs. Despite all of these ever changing memories, cheese bread is one of the pieces of my past that has stayed the same through the years.

Ever since I could remember, my week was always jam-packed with events. Whether it be a squash lesson or even just school, my days have always started early in the morning. But every once in a while, my day would be totally free,

and I would get to enjoy my mom’s cheese bread. That’s what made this cheesy breakfast so special to me. Having no alarm set, I would wake up in the morning with a strong yet pleasant and savory aroma greeting me. After giving my mom a big hug and a groggy yet eager “good morning,” she would call the family to the table and hand out the basket full of puffy, golden-brown cheese bread. It only takes one bite for me to be enamored, and with one glance, my mom could tell how much I loved it. Unknowingly, I ended up quickly finishing the basket and forgot to share it with everyone else.

Now, I enjoy eating cheese bread so much that I could eat it for any meal at any time of the day. The savory taste and firm outside yet mochi-like texture inside make this dish one of my favorites.

ead

ingredients instructions

• 12 oz tapioca starch or tapioca flour

• 1 cup parmesan cheese, cheddar, or mozzarella cheese (any of these work)

• 1 cup hot milk

• 3/4 cup vegetable oil

• 1/2 Chinese spoon of salt

• 4 eggs

enjoy this cheesy snack! it’s really grate!

1. Preheat oven to 400 °F (210 °C)

2. Mix vegetable oil, milk, and salt in a large saucepan and place over high heat. Bring to a boil and then remove from heat.

3. Stir in tapioca flour and stir until smooth. Set aside to rest for 10 to 15 minutes.

4. Stir eggs and cheese into the mixture. The dough will be chunky after mixing.

5. Pour the dough into a small oiled mini cupcake pan.

6. Bake in the preheated oven until the tops are golden brown for about 18 minutes, and check the oven every so often to make sure the batter isn’t being overcooked.

SAYCHEESE!

recipe by leilani glace

flavors of family:

banana pudding

Bananas were never my favorite fruit. Quite frankly, I still don’t particularly gravitate towards them now, even when given the opportunity to have them on my pancakes or for a quick snack before a sports event. But somehow, this banana pudding has me in a chokehold, one that I cannot escape despite my commitment to disliking the fruit.

It could be because of its creaminess. As soon as you take a bite, you’ll understand what I mean. When chilled, the banana pudding has a texture akin to freshly churned ice-cream. There are no ice crystals, no air bubbles, giving the pudding a perfectly smooth consistency. What’s more is that each bite of the rich, creamy, frozen delight contains some kind of satisfying crunch, whether it be of chessman crackers or Nilla wafers.

Or maybe, it’s the cinnamon. The spice’s warm, sweet flavor complements the smooth and nutty tastes of the condensed and coconut milk respectively. The pudding’s layers of immaculate flavors are topped off with the delicate

notes of sweet banana that are reminiscent of vanilla and honey. I get hungry just thinking about it.

I don’t ever think I will seek out a raw banana to snack on. But if presented with the chance to dig into this banana pudding, you wouldn’t have to ask me twice.

banana

vanilla cream

INGREDIENTS

• 1 box of vanilla pudding

• 2 cups fresh coconut milk

• ¼ cup sour cream

• ½ tsp vanilla essence

• ½ tsp cinnamon powder

• 1 can of condensed milk

• 1 ripe banana

• Nilla wafers or chessmen cookies

Directions

1. Whisk all of the wet ingredients together until the mixture starts to thicken.

2. Line a glass bowl with Nilla wafers and then a layer of thinly sliced banana.

3. Pour the wet mixture on top until the wafer and banana layers are fully covered.

4. Repeat the last two steps one more time.

5. Cover the mixture and put it in the fridge to set for about an hour.

6. When ready to serve, garnish the top with a layer of thinly sliced bananas on top of the pudding, and enjoy!

slices

nilla wafers

Courtesy of Leilani Glace

winter comes and passes, but the food we have during these chilly times will always stay with us... SPECIAL THANKS TO AKARI IMAI, OUR WONDERFUL PHOTOGRAPHER WHO PROVIDED ALL THESE PICTURES!

FOOD

FOOD

What’s the tea?

By Bailey Xu

Firewood, rice, oil, salt, sauce, vinegar, and tea — the seven household necessities as defined by a Chinese proverb. In my family, the last item certainly holds true. Whether I am flipping through textbooks or scrolling through my phone, a cup of steaming tea is usually present, greeting me from across the breakfast table, in front of the TV, or even right next to my computer. Nothing soothes my nerves after a long day as much as a warm mug of tea. Despite all that can be said about my relationship with tea, it’s not hard to explain the root of my love — like most habits, it stems from family.

My mom is a tea enthusiast. She amasses leaves of every kind, storing and preparing them across an equally formidable collection of teaware, often highlighting her possessions the same ways other people discuss wine. I grew up watching her carefully unwrap hard discs of compact tea and, with a special knife, meticulously chip off tiny pieces such that each fragment is a perfect five grams. She then packages the weighted pieces into a tea filter bag, to which the steeping process finally begins. Enchanted by the ritualistic precision that my mom conducted herself with, I would always pester her to let me help. She was careful to never allow me near the sharp chipping blade, instead assigning me to weighing

and packaging. The attention to detail my mom pays towards the differences between teas is unimaginable. It was from her that I learned which teas were caffeinated, which ones to avoid drinking before bed, which needed lower steeping temperatures, which first steeps should be kept or discarded... the list goes on. During my family’s weekend TV-watching sessions, my mom can typically be found sitting before her tea tray, boiling water, steeping tea. The gentle fragrance of tea wafts amidst the sounds of the TV, the crisp cracking of sunflower seeds, and the hissing of the kettle.

My grandpa is another cultivator of my love for tea. Whenever we visit him in Shenzhen, he always offers to brew us a cup, and we never refuse. Unlike my mom, who connoisseurs a variety of teas, my grandpa has always stood by one and one only: 大紅袍 (pinyin: da hong pao), a type of oolong tea. Compared to my mom, my grandpa has a heavier hand; his tea is stronger, darker, leaving your breath with a firm bitter tang. Despite the heaviness, I always down my cup just to see his face unfurl into a satisfied smile. In my family, drinking tea is a social affair. When we were younger, my siblings and I would crowd around his tea tray, fighting to take turns steeping the tea. We were mesmerized by how these unassuming leaves could impart such rich color and taste — it seemed like magic. Smiling, my grandpa would teach us his way of brewing. We were to rinse all teaware with hot water first to clean and warm the cups, then clustering them together in a ring before pouring, finally running the teapot in rapid circles over the cups to evenly distribute the tea. Later, while my cousins, siblings, and I played 鬥地主 (Dou Di Zhu, a card game literally translates to “Fight the Landlord”), we would sip cups of tea, moistening throats that had gone dry from arguing and laughing.

I still uphold my tea-drinking habits at Andover, albeit less often. My mom’s and grandpa’s elaborate tea-brewing process is a far cry from how I drink tea now when I’m alone, (which just consists more of throwing leaves in a cup and adding boiling water). Now, hunching over my computer in my dorm room, I hold my mug to my lips and take a small sip of

green tea, singeing my tongue despite my caution. Steam envelops my face, its light aroma rising into the air, entwined with memories and warmth.

nostalgic food meets honest critique

by Morgan Hsu

I like to give ratings for everything. My recent ones have been socks with shark slides (9/10), airpods under headphones (1/10) and mismatched socks (100/10). After reuniting with my family during the Winter Break, I couldn’t stop coming up with ratings for the nostalgic dishes my family always had.

Firstly, the classic fried rice. I’ve had many versions of fried rice: my spam, egg and soy sauce simplicity, the Hong Kong style which in-

ple dish that is sometimes “dressed up” or “dressed down.” A fancier fried rice could include fish roe, while a simpler one would probably have carrots or only eggs. Additionally, day-old or leftover rice works well for fried rice, which means that little to no excess rice goes to waste. As the Chinese saying goes, “

苦”— every grain of rice is the product of a farmer’s laborious work. The only factor that caused a loss of one point for fried rice is that it’s often too bland, and not enough soy sauce is added. While too much sodium is a health concern, there needs to be a balance between health and flavor, because in my opinion, the taste of fried rice depends heavily on the soy sauce.

cludes egg, vegetables, mini shrimps and pork. Toronto provided many iterations of the dish, and overall, my final rating is 9/10. Although the ingredients in fried rice can vary, in it’s essence, it is a sim-

Next, we have lotus seed paste bun. The sweet paste is inside a warm, steamed bun with pink detailing on the exterior, and as a bonus, it is generally shaped like a peach. I remember having the buns on my family and friends’ birthdays, as they symbolize longevity (the Chinese word for the dish quite literally translates to “long life bun”). I give it a solid 8/10. It’s one of the most delicious foods I’ve

ever had, but it comes with a worthwhile health hazard. Because the bun is steamed, the exterior often cools down much quicker than the filling, and as a result, when I go to take an excited first bite I often get burned by the scalding paste. Nevertheless, I truly believe that lotus seed paste bun is more than worth the pain. Last and unfortunately least is bubble tea. I tried bubble tea for the first time in late 2018, to which I reacted with disgust. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want a perfect milk tea disrupted by tiny chewy jellies. In retrospect, ten year old me didn’t have such great taste. I tried it again in 2020 and gained both an obsession and stamp cards for free bubble teas. Luckily, Hong Kong had bubble tea pretty much everywhere — and it was good bubble tea; not the ones where the boba falls apart or is undercooked. After two years of diehard boba purchasing, my final rating comes to a 6/10. While this might be surprising, I think my rating is more than fair. Firstly, depending on the authenticity of the brand, the tea in bubble tea could be more or less fragrant. My personal preference is for stronger teas, but for a lot of companies there is too much milk and not enough tea; combine that

with watered down tea, and the drink is essentially composed of only milk. Secondly, bubble tea was so accessible and consistently delicious in Hong Kong, which made it less special. Each time I would get less and less hyped about it because it was too easy to get; and I began to understand why my mom wasn’t that excited about it in the first place. To me, someone who had bubble tea all too often, it was nothing too special.

These are simply three of the nostalgic dishes that I was lucky enough to enjoy during my break. Another time, maybe I’ll explain to you why I give milk pudding a higher rating than Ma Lai Go; it would blow your mind!

Nostalgia: The Key Ingredient in Comfort

by leilani Glace

Whether it be my mom’s delicious corn casserole or my extended family’s magic bars — sweet delights filled with soothing flavors of toasted coconut atop a smooth brownie base — I have always cherished the dishes that my household brought out around the winter season. Though it may have been no more than 14 degrees Fahrenheit outside, each spoonful of creamy corn brought me a comfort akin to a warm embrace from a treasured loved one. Each time the layers of buttery graham crust dissolved on my tongue and blended with the warm butterscotch, chocolate and coconut shards, I was reminded that no matter what happened in life, I would always have a support system waiting with outstretched arms regardless of the time of day or the amount of distance between us.

Growing up, I told myself that these feelings were simply products of the mere fact corn, chocolate, butterscotch, and the creamy nature of baked condensed milk were a few of my favorite things. I would tell myself that it was simply because I liked the food so much that I craved for the winter holidays to roll around again. I would whole-heartedly believe that it

was purely sensory stimulation, that I only longed for the holidays because I had some predetermined weakness that came in the form of chewy cooked corn crowned with a slight baked crust. Yet this winter changed something, and I must admit, I think I was wrong. Nostalgia has topped any premium dark chocolate, butterscotch, whole or creamed corn that my family uses in their dishes. For me, this winter, nostalgia is the key ingredient in the foods that bring me the most comfort.

Comfort Food

I sat down at the island counter with my siblings chowing down on corn casserole, ham, and assorted vegetables; my parents sat on the circular table next to us, and my aunts and uncles helped direct guests in and out of the kitchen while we all somehow played a unanimous game of Jackbox Trivia Murder Party 2. It was in these moments that I had a strange inkling that the food, somehow, always tasted better and felt more filling. Complemented with the jubilant laughter of my relatives, the corn casserole tasted more rich, more creamy than any other I’d eaten when I was not surrounded by the people I cherished. The roasted ham tasted more smokey and was more tender when I was reminded of all of the joyrides my cousins

and I took around Tampa, Florida, with no final destination, simply for the reasons of wanting to roll the windows down, blast music and spend time with those who make us laugh.

I suddenly recalled that it was with those same people in that room that I spent most of my Christmases with, sitting around the fireplace of a cabin or binging pointlessly long movies at 2 a.m. We all knew they were each on the better side of two hours long, and that there would be various yawns, asynchronous blinks, and snores before the first movie was 30 minutes in, but it was a tradition we continued nonetheless — for nothing other than that vague idea of togetherness that we felt, for the sake of being able to spend that moment, awake or asleep, in each other’s presence. We maintained those traditions because they created a comfort we could always come back to, year after year, conjuring up this beautiful magic that you might call nostalgia. It was then, when I remembered all of those little moments that I smiled and went in for another bite of food. I promise you, in that instance, corn had never tasted more sweet.

bagels: a love story

by kendra tomala

Bagels, bagels, bagels! If you go to Andover, you know the hold that bagels have on us students. I don’t know if I will ever truly understand what makes the bagel so utterly perfect, but I do know one thing for sure: bagels will never disappoint.

Last year, on my revisit day as a wee little eighth grader, I was overwhelmed by the number of choices that Paresky Commons had. There was a salad bar, a sandwich bar, stirfry, pizza, and so many more options that I can’t even remember, but what I ended up picking was a bagel (and a salad, but that’s not as important). I didn’t know it at the time, but I was already somewhat fitting in at Andover.

I remember the process of fixing the bagel to my exact liking. Once I had gotten the tour of the breathtaking Paresky at the number one school in America (Phillips Academy Andover, of course), I, for some reason, said with confidence that I wanted a bagel. I awkwardly grabbed one of the many bags of bagels and opened it up. I selected the one right on the top and broke it open into two slices. Then, I took the two slices, carefully placed them into the toaster oven, and watched as they went into the depths

of the toaster on the slow little conveyor belt. I waited for a solid minute. With my stomach grumbling and my mouth watering, I had never wanted a bagel so badly. Finally! There it came out and plopped onto the silver tray. I quickly grabbed it and placed it on a plate that was much too large for a single bagel. I went over to the fixings stations, and I, as the lactose intolerant child that I was, chose only strawberry jam to complement my toasty bagel. It smelled like my childhood.

My family has always been a fan of bread. Bagels especially. You would never see our pantry without a loaf of regular old white bread and a stack of bagels. Sometimes, when we were feeling fancy, we’d choose blueberry bagels instead of plain ones. I usually go for the classics, though. The best way to implement a bagel into your breakfast is to make the breakfast sandwich, which is quite literally the best start to your day. From top to bottom, the order would be as follows: toasted bagel slice, avocado slices, juicy tomato slices, fried turkey bacon, a slice of non-dairy cheese,

fried egg number one, fried egg number two, and lastly another toasted bagel slice. If this was my breakfast, there was no way I would have a bad day. The experience is indescribable. The crunch from the bacon and bagel, tenderness of the tomatoes and avocado, and perfect flavor of fried eggs made this the most wonderful journey your taste buds could ever embark on.

Although I’ve eaten bagels for nearly all of my life, I feel that I have only recently connected them to my life here at Andover. I no longer have extravagant breakfast bagel sandwiches anymore and have learned to love a simple bagel with strawberry jam. Imagine this: it is 9:47 a.m. and you just finished Biology class. What do you first think of? Food, of course. But perhaps, a bagel (and also how you may or may not have just failed the test). To realize your thoughts, you must then force your way through the mob of other people who also have a bagel on their mind. Just as I had done last year on my revisit, you toast your bagel, nearly burn your fingers by retrieving the said bagel from the toaster oven, and use the large sticky spoon to spread some strawberry jam. Only on one slice, obviously, since you are not a fiend. That’s it. There you have it: the

new perfect bagel. So simple, yet so rewarding.

Don’t get me wrong, bagel sandwiches will always have my heart. But at least for now, as a forever hungry Andover student, the classic toasted bagel with strawberry jam smeared in between the two slices will be my ultimate go to, and it should be yours, too!

Is Nostalgia a Sixth Sense?

by Eliza Francis

Our five core senses mesh to form our external perceptions, which in turn influences our internal decision making. Rarely leading us astray, the power of sight, smell, touch, hearing, and taste help the consumer decide upon something we all need: food. The presentation of a dish, whether it be ornate or humble, is emphasized to appeal to the adage, “You eat with your eyes first.” While cliché, the multitudes of people that reach for their phone to capture a photo of a dish each day only further proves this theory. The aroma of food is often utilized to uncover associations. These associations could be tied to pleasant memories or indicate that the food may be expired. The touch or texture of food can be a deciding factor in whether a dish is deemed delicious or disgusting — an excess of stickiness, staleness, or other consistencies can single-handedly dissuade the diner from an otherwise acceptable meal. Hearing, in terms of food consumption, is less explicitly connected, though still present. With the absence of sizzles from a plate of fajitas or the crisp crunch from a potato chip, will these foods truly have the same allure? The last, and arguably most prominent, is taste. A non-negotiable factor, the taste of food is the very thing that adds joy to something that

would otherwise be viewed as mere fuel. Just as a moral compass guides us to make positive decisions, these five senses ensure that we make positive choices when eating. So, why

taste buds. To explore the myriad of forms in which this “sixth sense” is expressed, I shall present a series of accounts from people of diverse backgrounds that have a special connection

Jana (A.K.A., my lovely mom): Frozen Totino’s Pepperoni Party Pizza

“I’ve had the opportunity to eat some of the best pizza throughout New York City and Chicago. But for some reason every time I pass the cheap frozen pizza in the grocery store aisle, I have to buy it. When I’m at home making it, I’m transported to my first apartment in Atlanta, and it brings me comfort. Eating my 1.75 dollar pizza makes me feel like my early 20’s self. And for that reason, it always tastes great.”

Claire ’26 (A.K.A., a true friend): Pig Feet

“It’s kind of weird, but it reminds me of my grandfather and how his favorite dish was pig feet. I used to hate it, but then one day (and it wasn’t even gradual), I just loved it. I hadn’t had it for a while until the other day when I was overwhelmed by such a familiar taste. I don’t know, it just somehow managed to bring me back home.”

Eliza, A.K.A. me: Fried Green Tomatoes

“Transitioning from Kentucky to Andover, there was a stark lack of fried food that I had become so accustomed to. In fact, the first time I mentioned my favorite summer food, I was asked two questions: A) why would you fry a tomato, and B) why would it be green? My initial answer was that weirder things have been fried in Kentucky, but the question did force me to re-evaluate what exactly appealed to me about this dish. Then, everything just seemed to click. The tomatoes brought me back to July Saturdays when my mom and I would visit our local farmer’s market. My friend would play the fiddle for the humble crowd of familiar strangers, and I would be complaining about the intense humidity… Those are the moments that I hold onto in times of stress.”

Whether it be frozen pizza, pig feet, or fried green tomatoes, nostalgia acts as a key player in everyone’s unique connections to food.

Matcha Ice Cream: Asian Meets Western

by Chloe Song

For most of my life, it has been a backand-forth: am I more American, or am I more Asian? Over the years, however, I have learned that sometimes it is more rewarding to find a middle ground; somewhere where I did not have to make a concrete resolution between my nationality and ethnicity. In doing that, I have learned to appreciate the spaces in which my two identities coexist. One of these spaces that I have found particularly appetizing is food. The one dish that I go back to in particular is a very specific dessert, only found in the loaded freezers of Asian supermarkets, or more authentically, in the streets of Japan. This particular dish goes by the name Matcha Ice Cream.

As an Asian-American, the combination of these three words sound odd. It sits almost contradictory on the tongue. How can something as seemingly exotic as Matcha, often found

in the traditional delicacies of Asian cuisines, be a flavor of something as conventionally western as ice cream? As a nine year old, on a family trip to Japan, I wondered this exact question.

We were in an underground mall, somewhere in the dazzling depths of Tokyo, shopping and eating. As we wandered, we stumbled upon a green store with massive windows, giving us a glimpse as to what was stirring inside. Behind the glass, a lady was grinding up what looked like foreign green powder using a stone machine. To my naive eyes, it seemed like magic, strange magic since I didn’t know what was being made, but otherworldly nonetheless. A Japanese native beside us noticed my awe and confusion, and kindly offered to explain the mysterious process. He told us that the powder came from a plant called Camellia Sinensis, found mostly in East Asia, but the particular ones used before our eyes were from the lush fields of Uji in Kyoto. Following the harvestion of the green plants, the leaves were taken through a drying process, which reduces the moisture of the leaves by applying heat to result in a crude end-product named Tencha. Finally, it entered a process of grinding.

The man continued explaining, but

my eyes had already moved elsewhere. I was now watching another worker turn the powder into cream-to-green colored paste, and unknowingly, I had stepped closer to the lady grinding the powder. She looked at me and gave me a smile, in which I returned, mesmerized by the way she moved her hands along the mixer.

Then it was time to eat. My thoughts went a little something like this as I dug in: Hmmm,Ilikethis. Another bite later: Interesting.Theflavorsareheavy butlight! Third bite: Wait,isthisAsian food?No,itcan’tbe.Butithastobe.I amliterallyinJapan!Wait,wait.Letme tryagain. And then another bite went in: This tastes too American to be Asian! Or can it be both?

Lick after lick, bite after bite, the dish transformed into a realization that a singular dish can be both American and Japanese, both western and Asian. To me, the taste was bitter but sweet, and the experience foreign yet familiar; a memory of contrasting words unknowingly rendered a pleasant encounter. Reflecting on this experience, I now confidently believe that foods of different cultures can harmoniously mix into one, beautiful whole, as demonstrated by this ever so delightful Japanese dessert. For this eye opening revelation, I thank you Matcha Ice Cream!