Com(m)unicate - Vol III Issue III

com(m)unicate Vol III, Issue iii

Printed by: ZETTA Comunicadores Colegio NUEVA GRANADA Cra 2 Este No 70-20, Bogota, Colombia Tel: 212 3511 www.cng.edu

How to Cook if You’re Bound to Burn the Kitchen by Emilia Game

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The Meaning Behind Those Bookstore Lines by Marian Aristizábal

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Food for Thought: La dulce Ms. Zaidman by Natalia Acero and Paula Acero

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Peruvian Ecstasy and Delight by Camilo Villa

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11 Minutes in Line by Lorenza Galvis and Juliana Laborde

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Vegetarianism: The New Opium by Eugenia Camargo

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¿Vegetariano yo? por Felipe Merizalde

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Meat Is A Matter Of Substance by Laura Cadena

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Cuando el cuerpo es la obra por Cristina Serrano

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Insta-trend: #Food Selfies by Juliana Sanchez

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A Hot Batch of Failure by Camila Silva

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Miscellaneous The Beautiful Tragedy by Sofía Cortés… 21 24

How to Cook if You’re Bound to

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How to Cook if You’re Bound to Burn the Kitchen Article by Emilia Game Picture taken by Cristina Angel

If you are scared to turn on your oven, take something out of the microwave, or even make a grilled cheese sandwich, then you are with me. We can’t cook like everyone else because we are afraid.

It’s scary when you burn yourself, and, for me, it’s hard to cope with the kitchen when fire seems to be everywhere.

But a few months ago, I decided that it was time to get over my fear once and for all.

This experience helped me gain confidence in the kitchen, and I hope that others can also gain confidence in their own ways seeing as I found a method to pull through in my cooking.

My family is a cooking family - my dad makes the best breakfasts, my mom the best lunch meals, and my sister is the baker. They always find a way to get to the kitchen and make something utterly delicious. And on Sundays, we have this brunch where we sometimes invite people over. My mom, dad, and sister cook, and I have my own fun setting up the table every time. They sometimes even let me cut the bread (with gloves) and take it to the table. Score!

So as I like challenging myself, I decided to bake something. I absolutely

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adore anything red velvet: cupcakes, cookies, cakes, and so on. During winter break, I tried a red velvet whoopie pie that I had never seen before. It was delicious. It reminded me of Fratelli’s cupcakes here in Zona G, but it had a unique twist that made it even more exquisite, which is really hard if you’ve ever had Fratelli cupcakes. So I gave it a go, and that’s when I realized that even the clumsiest and most arsonphobic people can take over the kitchen, but with a little motivation and help.

This project is a guideline to convince yourself that you can cook even if you suck at it (like me.) I could have benefitted from some help myself, and I would like to, at least, give some tips to others. I will not give specific instructions on how to make the red whoopie pies, but I will hopefully give good recommendations on how you can avoid causing harm to your kitchen. Like the superstar chef Gusteau says in the movie Ratatouille, “Anyone can cook.”

Period. Not “Anyone can cook well” specifically, but at least create something edible.

Step 1: Gather all materials. Check to see quantities of each so that you don’t

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end up buying 10 times more butter than you were supposed to.

Step 2: To avoid hyperventilation and screwing up your entire recipe, read the instructions at least three times before starting to cook.

Step 3: As you start, check that you have everything out and at a good reach, so that you won’t trip running to get some immediately-required sugar.

Step 4: Don’t get unmotivated if you burn something at the beginning of your baking process.

Step 5: Try again to heat whatever is necessary without burning it, so that you won’t turn on the smoke detectors again.

Step 6: Put on some music for fun, but not so loud that you get distracted and add two extra cups of milk to the mixture.

Step 7: If you make a mistake don’t follow your immediate instinct to start all over again, especially if you are a perfectionist. Along the way, try to fix it by balancing out an excess of sugar with a little more of a neutral ingredient, like flour.

Step 8: Remember that whatever appears on recipes according to preparation time is a lie. The formula is to take the time, duplicate it, add an hour and 30 minutes, and that will be the time it will take you to make it.

Step 9: Try a bit of what you are making. Not so much, just a fingertipsized bit every once in a while, or else your stomach will explode.

Step 10: Once you finish cooking, clean up so that even if your cooking is terrible and everyone hates it, your mom won’t kill you for leaving her sanctioned place a mess.

I hope that this helped those who aren’t masters in the kitchen. Cooking the red velvet whoopie pies was a lot of fun, and they turned out amazing. It made me feel very proud to be able to get over my fear of cooking, and it made me feel even better when I was able to eat the pies. If you are determined to do something and work hard at it, then you can reach anything, and now I know that if I truly want to bake something, I will.

Warning: If food is disgusting just throw it out and act like it never happened. Try again like I did with this project and say it was your first time. Everyone wins.

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The Meaning Behind Those Bookstore Lines Article by Marian Aristizábal Picture taken by Gabriela Aldana It is obvious that love, just like cookies, comes in varying shapes, colors, and flavors, with different traits, and from different places. The Ancient Greeks actually acknowledged that love was a complicated thing and so they classified it into four categories.

Philia is affection towards friends, storge is fondness towards family, agape is genuine unconditional love, and eros, the fourth, isn’t only physical attraction, but also a love deeper than that felt for a friend. This last one is usually described as a rush of emotions without any logic acting behind it.

All of these categories, however, deal with a bond between people. So (unless you’re part of those who appear on TV talking about how they’re in relationships with their cars or inflatable dolls), why would an inanimate item, such as food, be connected to love?

It might have to do with the fact that humans need food to survive. Then again, however much I might love my friends, they’re not essential for my survival either. Sure, without them I’d probably go insane and start burning down buildings just for the fun of it, but I’d still be alive. So why is there a philia but not a trofí (Greek term for food) category? Well, have you ever said or heard someone say something within the lines of: “No one cooks as well as my mom does”? Sure you have. Now, that is an

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immediate connection between storge and food. By tasting something and connecting it to your mom, you are – quite unconsciouslydisplaying some sort of affection towards your relatives.

Food is closely tied to the love for your family, so many people love it because they can’t help but to think of those times in which a person they’re fond of cooked something similar. Food, therefore, brings forth pleasant memories and thoughts, explaining people’s love for this wonderful, inanimate thing.

This all clarifies why, as soon as the bell rings, huge lines of people simply seem to materialize in both the Bookstore and the Snack Shack. It’s just people trying to alleviate that pulsing hunger for love something that’s all but irrational.

Isn’t this why for birthdays and special occasions we show our affection by baking brownies, cakes, cookies and more? Don’t we like getting brownies because, whenever our mom baked them we’d be overwhelmed by their heavenly chocolate smell? Food does not only make us feel delighted and grateful, but also almost at peace with ourselves. This explains why having to stand in line is so infuriating. No matter how actually hungry for food we are, there’ll always be a file of love-starved people standing between us and our happiness.

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Food for Thought: La dulce Ms. Zaidman Escrito por Natalia y Paula Acero Fotos tomadas por Cristina Ángel y Camilo Villa

Ms. Zaidman es la profesora de Pre-AP español en 9º y 10º grado y, al parecer, es una persona bastante dulcera, aunque su saludable figura y agradable energía no lo demuestren (aceptemos que es una motivación/excusa para empezar a comer más dulces. ¡Por favor, tú sabes que lo quieres!).

Es posible que los estudiantes crean conocer a Ms. Zaidman, porque occasionalmente la saludan, y ella, con amabilidad, los saluda de vuelta.

Sin embargo, nadie conoce el verdadero gusto goloso de Ms. Zaidman hasta que tiene clase con ella.

Todos sus estudiantes saben que al entrar a su salón, es momento para estar concentrado y analizar todos los personajes literarios que sólo ella entiende, pero siempre se sabe que su ánimo y personalidad da para un par de respiros en los ochenta minutos de clase. El momento más dulce de la

clase comienza con un sutil, “Hola niños… será que alguien tiene un caramelito?” o cuando ablanda nuestros corazones diciendo, “Bueno niños lindos, quién va a ser tan lindo de regalarme un caramelito?” Si no hay voluntarios, el tema se convierte en un juego de persuasión en el que comienza una red de trueque: “Niños tengo estas galletitas, ¿alguien que tenga un caramelo me lo cambia?”

A veces, sus gustos la hacen optar por otro tipo de acercamiento a la situación: “Santiago, te vi comiendo chicle, ¿puedes revisar en tu maleta a ver si tienes otro?”

La desesperación es evidente, y basta sólo con imaginar cuando va a la tienda del colegio a pedir su rutinaria Hanuta (bien calientica y derretida, con ese aroma a… ¡AZÚCAR!, como tronaba la legendaria Celia Cruz) sólo para recibir la decepcionante respuesta de que “está agotada.” ¿Qué pasa entonces

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con esa ilusión, con ese sueño exaltado y frustrado? Simplemente se convierte en tormento por el resto del día, claro, a menos de que sea posible conseguir un sustituto para satisfacer su antojo… ¡Exacto!

Claramente, su gusto por los caramelos y el chicle no lo manifiesta de forma abusiva, pero ha causado intrigas en sus clases. Es una rutina curiosa debido los momentos específicos que escoge para manifestarla.

Este fenómeno se presenta más que todo en el cuarto bloque, después del almuerzo.

No es un secreto para las profesoras que los estudiantes comparten su deliciosa comida casera con amigos y, de vez en cuando, cargan una caleta de dulces en su maleta, así que no encuentran inconveniente en acudir a sus recursos de credibilidad adulta para obtener un poco de esa generosidad que todos los estudiantes tienen….¿Cierto? Pero Ms. Zaidman es muy generosa, pues no sólo pide estas delicias, que muchas veces hay y los dueños no quieren compartir, sino que ella también las ofrece. Los juegos en su clase son muy divertidos, pues uno se ve casi que tomado del pelo con el de al lado por la deliciosa Hanuta que Ms. Zaidman le da al ganador. Eso sí, si uno tiene afán por un dulce y llega a la siguiente clase emocionado porque al fin se lo van a dar, puede que se decepcione. Este premio algunas veces no viene con fecha de vencimiento, y sin querer, se le olvida por varias clases, pero siempre termina pagando sus dulces deudas.

Así sea tarde, la victoria, la igual que el premio, sabe delicioso.

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Peruvian Ecstasy and Delight

Article written by Camilo Villa Picture created by Camilo Villa

I’m sitting in a restaurant at Cuzco, facing a vast panorama of gigantic mountains that overlap each other. From the beginning, I know that this moment will fade into the past. It is a moment that I won’t ever be able to experience again. My view won’t ever be the same: The shape of the clouds won’t ever compliment the mountains as perfectly as they do right now, and the birds won’t ever be the same ones, flying in that same way. The dynamic of my surroundings won’t ever be the same either: The waiter won’t ever be as persistent and talkative as today.

I don’t know whether to look at the astonishing landscape or simply close my eyes and taste every single bit of the marinated raw fish in my mouth. The lime and garlic bring me to the peak of satisfaction, where I unconsciously roll my eyes with insanity. This is just an appetizer, so what might come next?

Maybe an absolute state of ecstasy, or a climax followed by a falling body?

I ask the waiter to bring me her favorite dish; she smiles and goes to the kitchen.

Soon, a complete piece of art arrives at my table. The round plate is framed by a striking yellow sauce, and decorated with little pieces of avocado and a crispy fariña. I immediately stick my finger into the plate and taste the bittersweet sauce, which makes me awkwardly uncomfortable, since I have to share this intensified pleasure with my family. This time, I try not to roll my eyes as I continue this gastronomic adventure in the mountains.

Closing my eyes is the best way to avoid uncomfortable moments, because I’m able to live the intensified pleasure acting on my tongue's gustatory system by my self. As I bite the crunchy fariña, I remind my tongue to absorb every single taste that won’t ever be the same.

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Although you might think that the avocado is a distraction to my tongue, it mixes really well with the crunchy fariña.

It is almost as if they were a newly-born Siamese kid, but about to be digested.

The waiter intervenes in such a personal moment between my meal and I, and tells me the whole story of the dish: “This is the typical causa, which means ’that which gives life.’ It is one of the native foods that the newly-arrived Spaniards adapted and combined with foods they brought from Europe.”

The waiter finally leaves and let’s me enjoy another personal moment of fervor with my dish. I start devouring it. I close my eyes again in order to have no distractions during such a significant moment. The combination of the potato, avocado, “aji amarillo,” lime, garlic and tuna suddenly come alive inside my mouth. I’m surprisingly able to identify each one of them, but they insist on being together; they do not want to be drawn apart from each other. I agree, and let them be one inside my mouth.

Their combination is one of a kind, an absolute gastronomic perfection. It is hearty yet refreshing, cool yet mildly spicy, intense but so kind.

I suddenly realize that I didn’t order my drink. I was so submerged into this solid gastronomic experience that I forgot to keep myself hydrated. I usually order lemonade, but this time, there were no barriers that would limit my usual tastes.

The waiter brings me a pisco sour,

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which is brandy combined with lime juice. After a couple of drinks, I get a little bit tipsy and even more disturbing to the eyes of my family. However, that pisco sour reminded me not to deliver this moment to an audience, but only to myself. That drink certainly did remind me the importance of living personal moments in company of my tongue and a stranger dish.

I know the closure of this moment is close, and now I order a “tres leches.”

After a while, this dessert arrives. An outstanding sponge cake soaked in various kinds of milk stares at my eyes.

Its bubbly surface makes me a total maniac. I grab my spoon and stab the innocent cake. The sweet bubbles instantly die as they touch my libidinous tongue. I devour the cake in less than five minutes and culminate the most intense minutes of my life. The waiter was clearly right. Boy, these dishes really gave me life.

I fortunately have the guts of revealing such a personal moment. Some readers might as well be disturbed, but I hope that you are the one who understands this three-way relationship. For those who haven’t yet experienced a suggestive moment that involves your tongue and a stranger dish, I encourage you to arrange a well-planned date with them in a beautiful setting that blends both, pleasure and passion. And remember to admire every single bit of that moment, because it won’t ever be the same.

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11 Minutes in Line Article by Lorenza Galvis, Juliana Laborde Picture taken by Natalia Flores

It’s 11:45 We’re running down the steel stairs; don’t look down, don’t look down.

All right, we made it; next, gravel steps. Careful with the moss, you don’t want to slip again… ugh not the moss.

“Hey can you move a little please?” I ask the kid with a black backpack who is running down the stairs, hogging up the non-slippery part.

All right, back on track.

Next, steep ramp; bent knees and leaned back, not going to fall again. I feel a cold breeze on my back and the sound of the zipper banging against the fabric. Crap! Is my backpack open? I pause, catching my breath. I tilt my head over my left shoulder: it’s open, and my green math notebook is missing.

It’s 11:48 I run back to the steel staircase; I see my green notebook, full of footprints, on one of the stair steps. I run up.

Don’t dare look down, try to not pay attention to how each step creates a

dent in the more than questionable structure. I reach out and grab my notebook, put it in my bag and zip it.

I turn around, three people are having a conversation in front of me, I need to get past them, but I don’t want to be impolite. “Um excuse me, sorry, excuse me,” I mumble putting my left shoulder blade between them to get past.

It’s 11:51 Down the gravel steps as fast as I can, my left foot slips a little, I grab the rail; whoa, good catch. I run down the side without moss, grabbing the rail firmly, down the ramp, my converse are damp, my breathing is heavy and my face is red. But I’m here. I grab my card, and poke out of the line to see if a teacher is there: coast is clear. Find a familiar face and do a fake “walk of shame” to the front of the line; everyone else does it, right? I look at the paper menu on the brick wall; it reads “beans.”

It´s 11:56; I hate beans.

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Vegetarianism: The New Opium Article by Eugenia Camargo Picture taken by Gabriela Aldana

During winter break, my uncle showed me an article about the new “opium of the people.” This “opium” was an obsession with health that it now very in vogue. He laughed and I realized he really thought that a healthy lifestyle was only a trend. I could hardly understand how health being a trend could be bad. I felt, on the contrary, that it was sad that this lifestyle didn’t have more momentum. We have made many advances that prove that what we put into our bodies is the beginning of all our illnesses.

So it seems rational to me to be obsessed with this.

Yet, my uncle made me question whether I was the victim of a mere trend. I had plenty obsessions throughout my childhood, such as stomachaches, watching Dr. 90210, and once, even buying a mannequin. For some, my new desire to take-on a vegetarian lifestyle might be just a new passing obsession.

When I decided to become a vegetarian it was my own decision, and now that I think about it, only I could make myself change so drastically. What really surprised me was that look people gave me when I told them. It was as if I was crazy. It started with the predictions of

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my failures and it kept going with the arguments about humans being made to eat meat. I felt more tired from the rush of negative energy than from the lack of protein. Soon, I took control and read a ton about how to balance my diet.

Against all the negative predictions, I have been able to remain constant.

Not a single slip since the day I decided to make the change. My determination is definitely what sets this apart from the trends I have been a follower of in the past.

Nevertheless, I couldn’t understand the incredulous tone in my uncle’s voice when he told me about the article. What is it that drives us to criticize others for a change that we wouldn’t do ourselves? Why is it that we build on intolerance even when it comes to our own friends? I was told that when people become vegetarians, they change. I was told that like change was bad. I would argue that those who fear change are the ones that are lost. Why would you frown upon someone that is making an effort for something they consider unjust and inhumane? It’s something they care about, even if you don’t.

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Is it the taste of meat that makes people look at me as if I’m a loony? No, I know it isn’t the food. I know I have looked at someone that same way because of my intolerant nature. I regret every time I did so. It is definitely something I have to change because I don’t want to push someone’s goal like mine was pushed - ever. I wasn’t asking anyone to make the change with me, so what was it that bothered them? Now, I’m not trying to start a pity party. I just wanted to write about my experience, because we can only improve the nature of our actions when we become conscious of them. When it comes to

eating habits - or all sorts of habits – I wish for us all to be a little more tolerant.

Think about the people you might have hurt because you discouraged their personal projects.

Something that you feel passionate about is more than just a trend and you should work hard to achieve your goals no matter what others say. A purposeful life style is my new personal dose of opium.

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¿Vegetariano yo?

Escrito por Felipe Merizalde Foto tomada por Cristina Samper

A mí los vegetarianos siempre me habían parecido personas de mal gusto y muy mal informadas: Personas que tristemente no sabían que la vida se podía disfrutar, que la vida podía ir más allá de sus grises e insípidas vidas. Yo me preguntaba, ¿cómo será la vida sin una hamburguesa del Corral, sin un bife de chorizo? Para mí, aquellos especímenes eran tipos raros a quienes veía en un delicioso asado con sus platos vacíos, con papa chorriada y un poco de guacamole escondida en una esquinita del plato.

Jamás en la vida se me ocurrió que yo me volvería uno de esos aburridos vegetarianos, ni mucho menos que mi vida iba a ser mucho más rica y divertida que cuando era carnívoro. Llevo ya doce años sin consumir carne y ya no me cambio por nadie.

Mi salud mejoró infinitamente, así como mi vitalidad, mi estado de ánimo, mi compromiso y mi amor por por la vida. Me podría extender muchísimo en el tema, pero no hay mucho espacio en este artículo.

La historia resumida es así: Unos amigos vegetarianos me mostraron hace doce años unos videos de cómo funcionaba en realidad la industria de productos animales. Siempre he amado los animales, por lo que nunca me había sentido tan triste y decepcionado de la

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especie humana como en ese momento.

Tuve una crisis existencial muy fuerte.

Pensé que los humanos éramos una especie sin remedio. Yo me incluía, porque no estaba dispuesto a renunciar a las hamburguesas del Corral. Al principio intenté hacer lo que hace la mayoría de los terrestres cuando se enteran de la cruda realidad detrás de su pernil de cerdo: Olvidarlo lo más rápido posible, invocar el espíritu de la indiferencia y continuar haciendo lo mismo como si nada hubiera pasado. Pero no pude, tal vez por mi profundo amor por los animales y la naturaleza que he tenido desde niño.

Empecé a tener pesadillas y flashbacks de las imágenes que había visto, del sufrimiento indescriptible de esas hermosas e inocentes criaturas, no sólo en la manera como mueren, sino especialmente, como viven. En la gran mayoría de los casos, la industria de productos animales en realidad ve a estos seres como un mero producto del mercado.

Tomé la decisión de hacerme vegetariano un mes, para hacer un homenaje a esas víctimas. Fue como un minuto de silencio.

Pensé que era todo lo que podría hacer.

Fue muy difícil al principio, pero al final del mes lo estaba disfrutando. Así que me fui quedando. Empecé a explorar y disfrutar la incontable variedad de posibilidades que nos ofrece este planeta para alimentarnos. Descubrí que nuestra anatomía no está diseñada para digerir

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carne, sino frutas, plantas, granos y cereales. Los carnívoros tienen un intestino muy corto con el cual la carne se procesa rápidamente y no permanece mucho tiempo en el cuerpo. Nosotros tenemos un intestino muy largo por lo que la carne permanece mucho tiempo y llega a un estado de putrefacción, generando muchas anomalías y enfermedades.

Desde hace unos años dicto en la Universidad de los Andes un módulo de un seminario de Bioética sobre el consumo de productos animales. Allí cuento por qué la ciencia ha descubierto que consumir productos animales es uno de los comportamientos más destructivos de nuestra civilización. Es la primera causa de deforestación, cambio climático, gasto y contaminación de agua. En nuestro país el caso es dramático.

Colombia es el segundo país mas biodiverso del planeta y está entre los cuatro más deforestados del mundo.

Alrededor de 70% de toda la deforestación es por la ganadería. Cada año se deforesta el equivalente al área del departamento de Atlántico. A este paso nuestro paraíso de recursos se convertirá en un desierto muy pronto. Y nosotros los consumidores, somos los únicos que podemos realizar un cambio real. Por otro lado, este consumo es la causa central del hambre mundial, ya que el 70% de todo el alimento del planeta va dirigido a los animales para convertirlos en carne, y no a los mil millones de humanos que padecen hambre en el mundo.

Además descubrí, gracias al ex presidente Bill Clinton, quien es hoy en día un gran activista del Veganismo (no consumir ningún producto animal), la conexión entre el consumo de productos animales y las enfermedades humanas. Él se leyó un libro del estudio más grande de la historia sobre nutrición y salud humana llamado The China Study.

Al cambiar su dieta, se curó de las enfermedades que casi lo llevan a la tumba. Allí se explica por qué la dieta moderna basada en productos animales, es la causa central de enfermedades como el cáncer, la diabetes, la esclerosis múltiple, Alzheimer y otras. Es un libro en realidad extraordinario y revelador.

Explica también por qué las industrias de productos animales se han encargado de que no conozcamos esta información. A su vez, la industria ganadera, porcina, avícola, y pescadora se ha encargado de que no sepamos que el planeta se está destruyendo por este consumo o que los océanos se estén desocupando (80% de las poblaciones animales en el océano han desaparecido desde que comenzó la pesca industrializada hace unos 60 años). Tampoco nos permite ver las dimensiones del maltrato a los animales y de las nocivas sustancias químicas que se les aplica.

La pregunta es, ¿Cuánto tiempo seguiremos en este estado de indiferencia? ¿Cambiaremos cuando ya sea demasiado tarde? ¿Qué les quedará a las futuras generaciones, e incluso a nosotros mismos?

Con un grupo de amigos comenzamos en Colombia una campaña, inventada por Paul McCartney de los Beatles, llamada Lunes Sin Carnes. Consiste en invitar a la gente a hacer un pequeño esfuerzo de no comer ningún animal por un día a la semana. Es el pico y placa de carnes, un movimiento mundial que está despertando la conciencia de millones. Yo creo que es la mejor forma de empezar a conocer este maravilloso mundo de la alimentación verdaderamente sana y éticamente responsable.

El cambio ya está sucediendo y necesitamos impulsarlo también en nuestro país. Está en cada uno de nosotros y tiene que comenzar ahora mismo.

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Meat is a Matter of Substance Written by Laura Cadena Picture taken by Laura Cadena

If you asked me to justify meat, I would take you out to dinner. We would go someplace to my liking - someplace small, a bit plain at first sight, dimly lit, and pervaded by glorious, wafting smells. I would order for you. Drawing the waiter to my side, I would make sure to whisper the order into the waiter’s ear softly enough for you not to hear it. I would explain that, in lieu of the situation, this was a necessary precaution, and that you shouldn’t worry. You might shrug, roll your eyes, or laugh uncomfortably at my brashness. Nevertheless, you would stick around, and our conversation would begin shortly after.

I would start off by saying that what you were about to hear was in no way unbiased. Meat, to me, was not a matter of taste or habit. It was a matter of substance. It was something that transcended conversations about health and practicality, and instead, entered the realm of signification and personal significance. At this point, I would be leaning across the table.

Meat has a certain character - a character you can see instantly in its rogued, marbled quality - that is absolutely alluring. In the flurry of conversation and emotions, I would

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probably go as far as to call it something raw, hypnotic, or sublime, but in reality what I mean to say is that meat has something uniquely its own. I would look down at my hands, maybe fumble a bit with my napkin, and I would fail to explain this character, but I would impress upon you its existence, and above all, its palpability.

I would say that meat has real potential. In a time where mechanized industry has disconnected people entirely from their food providers, meat is the most powerful reminder that what we eat comes from living sources, and that the way we are engaged or alienated by flesh is a direct statement about our sensitivity towards these sources. Meat is provoking, but this provocation should not be attributed to the ethics of a product, but rather to the culpability of its consumer.

You would disagree with me here. You would put the consumer on par with the product, and you would say that I should not expect culpability to be absent in matters of the flesh. Stumbling a bit with my words, I would say that flesh and culpability go hand in hand for a reason.

They warn us against excess. I would say that meat has a message. It has the potential to divide, confuse, and conflict us, but most significantly, it has the

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power

to

make

us

think.

At this point, you would still be unconvinced. Potential, of course, is not the most tangible of arguments. Sensing this, I would try to relate an enabling image. Letting passion get the best of me, I would say that meat transforms itself into something higher. I would describe old Bible tales of sacrifice Cain and Abel offering meat and fruit to God, and God only accepting flesh. I would explain that to God, meat indicated truthfulness. God understood that meat was a real sacrifice - that meat was a matter of substance. I would say that meat should not be taken lightly.

Meat has potential and it has influence, and by recognizing this, we would revive a perspective on power that had been lost to false presumptions of human grandeur.

Though my ideas would seem a lot clearer now, I would be able to tell that your feelings had not changed, and I wouldn’t be surprised. Bluntly, I would tell you that I had invited you knowing that there was nothing I could do to change your mind, that words were of little avail, and that I had failed from the second you asked me to justify meat.

We would sit uncomfortably for a few seconds, and by this time, our entree would already be on the table. With tensions up in the air, and with a terrible feeling of inadequacy, I would finally say what I had wanted to say all night: meat justifies itself. This was the subjective truth I had wanted to convey to you. In watching you take your utensils in hand, I would recognize that no matter what you or I believed, meat had its own truth.

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Cuando el cuerpo es la obra Escrito por Cristina Serrano Fotos tomadas por Cristina Serrano y Gabriela Aldana

Él, sin embargo, no puede evitar sucumbir a sus encantos; especialmente los fines de semana. Los otros días, un trato indiferente caracteriza su relación. Él sabe que la necesita y la busca con un objetivo siempre en mente. Egoísta y ambicioso, él toma todo lo que ella tiene que ofrecer y, a cambio: nada. La juzga sin piedad. De manera casi condescendiente simplifica su ser a lo más básico de su carácter. A pesar de sus humildes esfuerzos por embelesarse y hacerse notar por él, su presencia no trasciende de la rutina. Ella, leal y sin opción, vuelve a él a pesar de todo. Él absorbe, ella da. Y sin embargo, él no puede vivir sin ella.

Así es la relación de Fernando Mario Moreno con la comida. Él tiene dieciocho años, y los últimos cuatro los ha dedicado al acondicionamiento físico de su cuerpo, utilizando la comida como su mayor aliado. El deporte siempre lo había acompañado. Ya a los diez años se le veía en los entrenamientos de la liga de menores de Bogotá, interceptando tiros de sus compañeros al arco. A los catorce tuvo su

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primer acercamiento al entrenamiento físico. Tal parece que la ira turbaba a un joven Fernando, quien, cansado de cargar con peso emocional, encontró en el ejercicio una oportunidad de desahogo. Así, Fercho, un adolescente menudo, de pelo largo y risa bonachona, decidió empezar a levantar pesas, de kilogramos y no de emociones esta vez. Luego, con algo más de trayectoria encima, las líneas que se empezaban adibujar en su abdomen y la creciente circunferencia de sus bíceps lo sedujeron. Su motivación interna se tornó externa, y pronto la imagen en el espejo se convirtió en un bloque de mármol que, por medio de sudor, concentración y obsesión, Fernando tallaría hasta elucidar la silueta de sus sueños.

No sería exagerado afirmar entonces que cada pesa que Fernando levanta, cada rutina de ejercicios que divisa y cada comida que ingiere, está minuciosamente alineada con ese ideal estético que aspira alcanzar. Y si bien no hesita en reconocer que su motivación primordial es el relieve muscular que progresivamente se delinea más bajo su piel, ahora el ejercicio ha

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tomado un rol más importante en su vida. La inclusión del entrenamiento físico en su rutina le ha enseñado valores como la perseverancia y el esfuerzo. Fernando entrena todos los días, de lunes a viernes después del colegio, por lo menos por una hora.

“Yo vengo al colegio a que me pongan que estoy presente,” me dice Fercho después de explicarme algunos conocimientos básicos sobre el acondicionamiento físico, como que sólo se debe ejercitar una sección muscular por día y una vez a la semana.

Y es que el gimnasio, como la iglesia para el creyente, y el centro comercial para el consumidor, se ha convertido en una especie de santuario para Fercho. En medio del ruido del colapso del acero, las exhalaciones voraces, el olor a sudor, el aislamiento de sus audífonos y el frenesí, Fercho encontró un escape a los clamores insignificantes de la cotidianidad.

“Cuando uno entrena y quiere ganar masa, es ochenta porciento comida y veinte por ciento entrenamiento”.

Así que por más pesas que alce, por más horas de ejercicio que haga, la comida es el elemento clave para alcanzar su meta. Pero hay un gran obstáculo en su camino: su

predisposición genética. “Mi genética no me deja crecer mucho en volumen, pero ya eso es problema mío,” confiesa con resignación.

El ejercicio le ha enseñado a Fernando a trabajar con lo que tiene y no desperdiciar energías añorando lo inalcanzable. Así que Fercho reconoce sus límites, pero como un buen abogado que conoce la maleabilidad de la ley, Fer sabe que no hay límites insuperables. Su mayor estrategia para superar los obstáculos impuestos por la naturaleza es la perseverancia.

Fernando se rige por un exigente horario de entrenamiento especializado y sabe que ejercitarse no sólo es una actividad sino un estilo de vida. Sin embargo, él también tiene que estar muy consciente sobre todo lo que hace y consume. Su alto nivel de actividad le exige comer de seis a ocho veces al día.

“En este momento, como a mí me cuesta mucho subir de peso, como mucho carbohidrato.”

Y es en este momento de la conversación en que Fercho empieza a tocar el tema de la comida específicamente.

Le pregunto acerca de su perspectiva sobre la comida. Fercho me explica que cuando tiene un plato de comida en frente, no ve una pila de arroz, unas papas al vapor con mantequilla, ni un filete de res bañado en salsa de crema,

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sino dos porciones de carbohidratos, una de proteína, algo de grasa y algo de lácteo. Esta aproximación a los alimentos lo ha llevado incluso a ingerir batidos proteínicos. Imagino a Fernando sacando un vistoso y enorme pote colorido de su despensa, que guarda en su interior un misterioso polvo de algún color apastelado. Luego destapa el contenedor, vacía algunas cucharadas de su contenido en algún líquido, lo bate y lo bebe, probablemente con algo de asco “porque saben a veces muy fuerte o muy feo.”

Pero no se equivoquen: La insípida aproximación de Fernando hacia los alimentos no implica una falta de entusiasmo en su consumo. Al preguntarle sobre su comida favorita, después de un largo silencio y una sonrisa de satisfacción, me confiesa que le encanta la pasta.

“Con cualquier tipo de salsa,” añade, y mira al vacío con antojo.

Creí haber encontrado el epicúreo en nuestro pragmático amigo, pero al preguntarle si le gustaba por el sabor, o porque es un alimento alto en carbohidratos y le iba a aportar la energía que tanto necesita, me respondió “lo veo de dos maneras: me gusta mucho porque desde pequeño me ha gustado la pasta, pero cuando ya yo

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miro a ver qué estoy comiendo, me trae ventajas también.”

Ahora le pregunto sobre el dulce.

Recibo una respuesta predecible: Lo intenta evitar porque no es muy bueno.

Pero en el momento en que le pido explicaciones, sus palabras se vuelven confusas y vagas.

“El dulce produce como que, pues, ósea, el dulce genera grasa, genera todas esas cosas que a uno lo engordan, entonces lo que hace es que vuelve al músculo vago.”

Su respuesta me despierta un ligero aire de sospecha sobre sus fuentes, así que le pregunto de dónde saca toda su información, ya que son temas muy delicados, pues se trata de su dieta y, eventualmente, su salud.

“Todo se basa en mi entrenador.”

Lo que dice su entrenador para él es “la verdad absoluta.” “Pues se nota que sabe mucho por la manera en que habla, como se expresa, como ha demostrado su trabajo en estos cuatro años que ha sido mi entrenador,” me dice. Luego le pregunto si a él no le da curiosidad investigar por su parte lo concerniente a la dieta y me responde: “A mí curiosidad sobre nutrición...no. Yo investigo más sobre tipos de entrenamiento.”

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Instagram Trend: #Food Selfies?

Written by Juliana Sanchez Picture taken by Cristina Serrano & Laura Pardo

Much like sunsets, food selfies are quite a hit on Instagram. There is a wide range dish types: pretty dishes, colorful dishes, healthy dishes, and even empty dishes. Nitrogram states it’s the second most trended on Instagram. Starbucks’ and The Cheesecake Factory’s accounts are at the top most viewed, above Nike.

Social Media Today.com claims food selfies began as a form of publicity. Food chain accounts were getting over one thousand likes, and millions of reposts weekly. This is when all hell broke loose. Before we knew it, we became the ones taking the pictures.

The typical food selfie includes three things: a duck face, a caption, and a hashtag. "’At Conosur!’ #yummy.” It’s such a clique.

It's still confusing how we went from thinking about life to thinking what camera effect to use on life. It’s something we have come to do even thoughtlessly. We will all do this at one point of our lives. It will begin to come naturally, second nature. It even becomes entertaining to have thoughts such as, “This food looks so good, is it real or wax-made?“ As annoying as #foodie can get, it's a guilty pleasure we have all been guilty of at some point.

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A Hot Batch of Failure Written by Camila Silva Picture taken by Cristina Serrano

Once upon a time I tried to bake a batch of cookies. I was young and naive and thought of the world as a place where nothing could go wrong. Later that same day, I discovered how such a simple task could easily turn into a cruel joke.

It was one of those calm Sunday afternoons where there is usually not much to do. I had spent the entire evening doing nothing but watch movies on my computer, and now my stomach was beginning to grumble, asking me to find something sweet and full of calories to place inside of it. I was overwhelmed by the sudden urge to eat some deliciously soft, yet crispy, chocolate chip cookies. Yes, it was that kind of afternoon. Shaking off the laziness and stiffness that usually comes after spending a lot of time doing absolutely nothing, I made my way down to the kitchen.

Once I was there, everything switched into automatic mode. I grabbed the recipe book from the shelf and skimmed through its familiar pages until I found the right one. Carefully, I read the instructions.

They were pretty straightforward, and in a matter of minutes I was ready to start. My fingers

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scanned the cupboards as I searched for the materials. Meticulously, I measured every single ingredient, making sure that I had enough of everything.

If there is one thing I enjoy about cooking, it’s its preciseness. Of course, one is allowed to experiment a little. Maybe add some of this, remove some of that, but regardless of what you try, you know that the original recipe will never fail.

That sense of security can be hard to find when it comes to other things, especially if you are a young and anxious teenager who can’t even begin think about things like the future. Cooking is a way to forget about that angst and focus on a relatively simple task. One where there can only be a single outcome.

That is where I was wrong. There can definitely be more than one outcome, and soon enough I would find out.

I followed the instructions in the recipe (or so I thought) until the mix was ready to put in the oven. For reasons I still don’t understand, the mix I ended up with looked and felt exactly like regular cookie-dough, so I never even suspected I had made a mistake.

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Carefully I placed small round pieces of dough on the metal tray, making sure that there was enough space between each little ball. When I was content with my job, I slid the tray into the pre-heated oven and waited.

Since my job was done, I decided to go back to my movie and let the oven work its magic. After a few minutes, I began to smell something strange coming out of the kitchen. I hurried down to check what was happening, already feeling the fear and dread of having to eat burnt cookies. Fortunately, they were not burning. Why? Because there were no cookies!

The small pieces of dough that I had placed on the tray had disappeared. The chocolate chips had melted and the entire platter was flooded with a brown and gooey liquid. A shriek escaped my lips followed by a string of curses.

Quickly, I grabbed an oven mitt and took out the tray. What on earth had happened?!

I scanned the kitchen for any signs that would explain the disaster I had caused.

And there it was: A transparent, plastic measuring cup with exactly 2¼ cups of white flour placed inside of it. With a gaping mouth and slumped shoulders, I stood there, staring at the flour in stupefaction.

Feeling humiliated and senseless, I cleaned up the rest of my failed attempt at baking cookies. I dragged myself back up to my room and didn’t even bother to look for something else to eat.

I felt sad and defeated. What kind of person fails at the simple task of making cookies and, worst of all, forgets to add the most basic ingredient? It’s like trying to use a control remote with no batteries. It looks just fine on the outside, but it’s missing what gives it the power. Absolutely pathetic if you ask me.

Even as I laid down on my bed, the image of the flour still burned at the back of my eyes. I tortured myself with thoughts of my foolishness, thinking that from now on things would only get worse. Forgetting to add the flour would be just the start.

Next time I’d probably end up burning the house or something ridiculous like that. Was I exaggerating? Probably.

Nonetheless, it did help me realize that even the easiest task can require the most attention. It doesn’t matter if the original recipe is perfect, or how great that sense of security feels, there is only one tool you can trust and that is yourself. Relying on anything or anyone else might not get you where you want to go.

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The Beautiful Tragedy Written by Sofia Cortes (Miscellaneous)

Behold a sickening paradise: Once awoken by twittering birds Soaring down through the morning sky, Demanding to be seen and definitely heard.

Now, the jungle is quiet.

Where the creatures of the day and night Roamed so happily as they should, Such a magnificently terrifying sight.

Now, the jungle is still.

Trees were calmly active every single day Fighting hard for mere existence, The true warriors of the jungle, don’t you say?

Now, the jungle is vulnerable.

Men ventured through nature delighted And fought an orderly battle, Not noticing their mistakes, being shortsighted.

Now, the jungle is painstakingly barren.

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