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FALL 2021
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From the Editor The distance between Boston and home is only a three and a half hour flight, but sometimes it feels worlds away. Yet, after starting college, I can always count on an elaborate family dinner waiting for me every time I fly home. My dad calls up family members who live nearby, my mom leaves work early, and my grandmother spends hours cooking up all of my favorite dishes. Intimate family dinners from my childhood have always held a special place in my heart. However, these intricate and rowdy dinners with my cousins, aunts, and uncles are the highlights of my visits home from college. Quality time spent with my family in these moments always leads to us reflecting on my high school graduation, how my family has grown, and will continue to change as my three siblings graduate and go to college. Food bridges our conversations, from laughing about bad past haircuts to discussing my brother’s basketball wins; after months apart, food has brought us all back together. Family dynamics differ from one to the next, but they are influential in creating our shared experiences. Food, family, and our different experiences construct the stories we tell, the culture we carry, and even our sensory complexities. Reuniting, sharing, and reconnecting is learned by most of us during college, and is the inspiration for this semester’s issue. Based on a newfound understanding of sharing and relearning the ability to share, we’re starting from the beginning. For this issue of Gusto, we have created a narrative throughout the journal: Starting with pieces about the foundations of sharing food, we connect back to our childhood. From family celebrations on the other side of the world to cultural dishes we are accustomed to, the memory of childhood influences our likes and dislikes today. The next layer moves to building relationships and exploring how being with others can enhance meal experiences across time and across a variety of cultures. Lastly, the final portion concludes with the “slice of pie” that we take with us through life, both metaphorically and literally. When reading through the stories told here, take time to reflect on your own experiences with family dinners, the recipe passed down from generations ago, and who in your life has influenced it. Have a slice of pie and take a piece to carry with you. Ngan Tran Gusto Editor-in-Chief
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gusto team FALL 2021 ISSUE 6
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
Ngan Tran
MANAGING EDITOR
Sofia Frias
FEATURES EDITOR FEATURES ASSOCIATE EDITOR ESSAYS EDITOR
Lauren Rabbottini Jen Lozano Lauren Blaser
ESSAYS ASSOCIATE EDITOR
Gillian Mahoney
MUCHO GUSTO EDITOR
Valeria Gutierrez
MUCHO GUSTO ASSOCIATE EDITOR
Prashanti Kodali
HEAD CODY EDITOR CREATIVE MANAGERS ASSOCIATE CREATIVE MANAGERS
Gabi Prostko Maia Rosenbaum, Eileen Shelton Jamie Kim, Meegan Minahan
MEDIA AND MARKETING MANAGER
Jacqueline Geller
MEDIA AND MARKETING ASSOCIATE
Claire Spielmann
CONTRIBUTING WRITERS
CONTRIBUTING CREATIVE MEDIA AND MARKETING TEAM COPY EDITORS
Saamia Bukhari, Rishi Das, Maya Floreani, Scott Greenhalgh, Regina Herrero Ampudia, Jenny Hotchkiss, Margaret Kuffner, Astrid Langoe, Christina Lenahan, Emanuel Louime, Antonio Mata, Lilly Mathieu, Logan Soss, Isabel Wibowo Sophie Borrmann, Emily Finn, Julie Vu Analida Duran, Adeline Kim Gianinia DiDonato, Katie Kitrick, Christine Lenahan, Carson Locker, Annie Pugliese
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Table of Contents 4
The Scandinavian Smörgåsbord
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The Importance of Family Dinners Growing Up
By Astrid Langoe
By Scott Greenhalgh
10 Bond Over Banchan By Adeline Kim
12 A Tray of Habit: Kechejian Family Mezze By Christine Lenahan
14 All Roads Lead Back To... By Jen Lozano
16 Dips From Around the World
By Valeria Gutierrez and Prashanti Kodali
20 23 26
A Lesson on Hosting By Logan Soss
Shopping for the Future By Lauren Blaser
From the Dining Table By Maya Floreani
30 Flaeskesteg By Margaret Kuffner
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Our Dinner Table, Our Foundation By Gillian Mahoney
36 Slice of Pie 3 By Emanuel Louime and Lilly Mathieu
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Words By: Astrid Langoe Graphics By: Jamie Kim
the
Scandinavian Smörgåsbord
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When I was little, my family and I would spend midsummer, a celebration of the summer solstice, in Järvsö, Sweden. During this day, families would come together, share food and drinks, and celebrate the warmer days ahead. Some people wore wreaths made with Lady’s mantles, large daisies, and clovers on their heads; a few older guests even wore Swedish Folk dresses. I especially looked forward to the smörgåsbord that was served for lunch. The smörgåsbord wasn’t just a regular meal, it was an experience that would linger on for hours upon end. Most children only chose to eat a few things from the glorious display of dishes, while the adults ate everything in the correct order. As a child, I didn’t pay much attention to what the proper way of eating a smörgåsbord was. Nevertheless as I grew older, I learned from my “mistakes,” and they have only made me appreciate the tradition even more. The Scandinavian smörgåsbord has played an important and unifying role in Swedish culture and lifestyle for centuries, however it wasn’t until the 20th century that it gained popularity around the world. At the 1912 Olympics in Stockholm, the smörgåsbord was even designated
as the official meal provided to the athletes. In English, smörgåsbord translates to “open faced sandwich table,” a pretty good representation of what it actually is: a table filled with various sorts of food like bread, cheese, pickled herring, and fresh gravlax. The dishes on the smörgåsbord contribute in different ways, however together they complement each other to create something wonderful. The unique combinations of the floral aromas and fresh dill, the smell of the spices from the bread, and hard Swedish cheese always fill up the room where the smörgåsbord is placed. For most Swedes, the nostalgic smells bring childhood memories back to life in a way that it is hard to describe. Perhaps this is why some say that the smörgåsbord motivates people to connect on a deeper level. In Sweden, the smörgåsbord appears every time some sort of celebration is taking place. This can range from birthdays to holidays like Christmas, Easter, and Midsummer. During the meal, guests gather around the table to fill up their plates with the different dishes. In a way, it is almost like a buffet, however the food on the smörgåsbord is laid out in a distinct way.
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Crackers (knäckebröd) along with different types of cheese, vegetables, and butter can be found at one end of smörgåsbord. Next on the table comes the pickled herring and salmon, as well as the hard-boiled eggs and beet-salad. After the cold dishes have been presented, warm foods like Swedish meatballs and potatoes are laid out in various pots and pans. The smörgåsbord is usually enriched with dishes such as Jansson’s Temptation during holidays like Christmas. This creamy potato-andanchovy casserole has been a classic in most Swedish households since the 1940s, and it still stands strong to this day. Although it wasn’t my favorite growing up (I had an irrational fear of anchovies), Jansson’s Temptations is now one of my favorites. As I have already mentioned, younger children often pick and choose which parts of the smörgåsbord they eat. This is mostly because some of the colder dishes have a bit of a mature taste. Herring in Sweden is typically
salted and then pickled in a mixture of vinegar and different spices. Pickled herring has an acquired taste, as my dad likes to say, so it often scares children away; the same goes for the different types of cheeses. As a result, the warmer dishes are quickly devoured by the youngins. My mom tells me that it is apparent when Swedish children start to mature: their plates become more diversified with new things such as the pickled herring or gravlax. For me, I began to eat herring when I was around 11, however my cousin (who is now in his late 20s), has yet to become fond of this little fish. It wasn’t until I grew older when I realized that most Swedes don’t recognize the impact that the smörgåsbord has on both their physical and mental well being. Due to the massive technological advancements of the 21st century, the world in which we live in has become extremely fast-paced. It seems as though most people don’t have the
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time to prioritize shared meals with their loved ones. In today’s world, anything that promotes productivity is usually chosen over pleasure, so the idea of setting aside time to eat with others gets put on the back burner. As a result, the smörgåsbord is becoming more and more valuable with each year. Not only does it help people connect on a deeper level, it also increases social bonding between those who would otherwise never have made an effort to get to know each other better. The tradition of eating food from the common smörgåsbord makes people not only value the food they are being served, but value the people they are eating with. It relieves stress as it creates a sense of belonging for the guests and promotes people to share things
that have happened in their daily lives. These benefits are more likely to be sustained when it’s done often, which is why the idea of having a smörgåsbord during celebrations is so valuable. Growing up, I don’t think my friends and I realized why the smörgåsbord meant so much to us. The smörgåsbord simply made me happy in a way that no other meal could do. As I grew older and became immersed in the exhausting real world, I found myself thinking back to the times when my family and I shared a smörgåsbord. There is truly something special about setting aside time to share a meal with others, and I would do anything to be able to go back to Järvsö again.
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The Importance of Family Dinners Growing Up Words and Photos By: Scott Greenhalgh
For as long as I can remember, I ate dinners together with the rest of my family—my parents and two older sisters, Nikki and Nat. My dad often prepared the entree and my mom the sides (or the reverse if we were eating a Chinese dish, for my mother is Chinese), while my sisters and I had to set the table, prepare the glasses of water and milk, and bus the table. My parents insisted that every meal be balanced, consisting of a meat or seafood entree with vegetable and starch sides. Furthermore, they ensured a harmonious variety of flavors, textures, and levels of moisture with each meal. For example, my parents often prepared shrimp scampi with couscous and roasted broccolini. I recall the tender, juicy shrimp’s lemon flavor uniting with the delicate couscous and crunchy, garlicky broccolini. Ah, I’m almost salivating now writing this. Eating dinner together as a family was sacred; my dad required that we were all sitting at the table to start the meal. He also ensured a minimal delay between the time the food was finished cooking and the time we took our first bite. I often remember my dad, having just completed a laborious meal, grabbing his fork and knife, eager to savor his accomplishment. My oldest sister, meanwhile, would run down the stairs and hallway post-shower to sit and join us for dinner. As a result, it ingrained in us that we wait for everyone to sit before we dig in. Once the meal had formally started, we would discuss our respective highlights of the meal: the presentation, the mixture of herbs and spices, the perfect temperature of the steak, the crispiness of the potatoes, how the flavor of the sauce complemented the starch.
After we covered our initial impressions of the food, we reflected on and discussed our days and shared our current feelings. Deep, serious conversation was often interrupted with yelps of, “oh this is so good!” Given that my sisters and I were in school, we had hectic schedules in the morning and therefore dinner was the only meal we could enjoy together as a family. Eating meals together is a central component of our tightknit family dynamic. My sisters now share an apartment in Boston and we almost always cook together when I visit. We have each developed a specific role and responsibility in the production and aftermath of the meal, emulating the culinary ensemble that my parents embodied. For example, when making stir-fry with H-Mart pork marinade, Nat prepares the rice and gochujang sauce, Nikki chops and sautés the vegetables, and I man the meat pan. We all assist in bussing the table and cleaning the pans just like we were taught. We haven’t yet quite nailed the perfect timing nor the harmonious variety of textures that my parents maintained night after night, but we’re making progress. Also, now that I can cook on my own, I more actively help in the chopping, mixing, and overall meal preparation when I return home to Michigan for the holidays.
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My family and I eating lobster fricassee (shipped in from Maine!) with homemade french fries Christmas Eve, 2017.
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Bond Over Banchan
Words By: Adeline Kim Photos By: Ngan Tran
Something that I look forward to every time I visit Korea is banchan, side dishes that are served before every meal and are often eaten with the main course. They vary in flavor from sweet meats, to salty spinach, all the way to sour pickled vegetables. In my humble opinion, my grandmother’s homemade banchan is some of the best ever made. I remember sitting down around the dinner table, enjoying the spread with its variety of multicolored dishes packed into small bowls, slowly eating up the different pickled vegetables, traditional salads, and even certain types of braised meats. The word “banchan’’ translates to “half- plate,” which is a fitting name for these side dishes. They’re constantly being refilled and oftentimes, it’s everyone’s favorite part of the meal. Once the table is set with 5-8 types of banchan, there’s always a moment where everyone sits around the table and partakes in discussions about the day while passing around the plates in a Thanksgiving style. As everyone sits around the table, you’re able to take a step back and really appreciate the conversations that occur as everyone shares the food. For my family, this is one of the only times we can get together face to face, which makes it a great moment for bonding. It’s truly one of the most traditional and intimate Korean experiences that you can have with your family. There are hundreds of types of banchan, which is handy when everyone has different tastes. In addition, most are made without specific measurements, so while I’ll provide estimates for how much of each ingredient to include, keep in mind that they’ve been specifically tailored to my family’s taste. Everyone is different so don’t be afraid to switch up the measurements or even swap out the ingredients! The versatility and experience that banchan gives is really a beautiful thing, but don’t be overwhelmed by the options. Here’s a recipe straight from my grandmother for kimchi to get you started on your banchan journey!
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Ingredients: 1 head napa cabbage ¼ cup coarse salt 10 cloves garlic 4 small pieces ginger 2 tablespoons of saeujeot 5 spoonfuls fish sauce 1 spoonful sugar 4 roots chives (cut into 2 inch segments) 2-3 spoonfuls red pepper flakes (depending on spice tolerance) 1 small daikon radish (cut into matchsticks)
Instructions: Cabbage Preparation:
Marinade and Fermentation:
Take the washed cabbage and chop it in half vertically from the stem side to the leafy side. Begin taking handfuls of salt and rubbing it onto each individual leaf, making sure to carefully separate the stems without breaking the leaves off of the cabbage. If it’s a cold day, it may help to dunk the cabbage into some warm water before rubbing the salt. Leave the salt to “kill” the rigidness for around 1 hour (or until the cabbage is significantly less stiff). Afterwards, wash the cabbage thoroughly 3 times to get rid of the excess salt and drain the leaves of the water. Then, cut the cabbage into fourths (for ease of marinating).
Blend the garlic and ginger in a food processor until it turns to a pulp. Mix this in with the saeujeot, fish sauce, sugar, chives, radish, and red pepper flakes. Take this mixture and rub it into the cabbage. Don’t be afraid to get dirty! Put on a pair of gloves and start rubbing the paste into each individual leaf until all four segments are completely saturated. Store the cabbage in an airtight container and leave it outside the fridge for 24 hours, then store in the fridge. Enjoy!
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A Tray of Habit: Kechejian Family Mezze Words and Photos By: Christine Lenahan Lou loved the color yellow, or so I’m told. Louise Boyajian was my grandmother’s best friend: their kids went to school together, they shopped at the same grocery store, Arax market, and attended the same church, at the same mass, at the same time as they had since they were both newlyweds living in Brockton, Mass. Lou bought the tray for my grandmother as a housewarming gift, a bright yellow platter divided into four sections. Each section edge rounded into a four leaf clover formation, and with a gentle push, rotated on a small wheel at the bottom for easy access to all four of its quadrants. Lou didn’t know what legacy the tray would hold, or the place of honor it would command on Rita’s counter top. Her castle of brick and light blue paneled wood stood proud atop a small hill on Fairview avenue in Brockton. Silence was unheard of in the hub of life that was her bustling kitchen.
The scurry of footsteps as grandchildren played games of duk’ da yek’ (tag) and the bursts of laughter as uncles celebrated a victory in backgammon, created a sweet and familiar cacophony. While her home erupted with joys, I stood beside her along the kitchen counter. The kitchen was not only her work space, but an operating table when my grandfather, Nishan, then a surgeon at Massachusetts General Hospital, stitched up a gnarly wound from a fish hook in my cousin Peter’s leg. The countertop was gambling grounds, as grandkids played
go fish or war, trading plastic silly straws and rainbow jelly beans. The place where grown ups made bets on the Red Soxs and Pats, depending on the season, always claiming that “Boston is gonna win it this time.” It was a courtroom, as my sister Grace claimed that my cousin Sarah most definitely stole her iPod (and she most definitely did). Uncle Greg served as the judge, dealing out punishments while the rest of the cousins sat on the jury behind the bar. But, at age seven, I barely peered over the wooden countertop without the help of a shiny oak stool taken from my grandfather’s study. Creaky and slightly wobbly, the stool was my lookout tower as I stared in a trance, enchanted by her artistry in the kitchen. From the fundamentals of basic hummus to the proper technique of rolling grape leaves, I watched my grandmother, Rita Kechejian, teach Armenian culture through cuisine. The tray itself was a creature of habit, used by the habitual creatures that occupied 50 Fairview Ave. Nishan was old school Armenian and his pride in his Yerevan roots was reflected in this tray. It has been rumored that my grandfather could hover his right hand, calloused and wrinkled, over the tray and know exactly what item was held in each section, and do it all with his eyes closed. Habits. Rita liked them too. In preparation for a family gathering, Friday night football, or an afternoon snack, her dainty fingers, the color dark sand and skin smooth and shining with olive oil, would begin to dismantle the Talbaner. Armenian string cheese, or as my sisters and I called it “grandma’s cheese” thinking that only she could produce this tangy, stringy goat’s milk cheese speckled with black caraway seeds, comes wrapped in a tight knot. The seeds, sev semer in Armenian, would be wound up in this twisted cheese that with an unfathomable amount of patience, was pulled apart into hairlike threads, creating small snowy mountains tart cheesy goodness. On the tray and to the left of the Talbaner was my personal favorite, and one of the most difficult parts of my vegetarianism to date, sojuk. Like a christmas garland of garlic and spices, these hung small bags of cheese cloth were strung along the clothesline. The screened-in side porch was an extension of her kitchen, where inside those bags were thin strips of aging meat. This was not your gas station beef
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jerky but a savory morsel tended to by Rita every night for three months. In the winter, the meat would cure in the cold Massachusetts temperatures and once her seven children, and eventually her eleven grandchildren, were off to bed, Rita would bring the parcels, sometimes thirty of them or more, out onto her wooden countertop. Taking the okalvu, or rolling pin, she’d press each bang until the meat inside was nearly paper thin. Immensely flavorful, garlicky and slightly spicy, soujk and often tablaner replaced turkey and
cheese sandwiches for lunch during my childhood and held a place of honor on the tray.
fish swimming around in a tank, these vegetables would sit in their glass jars with shiny white plastic lids, each with a tiny vent to let acidic bubbles of the fermentation process out into the fresh air. Labeled with tan scotch tape, written in sharpie, my grandmothers scrawling handwriting announced each jar as torshi. Carrots, cauliflower, radishes, each vegetable grown in her backyard garden, a fertile jungle of produce and wonder, was stuffed into the jar doused in vinegar, salt, the tiniest bit of sugar, and little gems of pink peppercorns (or “peppachorns” as it rolled off my grandmother’s tongue, combining both Armenian and Brockton accents into a language only those who knew her could understand).
eyes, he’d glance over at Rita, smirking at him from behind the countertop. He’d flash her a smile and pop it in his mouth too. Habits. Perhaps they are made to be broken.
Blackened globes of olives tumbled into the final section of the tray. The darkness of the olives made the yellow tray glow brighter than before. Kalamata only, as habit demanded. Although sometimes Rita, rebel that she was, would stick a green olive buried under the mountain of black ones. As Nishan played just one more chess match, he’d each to pop another salty and smooth morsel in his mouth, but when the shine of the green met his deep brown
Tangy, acidic, and sometimes spicy if you got a pink peppercorn mixed in with your bite, torshi, or pickled vegetables, was their third component of this pie. Nishan built a bookshelf of sorts into the screened in porch, per Rita’s request. If you limboed under the clothesline of soujk, you’d see them stacked proudly on the shelves. Like
Lou loved the color yellow, or so I’m told. I’m also told that her father, escaping the Turkish Ottoman Empire around 1918 was captured in the and burned alive. He was one of millions of Armenians. She sits beside my grandmother, as Rita tells of her family’s escape from the Armenian genocide. Lou, Rita, and Nishan weren’t alive on September 24th, 2021, when the United States officially recognized the mass murder of Armenians as genocide. They died at a time when the nation deemed the deaths of our ancestors to be a hoax. But they were alive to tell their stories to those who’d remember, to those who’d sit around the bar with hands diving into the pockets of the yellow tray, to those enveloped in their own world of tradition and family. In those moments I learned not only how to prepare food to be shared with the people I love, but how to uncover the patience and resilience ingrained in my genes, derived from a family of fighters and survivors.
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All Roads Lead Back To... Words By: Jen Lozano Photos By: Eileen Shelton
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It could be the long lines that snake through the dining halls. Maybe it happens to be the hours following a noontime football home game win (or loss). It would make sense for a surge of energy in the midst of studying for midterms at Bapst. It could even be a chance to catch up with a friend. Or maybe it’s just another Thursday evening on the Heights. Either way, all roads seem to lead back to local restaurants in the BC community. As it should. The shops lining Commonwealth Avenue hold a special place in the heart of the BC community. For nearly 30 years, restaurants like Flat Breads Cafe, El Pelón Taqueria, and Crazy Dough’s Pizza have served hundreds of thousands of BC students, faculty, staff, families, and residents in the area. They’ve been there through it all with us: decades of campus visits, games, finals, graduations. When we got the email to go home due to Covid-19, they were even there upon our return the following fall semester. These local restaurants have stood firmly by our side, something that has not gone unnoticed by BC students. Danielle Rinaldi, MCAS ‘20, made frequent visits to Flat Breads during her time here. While living in Vandy during her sophomore year, the cafe became a staple. Initially going for the Chicken Ceasar Wraps, Danielle continued her visits to Flat Breads for the friendship she found. John Acampora,
the founder and owner, is the first face students tend to see when stepping into Flat Breads. Despite sitting tightly near the screeching sounds of the B-line, the welcoming atmosphere he creates almost transports you to a home kitchen. Danielle highlighted this, sharing how her and John bonded over their mutual love of the Yankees, sharing stories about their families, and more. Like many, the delicious sandwiches got her into the restaurant, but the great service and warm environment was what made it feel like an integral part of BC. Sarah O’Connell, LSEHD ‘23, shares mutual experiences of community through local restaurants. Sarah, who works at White Mountain Creamery, has felt connected to BC beyond being the one to service ice cream. Through conversations with alumni, seeing professors and their class, or having a shift with another BC student, Sarah has seen food bring people together intentionally. As it should. These restaurants offer so much more than a mouthwatering torta or a classic Acapulco. They bring us together. Whether it’s celebrating Marathon Monday, seeing a friendly face, catering for a tailgate, or even walking to campus, all roads point towards our local restaurants - or better yet, our community members.
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Dips from Around the World Words and Recipes By: Valeria Gutierrez & Prashanti Kodali Photos By: Eileen Shelton
Cannoli Dip Ingredients:
1 cup (8 oz package) cream cheese, softened 1 cup whole milk ricotta cheese 1 cup powdered sugar ½ teaspoon ground cinnamon 1 teaspoon vanilla extract ½ teaspoon orange zest 1 cup mini chocolate chips, chopped nuts, or a combination of both
Instructions: In a large mixing bowl, whip the cream cheese with an electric mixer or by hand for 1-2 minutes. Add the ricotta cheese and powdered sugar to the cream cheese in small increments and continue to whip until the mixture becomes smooth and creamy. Using a spatula, incorporate the cinnamon, vanilla extract, orange zest, chocolate chips, and chopped nuts into the mixture, and combine until evenly distributed. Serve with “cannoli chips” or waffle cookies. Enjoy! Recipe adapted from Feeding the Fraser’s Easy Cannoli Dip with Waffle Cones & Laura in the Kitchen’s Cannoli Dip - 2 Ways. By definition, dips are delicious sauces with a consistency thicker than condiments and are meant to be spread onto or dunked into other foods. Dips are typically accompanied by pita bread, crackers, raw vegetable slices, and tortilla chips, all of which serve as a utensil of sorts and provide a wonderful textural contrast. Dips are incredibly diverse, with so many different types existing all over the world. The Cannoli Dip is an American twist on an Italian favorite, the Romesco a Spanish staple, the Queso Fundido a cheesy Mexican classic, and the Baba Canoush a Lebanese essential. Each dip is so unique, but all encompass every flavor in one small bite. These recipes are simple to make and something everyone can share, making them the perfect snack. Whether it’s a party or a large family dinner, you can serve these dips at any sort of gathering. Placed in the center of the table, everyone can grab a spoonful and enjoy the deliciousness together. All of these recipes will leave you wanting to double dip!
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Romesco Ingredients: 1 large red bell pepper, quartered and deseeded 2 medium tomatoes, halved and deseeded ½ cup + 2 tablespoons olive oil 3-4 garlic cloves, halved 1-2 slices of stale bread, cubed and lightly toasted or ⅓ cup of bread crumbs ⅓ cup almonds, toasted or ¼ cup hazelnuts, blanched and toasted 1 teaspoon cayenne pepper or smoked paprika ½ to 1 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes 1 teaspoon sherry vinegar or red wine vinegar ½ lemon, juiced 2 tablespoons parsley, chopped
Instructions: Romesco is notorious for its use of roasted red peppers and tomatoes. For your convenience, you may prefer to use a 12 oz can of roasted red peppers and a 14 oz can of roasted or crushed tomatoes. However, the final product is fresher and tastier if you roast these ingredients yourself. To do this, place the bell peppers, cut side down, on a baking sheet covered in aluminum foil. Drizzle ½ tablespoon of olive oil and salt and pepper to taste. Broil in the oven for 6-8 minutes, or until the outside of the peppers are completely blackened. Transfer the blackened pepper to a bowl and cover with a lid or aluminum foil, allowing the pepper to steam and cook further as it cools. After the pepper has cooled enough to hold, place under cold running water. As you pull against the pepper, the charred skin should easily come off. Roughly chop the roasted peppers and set aside. To roast the tomatoes, begin by preheating the oven to 450 degrees. Place the tomatoes, cut side down, onto a baking sheet covered with aluminum foil. Drizzle ½ tablespoon of olive oil and salt and pepper to taste. Bake in the oven for 25-35 minutes, until the tomatoes become slightly charred. Set them aside to cool. Add 1 tablespoon of olive oil to a small pan over medium heat. Once the oil becomes hot, add the garlic cloves to the pan for 2-3 minutes. This will partially cook the garlic, removing its strong, raw taste. Set aside, letting the garlic and oil cool. Once the peppers, tomatoes, garlic, and olive oil have cooled sufficiently, add all ingredients to a food processor and pulse to your desired consistency. If the sauce is too thick, add a bit more olive oil. This recipe is easily customizable to your taste. Serve as a dip with chips and chopped vegetables or use as spread on a sandwich or on top of chicken. Enjoy! Recipe adapted from Helen Rennie’s Romesco - The Most Delicious Spanish Sauce, Food Wishes’ Romesco Sauce, & Meghan Splawn’s How to Make Spanish Red Pepper Sauce: Romesco.
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Queso Fundido Ingredients: 1 teaspoon vegetable oil 3 chorizos, casings removed, chopped into small pieces ¼ yellow onion, diced into small cubes 2 cups grated cheese, any cheese works but Monterey or Oaxaca Cheese are recommended
Instructions: Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Place a skillet over medium heat and heat the oil. Add the chorizo and onions. Stir frequently to cook evenly and preventavoid it from sticking to the bottom. This will take about 6-7 minutes to cook. Once cooked, remove the excess fat from the skillet or place the cooked chorizo onover a paper towel to absorb the fat. Then transfer over 3/4th of the chorizo into an oven-proof dish, reserving 1/4th of it to garnish when ready to serve, into an oven proof dish. Place the grated cheese over the chorizo and bake for about 10-12 minutes, or until the cheese is melted and bubbling. Remove from the oven and place over a heat proof surface. Garnish with the reserved chorizo placed atop over the melted cheese and serve warm with plenty of warm tortillas or tortilla chips. Recipe adapted from Mexico In My Kitchen’s Queso Fundido with Chorizo Recipe.
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Baba Ganoush Ingredients: 2 medium eggplants ¼ cup tahini 3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil 1 tablespoon greek yogurt, optional 2 garlic cloves ½ teaspoon sea salt Finely chopped parsley, for garnishPinch of smoked paprika or red pepper flakes, for garnish
Instructions: Begin by roasting the eggplants. This could be done in two different ways. One way is to cook the eggplants on athe grill until they areit is very soft and charred all over. Another way is to roast the eggplants wrapped in foil in anthe oven at 400 degrees for about 50 to 60 minutes. Once the eggplants are cooked, set them aside to cool. When cooled, peeled the skin from the vegetableeggplants. Next, cut the eggplant open and remove any big clumps of seeds. Then, place the flesh of the eggplant onto a strainer over a bowl and let stand for 20 minutes to remove excess water. Place the eggplant flesh, tahini, lemon juice, olive oil, yogurt, garlic, and salt in a food processor and pulse until smooth. Transfer the mixture to a serving dish and sprinkle with chopped parsley and smoked paprika or red pepper flakes. Serve with pita, pita chips and/or veggies. Recipe adapted from Love & Lemons’ Baba Ganoush and The Mediterranean Dish Easy Baba Ganoush Recipe.
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A Lesson on Hosting Words and Photos By: Logan Soss Food will always take a central seat in my life. Ever since I was a child, I was taught to appreciate complex flavors and pushed to try new foods by my parents. Yet, it wasn’t until I was growing up when I recognized my love of cooking and hosting meals, which came from my grandmother.
she served my cousin a small plate, who delightfully ate at the wings with her fingers. It was hilarious to see a kid being served with such fine dishware when my cousin wouldn’t have minded eating off of the floor if it meant she could still devour the sticky wings.
Diane Soss translated her passion for food into a catering business that she started, and then established a cafe named “Thyme to Eat” in the largest outlet mall in New York. Now retired, my grandma still cooks every day, keeping this love for cooking alive by hosting dinner parties and large holiday events. I have learned quite a lot from my grandma, not only about the wonders of the culinary industry but the art of hosting. I have ingrained these rules of hosting into my everyday life, and I want to share her two most valuable lessons with other food lovers.
I asked my grandma why she used a serving platter for the wings when she’d just have to wash the dish, and she explained that the act of plating draws out the importance of the food. By plating the dish, you recognize the care that went into preparing it. Even more so, before your audience tastes your dish they first must view it, and by presenting your meal on a serving platter, you elevate your company’s standards. As a result, I always try to plate my meals in a serving dish to properly accentuate the effort put into the dinner. It just seems right to plate a meal that took over an hour to cook on a serving platter.
You must present each dish on a serving platter, no matter what. My grandmother follows this rule religiously, and no matter how simple the dish is, she always serves it in a serving dish or plate. I’ll never forget when my 10-year-old cousin asked my grandma to make her chicken wings, to which my grandma promptly got up, heated the wings in the microwave oven, and transferred them onto a china platter. Setting the dish down at the table,
You must always have extra food for guests, no matter what. Every time I visit my grandparents’ house, even if it’s just to pick up a box of stuff or if I stop by before work, my grandma always will offer me a plate of food, no matter how long I’m planning on staying. This isn’t the polite side comment of offering food; my grandma will scour through her kitchen and come back with a menu of options.
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My grandma pretty much cooks a new recipe every day, so there might be a pot of food cooking on the stove, or she might offer leftovers from last night’s dinner or the night before, or grab dessert from the freezer that her friends introduced to her. To be a good host means to be prepared for unexpected guests at all times. But most importantly, it means to be welcoming. There is a keen beauty to being welcomed into a home with a plate of food. A warm sensation is felt when the love of food is shared, and what better way can this be expressed than by extending a plate to guests. And without fail, my grandma will always offer a plate. I’ve learned a lot from my grandma, and this is where I’ve developed my love of sharing
food with others. I love to watch my guests eat my meals, getting satisfaction from their reactions. While I might not have a fully-cooked meal ready to be served, I certainly offer my guests whatever is in the fridge and to stay for supper. As a child, I loved eating and trying new foods, and as I’ve grown older, I’ve developed a love for cooking food to share with others. Great pleasure comes from the act of hosting a meal, knowing that your hard work has brought people closer together to share a satisfying meal. And I can proudly thank my grandmother for teaching me the importance of hosting.
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Shopping for the Future Words By: Lauren Blaser Photos By: Lauren Blaser and Eileen Shelton
I was always sure that the day I got excited about any sort of functional lifestyle appliance would be the day my soul perished. The youth would be fully excavated from my body, and in its place a pitiful whisper of the child I once was... undeniably pragmatic and dull. I didn’t expect the day to come at the green age of twentyone. I unboxed my back-ordered Williams Sonoma tea kettle on a warm autumn afternoon, placing it on the stove with the level of caution you might reserve for a freshly risen dough. The cherry red color was a deliberate choice, intended to stand out amidst the overwhelming whiteness of my on-campus apartment. It was also a testament to the inspiration of the purchase: my old roommate Carmen. Red is Carmen’s color. She has a really powerful energy about her, one that leaves a lasting impression long after she’s left a room or stopped talking. She wears red often, but it’s her that complements the color (and not the other way around). She also really, really loves tea. Carmen brought a white kettle to the apartment we used to share with two friends, and although I’ve always been a fiend for mug-worthy drinks, I was hesitant to use the pot at first. “Don’t even ask,” She reassured me repeatedly. “Use it whenever.” And I did. There were weeks of winter during which I heated the kettle everyday, multiple times a day. I became attached to its thick black hook of a handle, and the way it gleamed when I wiped it down from stray stove grease. I couldn’t imagine living without it, so I bought one of my own. I compared brands and prices and appearances for a full week, all to settle on the same brand and model Carmen had. The only difference between mine and hers is the color, which I associate with her anyway.
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A red kettle was the first kitchen tool I bought of my own volition, and not because I absolutely needed it. I could have continued to microwave cups of water for hot chocolate and tea bags, the same way I did it for the twenty years leading up to life in my old apartment. I didn’t want to, though. Plus I figured I would carry the kettle with me to my first home post-graduation, whatever that space looked like and wherever it ended up. It would be a reminder of college friends, college nights, and college kitchens. Thus, a new era of my life has commenced. It is one in which practicality has an appeal. Initially, I was at a loss as to how this change of mind had come about, and when… but it hadn’t been as sudden a transition as I thought. Nearly a year ago, a friend received a fancy knife set with a wooden block sharpener for the holidays. To my surprise, it wasn’t disgust or confusion that I felt. It was envy. You kind of can’t be a fully actualized adult unless fresh garlic cloves are in your life, and hand-mincing garlic every week is a battle I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. The only proper solution is the stainless steel press that my roommate Molly brought with her to our kitchen last summer. I didn’t just wake up one morning and suddenly decide that a garlic press, of all things, was worth more than seven dollars. It just
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happened. Suddenly I was adding a twentyfour dollar stainless steel garlic smusher of my own to a shopping cart, and telling myself I would keep it forever. A common thread pulled through each of these practical investments is an ingrained tribute to someone of significance in my life. I’ve always been a sponge when it comes to the people I surround myself with--I soak in whatever they love and make those things my own if it feels right. Whatever I buy is not just for me. I’ll hold on to the items extra tightly, with the intention of sharing these pieces of those I love with the people I have yet to meet.
The ones I haven’t met yet. Significant other? Kids, if I have them? New friends? At about six years old, I watched Barbie Fairytopia for the first time, and my mom’s favorite scene was always when the fairy named Azura is shown lining up plate settings for a huge table, even though she’s only expecting a few guests. The extra spots, she explains, are for the people she doesn’t know yet, but expects to come across at some point. She wants to be ready. My mom used to repeat that line to me in earnest, and I would nod and smile, but think, ‘I don’t get it.’ When I pressed the “Confirm Order” button on the Williams Sonoma website, I was buying more than just a container for hot water. I was buying the foundation of an heirloom. A piece of my present that I’ll take with me to the future, to share with whomever I cross paths with, wherever we end up.
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From The Dining Table We sit around the table, young and old, in our squeaky chairs, chatting against the lovely howl of Sinatra music in the background. The dishes clang around, forming piles at the sink and stove top, embodying the loud but loving familial chaos that goes on in the kitchen when preparing a meal. A hearty red table cloth covers the dimples of my grandparents’ well-loved wooden dining table. The smooth fabric sits carefully underneath my Nonna’s fine white china, which gleams bright, welcoming, and empty, as if inviting a colorful feast to fill its blank canvas with saucey smears and diverse textures. The table is set precisely by my Nonna and enhanced with her signature decor: vintage candlesticks and an elegant vase with flowers to match. Savory smells from the kitchen sift to the table, heightening everyone’s excitement. Our anticipation finally eases as the seemingly never-ending dishes arrive; our table becomes covered with trays of pillowy, ricotta-layered lasagna, gritty polenta, creamy risotto, and fragrant meatballs covered in a sea of rich, red tomato sauce, as bright in flavor as it is in appearance. My Nonno’s signature minestrone soup and fresh salad, both crafted with a medley of vegetables straight from his backyard garden, come out alongside one of my aunt’s new and surely exquisite recipes. The sight is picturesque and grand, yet homey and familiar, with mix-matched bowls and pans littering every corner of space so that you can barely reach your fork. Each dish gets passed around. Everyone tries a taste of everything and leaves no culinary creation untouched. Eventually, all plates are covered as the dining table, leaving a delicious, abstract mosaic in front of each hungry guest. And when it’s time for seconds, the unsaid rule is to dig in, meaning my brother and I comically reach for the same spoon simultaneously. This is family-style dining. “What does family-style dining mean to you?”
Words By: Maya Floreani Graphics By: Meegan Minahan
My mom fondly recalls holidays in Guatemala, where she would enjoy a traditional feast of Lechón, stuffed Pierna, or tamales with her big extended family. Not only is the meal an experience, but the preparation is a show
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of its own, with multiple family members coming together to cook. Tamales involve the whole family in an assembly line, forming cornmeal masa and filling each with care. From preparation to table, family is always part of the process, making food an active and affectionate experience, full of socializing and buzzing movement. She describes familystyle as nostalgic, from sharing cooking responsibilities to the food itself. Everyone brings something unique to the table, filling it with the vibrant colors of tropical ingredients and the tempting aromas of hearty, holiday dishes. Similarly, my aunts emphasize the comforting feeling of sharing large platters of modest food at home and in restaurants. It is familiar, casual, and homey-- “simple, but always tasty,” like carbonara pasta. It fosters connectedness, “illuminating how sharing is such a huge
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component of connecting because frankly, it’s basically love.” They reminisce on the Italian cooking shared with them by my grandparents, who always expressed their love through their home-cooking, with its deep history, passed along generations. Within the food, there is shared culture, customs, and values that translate directly into the experience shared by the consumers. Beyond being physically nourishing, it is also nourishing to the soul. Authentic and relatable, family-style dining is an equalizer, putting everyone on the same level, where people eat the same food and are allowed to be themselves. My dad notes how everyone eating the same cuisine at the same time creates the ideal conversation piece. “The food is enhanced by the company around you,” he says. Through the intimate act of sharing a meal, relationships are built. My dad’s favorite past-time (perhaps quite literally) is breaking bread together. While it is a seemingly simple phrase, it holds deep significance in my family. To break bread is to share, to converse, and to spend quality time with one another. It is to love and to listen, to toast to one’s accomplishments, and to support in times of losses. In many cultures, food is love, and in the Italian culture, no less. Every minute is a blissful bite or a snippet of delicious conversation, as the two alternate in seamless harmony. When our mouths aren’t occupied with chewing, they are full of words that express raw emotion, vibrant passion, or sometimes, a reflective, telling silence. Breaking bread involves the physical touch of the act, but also the figurative breaking of cross-cultural boundaries and the forming of new relationships of trust; after all, in such an experience, one must be open to experiment, taking a little of everything. My friends and I have been brought closer together by family-style eating. From restaurant excursions, to potlucks and Friendsgiving, to having family dinner at each other’s houses, we learn from one another, share, and gain new appreciations for each other’s tastes and cultures. From Michela’s family, I learned to carefully
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as you can get to someone’s cultural identity and the roots of their family history. And while a meal and its fleeting flavors may seem temporary, the treasured memories last a lifetime. I find comfort in this fact; there is a lifetime of meals to be shared, enjoyed, and remembered. To me, this is the pleasure of life.
craft delicate gnocchis by hand, uneven and dimpled, like a child’s art project, which we all admired at dinner when it was served in a sage butter sauce. Kalea’s grandma prepares large platters of lumpia, or crispy Filipino egg rolls-- the perfect snacks to fuel our summertime conversations in the backyard. At our favorite tapas restaurant, my friends and I savor small plates, assuring that everyone gets a taste. Golden empanadas, croquettas, garlicky camarones, and my favorite, caramelized dates wrapped in smokey bacon, all come out one after the other, landing on our plates and gone in a flash, prompting us to call the waiter for our next round. Emily and I explore authentic Chinese hotpot with our friend James, who also gives us a lesson in the proper use of chopsticks and the importance of serving food to your friends. Food is sharing. It’s friendships. It’s personal, as close
When we go out to dinner, it is not much different. We nearly always order in a family-style manner so that we can all try a bit of everything. Upon our request, the restaurant lines up tables of different shapes and sizes to accommodate our group. The long, make-shift table is eventually filled with meals, just as it is at home. We might sit here for hours, sharing stories in between spoonfuls. In the lulls of conversation, we serve our neighbors. Sometimes hands reach over one another for the last bite, arms entangled in a dance of passion for the flavor of life. When everyone’s full and content, we linger at the table for perhaps another hour or two, brimming with satisfaction and enjoying the company, taking in the ambiance of authenticity. So, what does “family-style” really mean when it comes to the context of food? Perhaps the best answer to the question is heard at the dinner table itself, in between bites-- in the small chatters, the belly laughs, the silverware scraping the plate clean, and the sharing itself as we reach for more, break the warm, crusty bread, and serve one another-- the sounds of a universal language of love.
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Flæskesteg Words By: Margaret Kuffner Photos By: Ngan Tran and Eileen Shelton Imagine your life being transformed into a winter wonderland where snow slowly falls, Christmas trees are adjourned with sparkling lights, and people gather with happiness as they drink hot chocolate and eat spiced cookies. This is what Danish Christmas is like: a magical experience where time doesn’t exist and I felt like I lived in a snowglobe. Christmas in Denmark involves cookies, markets, trees, but most importantly hygge. Hygge is a Danish word that truly cannot be translated into English. It is a feeling of being warm and cozy while being surrounded by people you love. Hygge is snuggling up with family under the warm glow of candlelight and experiencing the pure moment. Danes turn Christmas into pure magic with hygge, their unmatched happiness, and their longlasting traditions. Christmas time was the pinnacle of my
exchange and we elaborately celebrated for four whole days. My family had a live Christmas tree with real burning candles and I was overcome with joy as I linked hands with my host family and danced around the flickering tree singing Danish Christmas carols. Hygge encompasses the nation as tables are set with Royal Dansk settings and families enter the kitchen to prepare a traditional feast. Flæskesteg, juicy roast pork, is assembled by parents as children’s excitement grows once the ribbensteg crisps in the oven. Ribbensteg, the rind of the pork, is a coveted element that families fight over; no eating the ribbensteg without eating the succulent pork it is attached to. The pork’s aroma encompasses the house as families await Santa’s arrival and grandmothers pass down decade-old recipes in the kitchen.
Flæskesteg Ingredients: 2.5-pound pork loin, rind on (visit your local butcher shop) 5 bay leaves 2-3 teaspoons coarse salt 1 medium onion, chopped 2 large carrots, peeled and chopped 2 cups water
Instructions: Preheat the oven to 440°F. Using a sharp knife score deep grooves, about ¼ inch thick and right up to the roast, every ½ inch. Rub the roast thoroughly with salt, ensuring you get between each groove. Place the bay leaves in between the grooves. In a roasting pan, add the onion, carrots, and 2 cups of water. Note: the vegetables and juice can be used to create a sauce later. Place the roast in a horizontal position and level in the roasting pan. Roast the pork for 15 mins at 440°F. Decrease the temperature to 400°F and roast until the core temperature is 150°F. If the water in the pan evaporates during cooking, add more. The roast will take approximately 1.5 hours, and at the end broil the roast for 3-5 min to ensure the ribbensteg are perfectly crispy.
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Danes are not ones to eat vegetables but three different types of potatoes as their side dishes; hvide kartofler (white boiled potatoes), brunede kartofler (brown sugar potatoes), and chips. To add color to the dinner table, there is rodkål (pickled red cabbage) or brunsauce (gravy).
Our Christmas potatoes were grown in our neighbor’s garden and held a taste like no other. Potatoes are a staple food and for Christmas, Danes elevate the flavor with brunede kartofler. This dish combats the saltiness of the pork with miniature potatoes covered in sugary caramel.
Brunede Kartofler Ingredients: 1 pound small new potatoes 1 cup white sugar 5 tablespoons butter
Instructions: Peel the potatoes and boil until fully cooked. Set aside to cool. In a medium saucepan, melt the sugar over low heat: carefully watch the sugar until a light brown color is reached. Stir in the butter until fully incorporated.. Add the cooled potatoes to the sugar mixture and mix until the potatoes are fully coated in the sugar mixture. Serve warm.
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For dessert, families devour a simple risalamande to finish off the magical evening. Rice pudding is food for the nisse (elves) so nostalgia filled the air while eating this cold cream rice pudding filled with sliced almonds and topped with a warm, sweet cherry sauce. The bowl of pudding has one whole almond within it and whoever finds the almond wins the mandle gave (almond gift) and receives good luck for the year. If a family member finds the almond, they conceal the secret until the pudding is gone, creating a fun game for everyone. My stomach was about to explode but I reached over the candles, snagged the last bite, and found the almond. The game transcends generations bringing families together through friendly competition while enhancing the hygge.
Risalamande Ingredients: 1 cup arborio rice 1 ¼ cups water 2 teaspoons lemon zest 4 cups milk 4 ounces peeled almonds, chopped 2 cups heavy whipping cream ¼ cup powdered sugar 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
Instructions: For the risalamande, in a medium saucepan boil the water, rice, and lemon zest. Boil for 3 minutes, then add the milk and return the mixture to a boil. Cover and simmer for 30-35 minutes, ensuring you stir the rice occasionally. Increase the frequency of your stirring for the last 10 minutes of cooking to prevent burning. Stir in the chopped almonds. Let the rice cool completely and then chill for 6 hours or preferably overnight. Beat the cream until it is thickened. Add the sugar and vanilla, ensuring not to overmix the cream. Fold the cream into the rice mixture until there are no clumps left, and there is a smooth consistency. Add only one full peeled almond. Recipe Adapted from The Daring Gourmet’s Risalamande
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Cherry Sauce Ingredients: 1 ½ cups pitted cherries, fresh or frozen ½ cup water 3 tablespoons sugar 1 tablespoon unsalted butter 1 tablespoon lemon juice 1 tablespoon cornstarch, dissolved in water ½teaspoon almond extract
Instructions: In a medium saucepan, combine the cherries, water, sugar, butter, and lemon juice. Bring the mixture to a boil, reduce the heat, and simmer until the cherries are mostly reduced yet some pieces still exist. Stir in the cornstarch and cook until the sauce thickens. Take off the heat, and stir in the almond extract. Serve warm over the risalamande.
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Our Dinner Table
Words and Photos By: Gillian Mahoney
out the trio as the youngest child. He likes to remind me of his mischievous behavior around his siblings, whether it be pulling his sister’s hair or pranking her friends. When it was time to sit down for dinner, these personalities melded into one family identity. Everyone sat at the same table and shared the same food. Regardless of any height or age differences between the siblings, everything was level in the dining room. But my dad still kept up his antics. He writes, “often I would protest about eating vegetables, and at times would try to hide them with little success as my mom was on to me.” When asked about what lingers in their memories, daily activities and certain spoken words fade away. What remains are images of their mother and father at the heads of the table, mediating conversations and offering counsel. My nana always made a home-cooked meal, and a chicken and shrimp dish was a favorite among the Mahoney kids.
The dinner table. The cornerstone of the household. The great equalizer. The source of calm after a hectic day. The place to recharge, refuel, and reconnect. And above all, the place where familial bonds are strengthened and traditions are established. All of this my dad, aunt, and uncle recognize as the core of their family mealtimes growing up. The dinner table stands out as a symbol of togetherness, both in the past and present. It’s the place to share love through sharing food.
Looking back, the sounds of laughter and a strong sense of togetherness were focal points in their memories. Sitting around the table united them. As my dad notes, when everyone was gathered over a shared meal, they could shed all of their worries. Their proximity to one another sparked their personalities, amplifying them and pushing them to be their honest selves. Even if no one remembers exactly what they were saying or doing, those nightly conversations had special meaning. The individuals that lead separate lives during the day were reunited with one common need: support from the ones they loved.
When my dad, Auntie Pat, and Uncle John were kids, the Mahoney household held a family dinner each night. Uncle John is the oldest, and he assumes the responsibility of watching over his brother and sister. I still see these characteristics now as he offers the family words of wisdom at holiday gatherings, aiming to bring all of the generations together as he reflects on the values of love and support that come from reuniting a few times a year. Auntie Pat, known as “Perfect Pat” to her brothers, is the middle child. Even today, she is the emblem of this perfection, as she is always selfless, thoughtful, and compassionate. My dad rounds
The meals they shared were part of that support. When my nana took the time to prepare dinner, be it my dad’s favorite lamb chops or Auntie Pat’s treasured lasagna, she sent a message to her family. She didn’t have to cook the most elaborate meal to tell them that all she wanted was to see them happy, fed, and deepening their connections with one another. When my dad, aunt, and uncle look back at their childhoods, family dinner allowed them to stand still in a world full of movement. They would grow up and their personalities would change, but the pull toward sharing food would always be there. “It helps us to be part of each other’s
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Our Foundation lives,” Auntie Pat writes. When the Mahoneys sat down together, “[they] had laughs and good times.” They could put behind them the worries of the day and focus on the love and acceptance they felt from those surrounding them. They could discuss their days and hear different perspectives on the events they experienced. In this sense, dinner was a time to remain connected and catch up in the business of work and school. Over time, not much has changed. As the siblings reflect on family dinners with their children, they still engage in honest conversations. They still hear laughter around the table. Auntie Pat still prepares lasagna, a favorite with my cousins. My dad sometimes spends over an hour in the kitchen, hard at work on salmon or stir fry. Year after year spent surrounded by my grandparents’ careful moderation of open conversation carried over to my dad, aunt, and uncle as they oversaw their tables. “It was always very important for [my dad] to prepare a delicious, healthy meal for [me]. It was another way to show [his] love. [He] cherished our meals together and the conversations we would have.” My cousin Erin, who grew up with Auntie Pat’s homecooked meals, shares her mother’s love of laughter around the table. She sees the same importance in slowing down and catching up with her mom, dad, and sister, Emily. Even now as she has moved out of her childhood home, sharing food holds the same values. When she sits at the table with others, she notes, “it means that you value the people you are sharing food with and you want to dedicate that time to them. When it is a home-cooked meal, it means that someone took the time to prepare something special for those eating the meal, an act of love.” Through past and present, the dinner table still stands strong as the source of togetherness for families. There is nowhere to hide as family members sit facing one another, talking, forming connections, serving themselves the same meal that someone worked hard to make. At the forefront, Uncle John writes, “We were just a family. We were who we were, we were together, and we knew that this was our foundation.”
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A Slice of Pie: Tart a L’Onion
I owe my love of food to my mother and my family. My earliest and fondest memories have always begun in the kitchen and ended at the Words By: Emanuel Louime table, and like many Haitian families, the sharing of food became one of our most important Photos By: Ngan Tran methods of bonding. It didn’t matter how distant the connections were; whether I was bringing leftover donuts from my high school job to share with friends, or waking up late on Christmas day to cook a quiche with my mom, food has always made the moments I spend with others feel just a little more special. Every time I make this tart, the entire experience, from the smell of caramelized onions to the crackle of the crust, makes me recall fond memories with my family. I might be reminded of crying with my sister while slicing onions or tiptoeing around the kitchen to be extra careful with “grandma’s special pie dish.” In sharing this recipe, I hope you’re able to make bonds and memories with the people important to you as well.
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Ingredients: Crust 1 ¼ cups all purpose flour ¼ teaspoon salt ½ cup unsalted butter, frozen, cut into ½-inch pieces 4 tablespoons ice water Filling ¼ cup butter 5 white onions, sliced thinly 1 tablespoon all purpose flour 4 eggs beaten lightly nutmeg ½ cup heavy cream ½ cup milk ¼ cup gruyere cheese (optional)
Instructions: Preheat the oven to 375 °F. To make your crust, combine your flour, salt, and butter in a large bowl. Cut the butter into the flour mixture using a fork until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Add your ice water and knead until the dough forms a shaggy consistency, place into an airtight container, and refrigerate until you are ready to use it. To make your filling, combine your butter, white onions, and salt in a large skillet over medium-low heat. Cook until the onions are softened, translucent, and just beginning to brown. Add your flour, stir to combine, and let the mixture cook briefly, about 30 seconds, before adding your milk and heavy cream one at a time, fully incorporating between. Let the mixture cook until slightly thickened; add a pinch of nutmeg. Incorporate your four beaten eggs once the mixture is fully cooled, and season to taste with salt and pepper. Roll out your pie dough and drape it into your 9-inch pan. Par-bake for 10 minutes. Add your filling and gruyere cheese. Bake for approximately 30 minutes at 375°F, or until the custard has set and the crust is browned. Let cool for at least 5 minutes or serve cold. Garnish with parsley, chives, or green onions you’d like, and enjoy!
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A Slice of Pie: Apple Pie Words By: Lilly Mathieu Photos By: Ngan Tran
The image of apple pie arrives synchronously with thoughts of tradition, seemingly fit for an American postage stamp. But for years, I’ve neglected to understand where the idea of apple pie diverges from its stereotypical trademark and becomes the authentic, meaningful element of my family that I’ve discovered today. As my mother retells, my great-grandmother never failed to make an apple pie on Sunday, or on any other occasion with guests. At the impending arrival of a visitor, there would be an apple pie in the oven. Whether she only had four apples to spare or an abundant ten, there was no excuse, only an infinite scheme of modifications. One of her most recognizable adjustments was the “Crisco” vegetable shortening, as World War II led to the rationing of butter.
And her constant choice of Granny Smith apples—with their often unliked tartness delivering affordability—made her recipe beautifully unique and tailored to the fabric of her life. I found something so remarkable about the fluidity of her recipe. She managed to shape a pie around the circumference of life’s unexpected hand to dependably welcome every mouth that stumbled upon her kitchen. While for years I’ve eaten a slice of her apple pie, recreated by my mother, my grandmother, and even myself at Thanksgiving, I never imagined how it threads a generational story together. So, in her memory, I present Helen Margaret Jennings Trainor’s (1898-1990) famous apple pie.
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Ingredients: Crust 2 cups all-purpose flour ½ teaspoon salt ⅔ cup shortening ⅓ cup ice water ¼ cup whole milk Filling ¾ -1 cup sugar 1-2 tablespoons flour ¾ teaspoon cinnamon ½ teaspoon nutmeg 6 cups of Granny Smith apples 2 tablespoons butter 1 tablespoon lemon juice
Instructions: To prepare the crust, mix the flour, salt, and shortening until combined with a crumbled texture. Then, slowly add the ice-cold water, using a fork to blend. Once combined, split it into two sections. Flouring your surface, so the dough will not stick, roll out one of the sections of your dough to prepare the crust for the bottom of the pie plate. Grease the bottom of a glass pie plate generously with unsalted butter and dust with flour. Then move the rolled-out bottom layer of dough to the plate, pressing it softly to fit its frame. Preheat the oven to 425 °F and begin to prepare the filling. Mix the sugar, flour, cinnamon, and nutmeg until blended and set aside. Peel, slice, and cut the apples into chunky 1-inch pieces. Returning to the pie plate, add half of the sugar mixture to the plate and pile in half of the apple slices, tossing them to coat them in the sugar mixture. Then add in the remaining apple slices and the rest of the sugar mixture. Once the apples are evenly coated in the sugar mixture, scatter thin, square pats of butter over the top of the filling, and coat with lemon juice.
Roll out the remaining section of dough to prepare the top layer of crust. Use the diameter of the pie plate to approximate the necessary size of the crust, but remember to account for its need to go over the filling as well. Placing the crust on top of the pie plate, use the tines of a fork to seal and crimp the edges of the dough on the plate. With a knife, place thin ½ inch slits in the top layer of crust to allow for the release of heat when baking. Brush the top crust with whole milk to create a crisp, matte, and classic pie appearance. If you wish to experiment with more complex pie designs, a lattice crust, which resembles the pattern of a weaved basket, is simple in practice, yet promises to impress. To recreate this top crust, roll out your dough to the same circle shape, and slice 12 1-inch strips. Lay 6 of your strips of dough vertically across the top of the filling, placing them in order according to their length, with the longer pieces at the center and the shorter strips towards the sides. Then, in the same length-ordering fashion, weave the remaining six strips in between and perpendicular to the ones previously placed. To do this, fold everyother strip back when placing down the piece of the next layer, then returning them to their place, to reveal a weaved pattern with the new strip. For each successive placement, fold back the three strips you did not previously use, and continue this method until the lattice pie crust is complete. When finished, trim the edges of the dough strips if they hang off of the plate, and crimp the edges to the bottom layer of crust. Place on the lower shelf of the oven for 50-60 minutes, and proceed to insert a knife into the slits in the pie crust to test if the apples are soft and tender. Enjoy!
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