GASTRONOMICA | SOPHIA HUA
FOODS I’M THANKFUL FOR appears almost blood-like because of the beets, which tinge the potatoes a red hue. The natural, earthy sweetness of the beets and carrots, along with the heartiness of the potatoes, makes this warm soup comforting and homey. Then there is my mother’s sweet potato soup. On their own, sweet potatoes are amazing already—smooth, velvety, and sweet. But my mother takes the sweet potatoes and turns them into a traditional-style Chinese dessert soup. This soup, like many of its kind, is simple and requires only four ingredients. The sweetness from the sweet potato, highlighted by the addition of brown sugar, is cut by the spicy kick from ginger. The dessert works both as a great satisfy-my-sweet-tooth snack and as a light dessert after dinner.
I could go on and on about all the foods I am thankful for, about the foods I crave now, but I will refrain for space’s sake. The ones I listed above are merely the dishes that I grew up eating, not realizing that some people have never even heard of persimmons, or that ruby-colored beet-and-potato soup was not a household staple. With the upcoming break signaling not my typical return home but my first Thanksgiving in New Haven, I will miss all of the foods that represent home to me. I could make them myself, sure, but we all know it would not be the same. My only other solution is to work toward a new list, one I can write about years later: foods that remind me of Thanksgiving at Yale. Sophia Hua is a sophomore in Saybrook College. Festive foods she is not thankful for include stuffing, canned cranberries, and pumpkin pie.
FALL 2011
When I think about Thanksgiving turkey, I think not of the meat we eat on the actual holiday, but of the porridge the day after.
13 EPICUREAN
I have never cared for the question “What’s your favorite food?”, simply because I can rarely bring myself to choose just one. I find it easier to answer, however, if the question is tailored to a specific season. While autumn represents a time to give thanks and honor traditions, I decided to bypass the roasted turkey thighs, apple crisps, and pumpkin ice cream and in narrowing down my list of foods I am thankful for to those that remind me of my home and heritage. Without further ado, are the foods I tend to crave when the leaves start changing colors. First are persimmons. No words will do this fruit justice. I can consume pounds of this crunchy, sweet, vibrantly orangecolored fruit. In describing its taste, many people draw comparisons to apples, but I beg to differ. The taste of a persimmon lies within in its own realm: earthy, brown-sugar sweet, somewhere between a sweet potato and a ripe banana. I want to cry when the persimmon’s short season ends in November; I am a four-season fruit fiend, and persimmons rank right up there with my beloved summer melons and tropical fruits. Unlike some people who like them in salads or in pies, I would never cross-contaminate the flavor of persimmons in that manner. For me, peeled and raw is the only way to go. Second is turkey jook. Jook in its most simple form is rice cooked with too much water, a Chinese dish that is similar in texture to cream of wheat. To infuse it with flavor, people like to add different ingredients to this base. The best combination I know of, however, is the one my mom makes with turkey. Just once a year at my house (the day after Thanksgiving), my mom uses the leftover turkey carcass and whatever meat that is left to create a turkey broth. She does something magical by cooking rice into that flavor-packed broth; the hot bowl of jook that comes out of her big pot fills me up and warms me from top to bottom. When I think about Thanksgiving turkey, I think not of the meat we eat on the actual holiday, but of the porridge the day after. This bowl of goodness has been a fixture on my family’s post-Thanksgiving breakfast and lunch table every year since I can remember. The next dish that makes me feel thankful for autumn is my mom’s potato-and-beet soup. When I was younger, I loved drinking this burgundy soup not for its taste but for the way a single bowl would turn my lips ruby red. My sister and I giggled at the “lipstick” we pretended to have on while our mom, hoping to foster our liking for nutritious vegetables, encouraged us to “eat the beets, too, because they’ll make your lips even redder!” Now I appreciate the soup for different reasons, including its unique taste and appearance. This soup