Hot Takes by Crème de Cornell

HOT TAKES fall 2021

note from the editor The love of food gathers the Crème de Cornell executive board and creative staff together. In this edition, however, our theme captures divisions among the staff as members reveal their controversial opinions. Upon the decision to make Hot Takes our theme for this mid-semester magazine, some writers took to their laptops to share their unique, bizzare, and unheard-of cravings. Others took the theme more literally, sharing their thoughts on the spiciest dishes known to man. From málà huǒ guō to black licorice, flip through this magazine as we get our hands dirty with these sizzling hot takes. This edition should shock you. It should upset you. It should challenge you. Whether or not you’re drooling as you flip through each page doesn’t exactly matter to us. We want to push you to try new things and take a stand true to your stubborn foodie opinions. Remember, taste is unique to each person!

Alex Castroverde Editor in Chief

Filipino Spaghetti

Please Stop Buying This Cheese

I Hate Ketchup

The Apple Pie of My Eye

CTB Could Do Better

The King of Painful Spice

Troubled Truffles

If It’s Not Chocolate, It’s Not Candy

Frosting Takes the Cake

So Good There’s Never Plenty

Designed by Muffin Laosirichon, Ashley Jian, Helen Sturman, Kwan Asadathorn, Jenn Huang, Alexa DeLott Cover Photo by Abby Reing 2

Spaghetti

Filipino Spaghetti By Alex Castroverde I could complain about my least favorite foods in this issue. However, in a positive light, I chose to talk about one of my childhood dishes: Filipino Spaghetti. Growing up with both Filipino and Korean food, it was a rarity for my Korean mother to try to cook my Filipino father’s dishes, but once in a while, she would make this banana ketchup spaghetti dish. Yes, you read that correctly— banana ketchup. Instead of the normal Italian red sauce flavored with some basil, Filipino Spaghetti is heavily based on the flavors of pork, beef, and banana ketchup. Although this dish might seem unconventional, I’m excited to share my recipe with you below. Don’t forget to keep an open mind! Banana Ketchup Ingredients: 3 large bananas 2 garlic cloves 1 cup apple cider vinegar 1 red onion ⅓ cup tomato paste ½ cup dark brown sugar 2 tbsp smoked paprika ½ teaspoon ground cinnamon ½ teaspoon ground nutmeg ¼ teaspoon ground cloves 2 cups water Filipino Spaghetti Ingredients: 1 box spaghetti noodles 1 tbsp olive oil 1 large onion, finely chopped 2 cloves garlic, minced 1 lb ground beef 1 lb ground pork 1 cup of homemade Banana Ketchup or store-bought Jufran Banana Ketchup ½ cup of white sugar 1 can of spaghetti sauce 2 hot dogs, sliced on a bias 1 cup water 2 cups shredded cheese (any type)

Banana Ketchup Steps: 1. Blend the bananas, spices, garlic, onion, and tomato paste and blend in a food processor or blender until smooth, about 5 minutes 2. Add the blended banana mixture, brown sugar, apple cider vinegar, and water into a saucepan. 3. Bring the mixture to a boil on high heat. 4. Once it begins to boil, bring the mixture to a low heat and let it simmer for 1 hour, stirring every 10 minutes. If it becomes too thick, slowly add water to the correct consistency you would like it to be. To check if the mixture is done cooking, dip a metal spoon in it and see if the banana ketchup coats the metal spoon. The mixture should be opaque. 6. Taste for seasoning and adjust accordingly with salt and pepper. 7. Optionally, after heating, if you want to, strain your ketchup to have a smoother consistency. Let it cool to room temperature before storing the ketchup. Filipino Spaghetti Steps: 1. Cook spaghetti according to box directions. 2. While the spaghetti is cooking, in a separate saucepan large enough to hold all of the cooked spaghetti and sauce, add olive oil and heat it on medium heat. 3. When the pan is hot, add the finely chopped white onions and minced garlic. 4. Once the onions become translucent and the garlic is fragrant, about 3 minutes, add the ground beef, pork, and hot dog pieces. 5. Add the spaghetti sauce, banana ketchup, and water to the saucepan with the onions and meat, on low heat. 6. Once heated, add the noodles to the sauce mixture and combine everything together. 7. Remove the pan from the heat and add the shredded cheese.

PHOTO: Abby Reing

Please Stop Buying This Cheese By Grace Wilkey

No, I’m not mad at you, just a little disappointed. As someone who has worked for an artisan cheese store for about three years, I’ve learned a thing or two about cheeses. I’ve savored Rogue River Blue, the first American-made cheese to ever win Grand Champion at the World Cheese Awards, and I’ve salivated over the pudding-like center of the annually-anticipated Rush Creek Reserve. I know good cheese when it hits my tongue and let me tell you something.

Instead, elevate your cheese nights by buying cheeses that showcase the seasonality of specialty and artisan cheese. By doing so, you’ll have a deeper, more profound appreciation for cheese. But cheese isn’t seasonal, you might say to yourself. Well, just like your opinions on Trader Joe’s goat cheese, you’re wrong. Many people don’t know that the flavors, aromas, and textures of cheeses depend on what the dairy animal eats and her lactation cycle. In autumn, the diets of dairy animals shift from summer’s green grass to winter’s dry hay, which means milk with low moisture content and a high concentration of fat and protein.

As the seasons change, head to your local farmer’s market to find the best produce additions to your cheeseboards. Most importantly, don’t be afraid to do some research when shopping for cheese. Cheesemakers and cheese experts alike love sharing their pairing suggestions with budding cheese lovers on their websites.

A couple of must-haves for any season Finally, when building your board, allow each and any cheese are charcuterie, wedge to stand alone so that you can sample several curated pairings throughout the night. roasted nuts, dark chocolate, honey, and a fresh baguette. Basically, dump the blueberry vanilla If you do sample Rush Creek Reserve, pop open a goat cheese for a truly artisanal cheese bag of your classic, kettle-cooked potato chips for tasting experience. Was that so hard to an indulgent experience. hear?

But why, you ask, crying as you furiously shake this magazine, begging for Trader Joe himself to come down from the dairy heavens, blueberry vanilla goat cheese in hand. But alas, Joe isn’t here to calm you down with his terrible cheese. It’s just me.

No matter how many positive things I can say about this cheese, I still dislike it. It’s massproduced and overhyped. I can’t allow it to be on charcuterie boards any longer.

First, start by picking out a few styles of cheese. For a group of five, I opt for about three to four cheeses. Two cheeses should be crowd-pleasers for easy snacking, such as fresh goat cheese or chevre, just not the blueberry vanilla log, and my personal favorite, a clothbound cheddar. The other remaining cheeses should be representative of the season. If you’re shopping for winter cheeseboards, I’d recommend bark-wrapped cheeses such as Jasper Hill Farm’s Harbison or Uplands Cheese’s Rush Creek Reserve. Then, think about what flavors pair with your cheeses and select your pairings.

Brace yourself: The blueberry vanilla goat cheese from Trader Joe’s is not good cheese.

I must admit, as a cheese nerd myself, I kind of see where you’re coming from. That alluring, royal purple of the blueberry shell starkly contrasts the bright white goat cheese, calling everyone’s eyes to the board. Even more so, the sweetness of the blueberry paired with the speckles of vanilla bean traced throughout the rich, tangy cheese tricks your mind into thinking it’s dessert. And with the blink of an eye, it’s always the first cheese to go every wine and cheese night.

Now that we’ve had this little chat, I wanted to share a few tips that I keep in mind when cheese shopping. It’s one thing to chastise you and your terrible buying habits, it’s another to leave you in the dust to fend for yourself in the cold aisles of the grocery store.

PHOTO: Grace Wilkey

When you grocery shop, do you mindlessly stare at the cheese section attempting to try something new only to buy the same thing each time? Is your go-to that blueberry vanilla goat cheese from Trader Joe’s? If you answered no, you’re free to go! You have great cheese shopping habits. If you answered yes, keep reading. You and I should have a little talk.

Rather, let’s celebrate the natural flavors of the milk and note the subtle differences between each cheese as the leaves start to change colors and snow coats the ground.

PHOTO: Grace Wilkey

The result? Rich milk that produces a dreamy decadence in cheeses. Other seasons showcase different grazing habits, but you can learn about that on your own time. We’re still on my time. Circling back to this infamous goat cheese, one last time:

Why suffocate the glorious natural flavors and aromas of cheese with imitation vanilla and smushed blueberries? PHOTO: Grace Wilkey

The Apple Pie of My Eye By Caroline Geller Ever since I was a little girl, I have loved the holidays. There’s something about the season that makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Whether it’s being with my family, the break from school, or the holiday cheer, I can’t wait for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Hanukkah. Though I always look forward to the last Thursday of November, the one thing I am less than excited about is the food. Thanksgiving food always gets a lot of hype, but I have never loved it.

I think that turkey is dry and flavorless, I hate stuffing, and I believe that the marshmallow sweet potato casserole is an absolute travesty. PHOTO: Emily Lam

“Wait, you’re not allergic to ke-“ I kick my friend underneath the table. She’s right—I’m not allergic to ketchup. But I can’t have all seven people at this table staring at me with varying levels of disappointment, disapproval, and dismay strewn across their faces. I decide to keep my too-controversial-of-an-opinion, toosizzling-hot-of-a-take to myself. My deep dislike of ketchup and I are safe another day. It’s not just ketchup. It is a well-known fact that tomatoes are disgusting, and I’m sure that any sensible person would agree with that. So how did ketchup, tomato’s sickeningly sugary and overlyprocessed child, become a crowd favorite that is adored far and wide regardless to whom it is presented? This mind-boggling reverence spans from the Royal family all the way in Buckingham Palace to drunk Cornell freshmen in our beloved Nasties.

I HATE 8

Never have I seen anything more nauseating than ketchup being squirted out of a bottle, juice spluttering in all directions—this factory-made, chemical-packed goop piling up on my plate. The mountain of red only grows as the pink liquid separated from it flows down, drenching and destroying my perfect fries and burger. I shudder at the thought of this cold, sour condiment polluting my plate—much less my body. You see, my body is a temple and I will selectively reap the nourishment of tomatoes through its other superior forms. It may be difficult to relate to; I have trouble understanding myself as well. Tomatoes are a no, but marinara sauce is a yes. Tomato soup is comforting, but ketchup ruins everything. It’s alright to have a complex palette and it’s alright to hate ketchup. But, until people realize this, I’ll continue to be “allergic” to ketchup and stick to my trusted honey mustard and sweet & sour sauce.

The only way I can down a slice of turkey is smothered in cranberry sauce, the saving grace of Thanksgiving food, along with mashed potatoes. In my opinion, turkey is just a worse version of chicken, that requires much more time and effort to prepare. Furthermore, although stuffing is a fan-favorite, I personally cannot stand it. The combination of stale bread with cooked celery and eggs is not all that appealing to me. The redeeming dishes of this dreadful holiday dinner are the cranberry sauce and mashed potatoes. The cranberry sauce adds so much flavor to this meal; the tart, sweet, slightly citrusy flavor of the cranberry sauce adds zest to the otherwise bland, arid turkey. Meanwhile, mashed potatoes are almost ignored on Thanksgiving, despite their constant praise on any other given day.

Throughout the entire meal, I’m only thinking of one thing: dessert. While I don’t love the entire main course, dessert makes up for Thanksgiving dinner’s every flaw. Pumpkin pie is fine, slightly sweet with hints of cinnamon and nutmeg, but the star of the dessert table is the apple pie. A quintessential American dessert, apple pie is decadent and delicious, covered in melty vanilla ice cream or homemade creme fraiche for a touch of lightness, truly the apple of my eye. Though I may not be turkey’s biggest fan—or stuffing, sweet potato casserole, the list goes on—I do love Thanksgiving. My entire family gathers to be together and celebrate and to give thanks for all that we have, which is truly my favorite part of Thanksgiving. Everyone goes around the table and says something they are thankful for, then we all sit by the fire and spend time catching up with our loved ones.

There is something so heartwarming about all being together, the low hum of conversation and laughter a constant background noise, drinking warm hot chocolate and taking shelter from the cold, bitter November winds that makes me look forward to Thanksgiving every year.

By Janice Jung

KETCHUP

PHOTO: Jonah Gershon

B o B T d T C C ould c r e t t be By

In my neck of the woods, making a bad bagel is worthy of capital punishment. In Ithaca, however, that is not the case as I have had the unfortunate opportunity to sample “bagels” from Collegetown Bagels. Now that I’ve been in Ithaca for almost a year, I turn to fond memories of what a real bagel is. Today, I’m here to educate the Ithaca consumers as to what that might be. Collegetown Bagels, meet your maker: Legal Grounds. Legal Grounds was a quaint coffee shop a block away from my high school in Jersey City. While it wasn’t the most luxurious or well-known, I found solace there during high school. By week three of my freshman year, I was classified as a regular, ordering the same thing everytime: an egg and cheese on a sesame bagel with a large black coffee.

Remembering the smell of over-easy eggs cooked on a greasy griddle that had already been working for several hours overwhelms me with nostalgia. All those five dollar bills exchanged for breakfast each morning were the best purchases I’ve made in my lifetime. That tiny coffee shop made every early morning commute worth it. Thank you, Legal Grounds, for the best breakfast for four years.

nder Alexa

bu Wedg

It was a shame to see them close after I left for college. Ever since then, I have been on a journey to find amazing bagels in all kinds of places, hoping to replicate the joy I felt holding the warm, tinfoil coated sesame bagel. I travelled from the Hamptons to the small bakery in my hometown. Then, when I transferred to Cornell this past spring, I came across the hype of Collegetown Bagels that townies and Cornell students alike backed. People raved about their insanely large sandwich menu and the different cream cheeses that they have to offer as well as the decent coffee. As the bagel expert that I am, I had to pay Collegetown Bagels a visit. When I went for my inspection, I got my go-to of an egg and cheese on a sesame bagel. Upon first bite, I had some comments, starting with the bill. Why is it twice the amount I paid at Legal Grounds? The bagels felt like they were made a week or two ago and were way smaller than expected. The egg was the biggest disappointment of it all. Expecting a hot, runny yolk to drip down my bagel and ultimately stain my shirt, I was met with a lukewarm, jiggly “egg” mixture. Walking away from this experience, I was disappointed but I knew my inspection was far from over.

I returned to Collegetown Bagels another day to sample one of their numerous sandwiches, making sure to steer away from the bagels. I ordered the Cayuga Croissant, and anxiously anticipated my phone’s buzz, telling me that my order was ready.

Unwrapping the plastic shell, I was met with an alluring aroma of creamy avocado and earthy mushrooms. I pulled apart the two halves to unveil the runny parsley garlic dressing and tangled alfalfa sprouts. Over the summer, when it was in season, the tangy Triphammer Falls with its sunset hues could not be beaten on a hot day. It was no egg and cheese on a sesame bagel, but at that moment, I knew I had found my regular order. After their redemption, I returned to Collegetown Bagels to order many more vegetarian sandwiches,

such as the Jonah Jive. I must admit, though, I still long for those nostalgic egg and cheese sandwiches from Legal Grounds. Sometimes when my cravings hit, I trek to North Campus and stop by Louie’s Lunch for that unmistakable, greasy sandwich. Because I never got my true bagel fix, I sought out other breakfast options for myself and hope you try out some of my favorite spots. For a great coffee experience, Gimme Coffee has returned to Gates Hall for the new academic year, and their croissants and coffee are the best in Ithaca. For a sweet start to your morning, Chatty Cathy has excellent smoothie and acai bowls. And for late night breakfast cravings, Louie’s Lunch offers good breakfast sandwiches and are open until 3am. I’m still searching for the perfect Ithaca Bagel, but at least I found my favorite sandwich shop.

PHOTO: Abby Reing

Unfortunately, my spice tolerance as a child was quite poor, which is surprising, considering how much my parents loved eating spicy foods when they were younger. We mixed Lao Gan Ma’s Crispy Chili Oil sauce into virtually any meat, vegetable, or grainbased meal, but I would always add half the amount of others so that I could survive the pain. However, Lao Gan Ma lacks the true tingling sensation of the Sichuan peppercorns, and I was severely unprepared for what I experienced in the mom-and-pop Sichuan shops (which, in my opinion, are infinitely better than the stiff $200 restaurants my relatives often chose for us). Thankfully, my spice tolerance has improved since then, and I often regret not sampling a greater variety of authentic foods on my trip. These days, I would be the one dragging my parents to Sichuan just for another heavenly taste. There are several famous málà dishes that I love to make at home or order from authentic restaurants now. Here are a few of my favorites:

PHOTO: Cassidy Tryon

By Connie Le When I was fifteen, my parents dragged me around the depths of China in the sweltering summer heat. I say “dragged” because, at the time, I was not thrilled to spend the summer before high school visiting swarms of unfamiliar relatives in a country without Google or YouTube. But something that I absolutely loved—and now regret not doing more— was eating the rich and flavorful cuisines unique to each province. From world-famous duck in Beijing to freshly-caught fish in Qing Dao, I tasted and savored it all. Yet, the best cuisine that I tried, one that I still crave today, was from Sichuan. 12

I fondly nicknamed Sichuan the “King of Painful Spice” because of its signature Sichuan peppercorns and chili peppers that create málà, a form of spice that numbs the tongue, lips, and anything else it touches. These famous peppercorns are often paired with aromatics like garlic, ginger, and scallion to add complexity and a new depth of flavor to the initial spiciness. The burn lingers even when I pick off the cooked peppercorns from the final dish; I start to sweat and my hands become clammy, but I can’t stop myself from taking another bite.

A Classic Comfort: Dan Dan Mein Dan dan mein are spicy noodles, tossed in an incredible chili oil sauce and mixed with preserved mustard greens and ground pork. Although the authentic version is commonly topped with toasted peanuts, I like to add peanut sauce directly into the sauce for more richness. These noodles remain one of my all time favorites. The kick from the peppercorns is paired with pickled vegetables, which offer a crisp and sweet finish to the dish. Although I make this at home, my favorite dan dan mein vendor is Very Fresh Noodles, a hand-pulled and hand-pressed Chinese noodle store in New York City’s Chelsea Market. Their beautiful and intensely flavorful sauce makes me forget my fatigue and takes me back to my childhood adventures in Sichuan. A Soy Delight: Mapo Tofu Mapo tofu traditionally includes ground beef, but I prefer to make this fiery dish vegetarian. The málà sauce soaks into the soft, silken tofu, which helps quell some (but not all) of the spiciness. With the addition of black beans and freshly-cut scallions for garnish, it’s a satisfying meal that lights your mouth on fire while still balancing refreshing notes of sweetness. I highly recommend trying the mapo tofu from Ithaca’s own De Tasty Hotpot, whose version seriously rivals my mother’s recipe.

PHOTO: Cassidy Tryon

The King of Dinners: Málà Huǒ Guō Of all the dinners I had on my trip to Sichuan, I remember eating málà huǒ guō, or málà Hot Pot, the most vividly. Hot pot has always been one of my favorite meals due to its inherent ability to bring people together. Originally invented during war for soldiers and warriors to eat dinner around a basic pot on a fire while keeping warm, málà huǒ guō takes the heat to another level. The experience almost felt like a sauna - the warmth from the boiling soup and the warmth within my stomach and temples made me feel like I was ascending onto another dimension. The beautiful bubbling broth brings both comfort and discomfort, in the best ways. Although nothing will ever beat my first mouthfuls in Sichuan, you can purchase very tasty málà hot pot bases from Xiao Fei Yang (Little Sheep Group), a popular Chinese hot pot franchise that sells various hot pot products.

Troubled Truff les By Ashley Zhang

French fries have always been a form of solace for me in restaurant menus. Without fail, I know that they are typically the cheapest, yummiest option on the menu. But in 2021, things are different. Fries are now seen as customizable options with any flavor combination from rosemary-garlic, to herbs de provence, to my arch nemesis: truffles. Whether it be the $11 truffle fries at Ella Social, or Truff’s $23 truffle oil, or even the truffle chips from Trader Joe’s, I still haven’t wrapped my head around the price point! Simply put, you will not find me ordering anything that has a truffle upcharge. Truffle’s attention stems from their longstanding history as an aphrodisiac. The black truffle, in particular, produces a compound called anandamide which is similar to THC found in marijuana.

Thus, the truffle itself becomes addicting to the eater. While addictive, truffles are also exorbitantly priced due to their hunting process. National Geographic reports that running a truffle orchard could run you about “$15,000 to $20,000”. From there, you can expect an annual profit ranging between “$42,000 to $96,000,” if, and only if, you play your cards right.

Because of this fungi’s price, many mass-produced “truffle” products don’t even include much truffle. You might think you’re addicted to your grocerystore truffle chips, but the truffle essence you may perceive is just bis(methylthio) methane, a compound that gives truffles its signature scent. Or, even more diabolically, some companies trick you by listing truffle as the last ingredient, indicating that it is used in the smallest quantities. Want to put your truffle products to the test? Flip over that bag and check your ingredient list. Have you been fooled? It’s true, I’m guilty of loving Wegman’s truffle popcorn, but I know that I’m most certainly not eating the real deal. European truffles are past their prime after four days. And, although Australian and American truffles are entering the product mix, they simply cannot compare to their European ancestors. While watching truffles shaved on top of my French fries may be a divine sight, I know that the truffle may be on it’s sixth or seventh day in the kitchen. In poor condition, those illustrious shavings are simply not worth the money I’m paying for. All things considered, people should continue to eat what makes them happy no matter what I say.

Maybe I just haven’t tried a truffle worth emptying my bank account for.

If It’s Not Chocolate, it’s Not Candy. By Maria DiGiovanni Each time my family visits the Jersey Shore, we are lured to one of the numerous candy stores on the boardwalk, greeted by a robotic man stirring fudge in the archaic but charming window display. When we walk into that AC-blasted, old-timey fudge shop, my mom rushes for licorice while my dad is quick to grab peanut butter cups. My siblings both opt for gummies—Haribo Peaches for my sister, and sharks for my brother. With impeccable consistency, I go for the nonpareils and linger at the case of chocolate-covered pretzels and homemade chocolate turtles. There is something wonderful about those rows of freshlymade goodies stacked carefully before me, dipped delicately in chocolate, glistening under the fluorescent lights. After picking out some nonpareils and slipping in some almond bark, the old ladies check us out at the register, and off we go with our treats.

I’ve tried to pinpoint the reason behind my contempt for candies lacking in chocolate. Perhaps it’s the texture—the dull chew of a gummy fails to deliver the same satisfaction as the sharp `snap of a Twix. Perhaps chocolate just adds a full-bodied flavor to anything it coats, making strawberries, cookies, and even pretzels feel all the more sophisticated. Perhaps it’s as simple as the fact that chocolate candy feels less synthetic than a box of neon-colored Nerds. Of course, I won’t pretend that the plastic-wrapped bars I favor are not just as full of mystery ingredients, but at least I can say that my preferred confection grows on trees.

Whether I chose the almond bark, chocolate turtles, chocolate-covered pretzels, or nonpareils doesn’t really matter; I’ll always choose chocolate.

Nowadays, if I’m looking for a sweet treat, I still find myself reaching for a chocolate bar—bonus points if it has espresso beans or almonds in it. I will admit, I occasionally have an odd affection for Fruit Runts, and I always enjoyed a White Mystery-flavored Airhead back when I spent all day at the public pool—alas, chocolate will always triumph. And, when I talk about chocolate, I mean dark chocolate. However, that is a conversation for another day.

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve opted for Kit Kats over Sour Patch Kids. At the movies, it was Sno-Caps, not Swedish Fish. M&Ms trumped Skittles any day. If it didn’t have chocolate, it wasn’t considered. Just think about it; have you ever had a truly delicious lollipop? Even the fancy gourmet ones do not parallel the lively texture profile of a Crunch Bar. And don’t even get me started on licorice. Who in their right mind would choose those lifeless strings over the rich, nutty flavor of a Snickers?

From my perspective, it may be that the superiority of chocolate is merely inherent, requiring no logic at all.

Creamy, buttery, and versatile, frosting offers the luscious texture of pudding or pastry cream but in a more palatable form: combined with the textures and flavors of the pastry. When the sweet spread is piled in between the layers of cake with the enthusiasm and quantity of a New York bagel store’s cream cheese on bagels, I’m a happy camper. Or should I say, a content cake eater.

TAKES THE CAKE By Hannah Rosenberg

The room dims and the crowd goes quiet. No curtain is rising, no title sequence is playing. This is not a Broadway musical or a movie, but the beginning of the age-old birthday tradition: a cake followed by friends and family singing

“Happy Birthday to You.” As the choir of off-key singers dies down, it’s time for the moment of truth. A friend takes a knife and slices a dense layer of cake to reveal the inside.

Would it be a light, fluffy, chocolate cake with a decadent Italian meringue buttercream?

Alas, it never is. Instead, the knife reveals a sad, sad reality: two slabs of dry cake, glued together with a meager swipe of frosting.

A dream cake is a perfect celebratory or every-day dessert. A layer of rich chocolate cake, an equal amount of chocolate buttercream spooned on top of the pastry and a second layer of cake, all covered in a heavenly, thick coat of more frosting and some ganache. Frosting moistens (sorry) a desert-dry cake and provides a cloud-like, mousse-y complement to the dessert.

No matter the type of cake—whether a dense, fudgy chocolate cake, delicately flavored fruit cake, or the humble vanilla—frosting is always the best part, and the more frosting on the cake, the better. What gives me the credentials to say that good frosting outshines the classic and versatile cake? Well, I eat a lot of cake. Growing up, my dad would buy astronomical amounts of cake for family members’ birthdays. His tradition led my family to call our freezer the cake storage locker because of the amount of cake in it, and nothing gives me greater joy than when a layer cake cuts to reveal inches of frosting.

PHOTO: Priya Pradhan

You might be thinking: maybe you’re eating bad cake. You’re eating cake that’s overbaked or bland or that lacks flavor or is overly sweet. I can’t say I’ve had all the cakes in the world (I’ll put it on my bucket list), but no matter whether the cake’s texture or flavor was Gordan Ramsay’s dream or Paul Hollywood’s nightmare, the quality and taste of the frosting is what made or broke the cake and led the cake and frosting pairing to dance in my mouth.

Let me go a step further to honor my fellow frosting lovers. When I make cakes at home, without a doubt, the best part of the process comes after I level the cakes and trim off excess bits. With a spoon in one hand and a thin mat of cake in the other, I dollop buttercream on, and into my mouth it goes. Delicious. I do have to contend that a lot of frosting is cloyingly sweet and tastes artificial. But a simple fix exists: dodge most supermarket cakes. To the cupcake-frosting wipers, the layercake frosting sweepers, and the single-layer frostless cake eaters, I have a message for you:

frosting > cake

PHOTO: Hannah Rosenburg

So Good There’s Never Plenty! By Abby Reing Some licorice-haters may go so far to say that licorice is toxic, and they wouldn’t be entirely wrong. The candy produced from the root of the licorice plant naturally contains the compound glycyrrhizin, which can cause one’s potassium levels to fall, possibly contributing to heart arrhythmias and other health problems. As such, the FDA suggests not eating excessive amounts of licorice every day. I do love the candy, but I can’t imagine eating my bodyweight in it. While I know my efforts may be futile, I urge you to put your fears aside, and give licorice a try. It is certainly an acquired taste, like coffee. You may start with sweeter options (Allsorts or Good and Plenty) before braving the dark side with Icelandic salt-lakkris. And if you don’t like it, you know who to call… I’ll eat the extra!

PHOTO: Abby Reing

When I visited Iceland a few years back, I felt understood in a way I had never before. I was in licorice heaven. In Iceland, lakkrís is ubiquitous in just about every form, from ‘Opal’ salt-lakkris tablets in a cigarette-esque box, to ‘Draumur’ chocolate bars for those with a sweet tooth. In America, most people would turn their noses up even at chocolate if just a strand of black licorice was hidden inside.

I am not most people. When I profess my love for licorice, people assume I mean red Twizzlers. I don’t.

I want Allsorts, the magical blend of retro-colored shapes with coconut and sprinkles. I want Good and Plenty, Mike and Ike’s controversial cousin. And when I want comforting, chewy, soft black licorice, I seek out Wallaby or Panda. More adventurous licorice-lovers may even enjoy the tannic, salty, and almost savory taste of salt-lakkris, a variety of licorice coated in ammonium chloride, commonly found in Nordic countries. Before it’s popularization as a candy, salt-lakkris were used as cough lozenges, explaining their unique pastille shape. Something about the intensity within the lakkris tablets was comforting in the Icelandic cold and windy weather, but I can’t say I preferred the taste to sweeter licorice varieties. PHOTO: Abby Reing

C R E` M E de cornell