Fall 2019: The Night Issue by penn appétit

FALL 2019

THE

NIGHT

ISSUE

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EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR Rachel Prokupek MANAGING EDITOR Xander Gottfried EDITORIAL STAFF Esther Lee, Helen Wu, Kelsey Warren, Libby Constan, Nina Selipsky, Rachel Wechsler, Sarah Finkelstein, Sophie Quaglia CONTRIBUTING WRITERS Alan Jinich, Diya Sethi, Sara Rex CREATIVE DIRECTOR Alaina Chou DESIGN STAFF Alan Jinich, Eli Nathan, Grace Wan, Irene Xu, Jonah Charlton, Lily Druker, Malia Kealaluhi, Mira Potter-Schwartz, Ryan McLaughlin, Sharon Kuo, Sonia Shah PHOTO DIRECTOR Justine de Jesus PHOTO STAFF Alaina Chou, Alan Jinich, Amanda Jiacheng Shen, Amy Lu, Christy Wu, Emily Yao, Erica Xin, Frankie Li, Janice Utomo, Jean Chapiro, Minna Zheng, Peter Ribeiro, Rose Pan, Shirley Yang DIGITAL CONTENT DIRECTOR Grace Leahy DIGITAL TEAM Cameron Watkins, Daniel Huynh, Ece Yildirim, Gabriela Bonina, Jacky Chan, Josephine Cheng, Luis Arias, Michelle Kwon, Michelle Yeung, Nicole Wojnowski, Shaila Lothe, Shreya Subramanian, Sophie Meinen, Yasmine Mezoury CULINARY DIRECTOR Katherine Ku CULINARY TEAM Adrian Fletcher, Alan Dai, Alyssa Furukawa, Deniz Enfiyeci, Jean Chapiro, Lulu Schmitt, Moh Sabhani, Pinn Chirathivat, Sam Pancoe, Sarah Bernstein, Tessa Fang, Yujung Lee MARKETING DIRECTOR Chris Muracca MARKETING TEAM Ana Baco, Diya Sethi, Eliza Cagnoli, Georgiana Unanue, Ilyssa Delos Reyes, Melissa Plambeck, Olivia Shammas FINANCE DIRECTOR Eli Adler FINANCE TEAM Ashley Leoni, Audrey Cheon, Chloe Barshay, Diya Sethi, Manasa Sudunagunta, Michelle Yeung WEB WIZARDS Edward Kim, Lisa Yang COMMUNICATIONS Allie Shapiro SOCIAL IMPACT CHAIR Katie Simms SOCIAL IMPACT STAFF Caroline Magro, Julie Baum, Katelyn Bottcher, Nancy Zhu, Richa Mehra, Sabrina Palacios, Sofia Cataliotti, Sophie Nichols, Stephanie Sawyung Yoon EVENTS CHAIR Maggie Tang EVENTS STAFF Angel Ho, Beril Olmez, Michelle Yeung, Precious Inofomoh

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Letter editor from the

BY XANDER GOTTFRIED PHOTOS BY SHIRLEY YANG

Every potluck my roommate and I host supposedly starts promptly at 7 pm. After the sun sets and the studying finishes, friends come over to our apartment with their goods. Potlucks usually begin with some inane poetry, a quirky little thing that starts a discussion (or silences the room with its absurdity) before we put up the many potlucked dishes and get to eating. Our apartment is jokingly called the Pondertorium after a satirical Greek comedy we read as freshmen. Potlucks are thus an escape away from the stresses of college life and into this Pondertorium, a place for pondering life’s great questions and debating the ideals of the ancient Greek playwrights…I’m just kidding, Pondertorium potlucks are, first and foremost, a time for eating! A pondluck takes place at night, but that doesn’t mean its pondering principles only apply after dusk. The daylight hours pre-pondluck are where the cooking really happens, like rolling sourdough pasta dough for ravioli, innovating different ways to fold the packets with each freshly-rolled sheet

of dough. Nevermind that the little dumplings were so fragile that after cooking and tossing in a bowl, each little bambino ruptured, releasing its cheesy filling and fusing the whole mass into a sort of lasagna (Curious about other one-pot meals? Read about hotpot, pg. 30, Night). Or the time we made dozens of flour tortillas for breakfast tacos, with a sticky, duck fat infused dough. We argued so much about what types of eggs should go into breakfast tacos (learn how to cook all these kinds on pg. 6, Day) that we had an egg-off the week before to test out several varieties. Spoonable scrambled eggs always take the prize in my book. Shopping for these dinners can be quite an excursion. For pork ribs, we tried three different shops before finally finding someone who carried them. It was Labor Day, after all (other fun places to shop? Reading Terminal Market… read about the people, (not us) who shop there on pg. 37, Day). I’ll often be inspired to make a dish based on in season produce at the time (Find the best of it at one of Philly’s many farmer’s markets, pg. 24, Day) and pick

a recipe from there. One thing’s for certain. A pondluck may start after the sun goes down, but its preparation begins early on in the day. Day and night merge into one continuous time flow as dough becomes sheets becomes ravioli becomes lasagna, and the intention to study becomes less zealous as the pondluck hour approaches. Day and night each have their say, but at the end of the day (or the start of the night? Still confused, see pg. 42, Night), they’re both just about food. In all honesty, the theme of this magazine was initially focused on weekend days and nights. But why limit ourselves? Food should be enjoyed on hectic, too-busy to cook weekdays just as much as it should be on cookto-procrastinate-away-your-studytime weekends. Hopefully this double issue gives you ideas for how to spice up your weekday lunch away from the same halal truck every day and gives you inspiration for weekend day trips and food-centric excursions. Today and tonight is the most exciting time to eat—actually, make that anytime! penn appétit

MENU 2

Masthead

Letter From the Editor

Three New CookNSolo Places

Ode to Childhood Eats

A Penn Student's Guide to Insomnia Cookies

A Meal For Two

A Spirited Weekend: Types of Alcohol

Penn's Declassified BYO Survival Guide

Friday Saturday Sunday: A New Take on Philadelphia's Beloved Classic

Cooking with Booze

Hotpot, It's Pure Comfort

An Ode to the Midnight Snack

Surviving the Night Shift

Chinatown Night Market

24 Hours, 3 Meals, and the Lies You've Been Told About Breakfast

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Spotlight in Philly

Three New CookN Solo Places BY XANDER GOTTFRIED PHOTOS BY ALAINA CHOU AND ALAN JINICH

he average Penn student is probably no stranger to the Cook’n’Solo empire (Zahav, anyone?), but not many know very much about their other restaurants. Abe Fisher, Dizengoff, and Goldie are the existing concepts, but the restaurant group is rapidly expanding with three more Israeli spots. K’Far Café, helmed by James Beard Award winning pastry chef Camille Cogswell, is the new all day café featuring sweet pastries, renowned baklava and rugelach, and a soon-to-be-famous pistachio sticky bun. Savory food includes Jerusalem bagels—think a regular sesame bagel, but longer—and Middle Eastern grain bowls. The new sandwich concept, Merkaz, was teased by pita-sandwich pop-ups at Dizengoff last spring, and now features a host of sandwiches for those all-day sandwich cravings. Finally, Laser Wolf is an Israeli grill centered on meat and skewers from the Chef de Cuisine of Zahav. While Zahav may always be the Philly restaurant that produces the most ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ among Penn students, these are the sleeper hits of the Cook’n’Solo empire: open all day for whenever the craving for Israeil food strikes, and running the gamut from sweet buns to salad to sandwiches to a carnivore-pleasing dinner. K’Far, Merkaz, and Laser Wolf are not to be missed. Editor’s Note: Laser Wolf and Merkaz have not opened by the time of writing, but are projected to by the end of 2019. penn appétit

ODE TO

Childhood EATS

BY DIYA SE T

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HI PH OTO BY

AL A I NA

we gathered around the television, A swatching the school names flash

across the bottom of the screen to determine which districts would have off of school, all that was on my mind was the warmth and soft nature of a rich hot chocolate, with gooey marshmallows baked on top. Staring outside as the snowflakes shifted from a trickle to a heavy pounding, I shivered silently, moving closer to the wood–fire steaming next to me. Suddenly, excitement surged through me as our school’s snow day was declared: the weekend had officially begun. My family friend and I immediately began to pile up our

milk and cookies or the speciality Gushers that your mom gifted you at lunch. Collectively we reminisce about the days where our metabolism ran faster than we did, where any food was good food. My parents tended to passively support me and my sister’s passion for less–than–healthy foods, splurging on State Fair fried everything, allowing us to eat that second bowl of sugary cereal, and almost always giving in on pizza for dinner requests. As much as we complained about our small plate of broccoli or Brussels sprouts, we made up for it by extra scoops of ice cream and hiding candy for months after

Breakfast for dinner took the cake (no pun intended)

of the childhood nostalgia. pillow fort in the living room. After building for hours, we were famished. Sneaking into the kitchen after our parents had fallen asleep, we began to create our midnight meal. After mixing together Skittles, M&M’s, Sour patch kids, and every other candy we could find, popping one too many bags of popcorn, and throwing a tray of box brownies in the oven, we retreated back into our pillowy sanctuary to feast. That evening may have left our stomachs in knots, yet I still cannot eat a marshmallow without thinking about the joy and excitement of snow days. Snow days do not stand alone in the ode to childhood nostalgia; with our attempts to make mac and cheese professional with truffles or turn pigs in a blanket into hors d’oeuvres, adults are constantly attempting to reach back into the memories and joys of childhood. It cannot be denied that every childhood snack or food has memories and associations tied to it that has us reeling to return to simpler days, whether that be your afternoon

Halloween. We forget how spoiled we were, weekends spent snacking the day away. Breakfast for dinner took the cake (no pun intended) of the childhood nostalgia. There was—and still is—a note of magic with each drop of syrup spooling underneath the piles of pancakes, a glob of butter melting away on top. The crispiness of the bacon mimicked the sharpness of the cool evening breeze. It didn’t matter that the sun had set or that we ate eggs at seven pm: all seemed right in the world of breakfast for dinner. Though our parents probably used this as an excuse for something easy as they dealt with the burdens of their stressful lives, it was the simplicity that made it so perfect for us. Now, with midterms, job applications, and the nuances of life, there is no true way we can mimic that same freeness. With the additional stress of counting calories or keto diets, we have lost the tiny joys that childhood foods have given us. I think it’s time we all start to grow up a little more slowly.

Here at Penn Appétit, we don’t want you to forget your childhood. Here’s a quick recipe for homemade hot cheeto chicken nuggets: Hot Cheeto Chicken Nuggets RECIPE BY DIYA SETHI 1.5 pounds of chicken thighs .25 cups butter (melted) 1.5 cups of shredded parmesan cheese 1.5 cups of hot cheetos Preheat the oven to 400 °F. Cut up chicken thighs into 1-1.5 inch pieces. Crush the hot cheetos in a Ziploc bag using a rolling pin until pieces are grainy. Mix together parmesan cheese and hot cheetos into one bowl. Place the melted butter into another. Dip the chicken pieces into the melted butter and then the cheese/hot cheeto combo. Perform this step twice consecutively. Place chicken on greased pan and bake for 20-25 minutes. Enjoy!

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A Penn Stude Guide to t

Insomn

Cookie Menu BY SARA REX PHOTOS BY JUSTINE DE JESUS AND PETER RIBEIRO

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ent’s the

nia

t nearly any time of day, the sweet smell of fresh-baked goods wafts up the stairs of Houston Hall from the University of Pennsylvania’s premier late-night confectionery, Insomnia Cookies. Founded by our very own alumnus right on our campus, it is an unmistakable and irresistible staple of student life. However, with so many options to choose from, it could take months to try every cookie during midnight study breaks. In order to ease the process of figuring out what to buy for yourself at one in the morning when you just want a cookie, we took the liberty of taste testing all the cookies for you. Here is our guide to the best options, ordered from sublime to mediocre, from our two glorious days eating Insomnia Cookies.

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– 1. Peanut Butter Chip

This was one amazing cookie. Not only were there abundant, smooth peanut butter chips, but it was soft on the inside and crunchy on the outside, rendering it perfectly chewy. It was buttery like Insomnia’s sugar cookie, but also had peanut butter chips that melted in our mouths.

– – 2. Double Chocolate Mint

Amazing. It tasted like a mint brownie. The melty chocolate and mint chips, crisp edges, and doughy insides made it one of the best we tried.

3. Sugar

It was a buttery, flaky, chewy, and all-around impeccable cookie. With its soft interior and crunchy exterior, this delicate dessert is one of the best buys at Insomnia and seems like it could be put to good use in an ice cream sandwich.

– 4. Double Chocolate Chunk

It was crunchy on the outside, chewy on the inside, and had a rich chocolate flavor. The melted chocolate complemented the crunchy and chewy aspects of the rest of the cookie. Overall, it tasted like a gourmet Oreo without the cream. Because of this, double chocolate chunk cookies seem like they would pair particularly well with vanilla ice cream in an ice cream sandwich.

– – 5. Chocolate Chunk

The classic. It was doughy, crunchy, and really the original. Buy this if you want the classic Insomnia experience.

6. Deluxe Chocolate Peanut Butter Cup

This is one of three extra-large cookies on the menu. It was very large and fairly good. It tasted like the peanut butter chip cookie, but in a generous portion. The main difference between this one and the smaller peanut butter chip cookie was that the deluxe cookie seemed to be more dry, but it also had the element of chocolate, which the peanut butter chip cookie did not.

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– 7. Snickerdoodle

This cookie was very good, with the exception of not being able to taste much cinnamon, which we believe to be the main distinguishing factor between snickerdoodles and sugar cookies. Its edges were crisp, but it was slightly less buttery and moist than the sugar cookie, so we would recommend the sugar cookie before the snickerdoodle.

– 8. Classic with M&M’s

Although it was a good cookie, it was not quite comparable to chocolate chunk, which tasted like essentially the same cookie dough with different mix-ins. Sweetness may be what draws us to Insomnia in the first place, but this particular cookie overdoes it slightly.

– 9. Deluxe Triple Chocolate Chunk

A good cookie, seemingly meant to mimic the classic chocolate chunk in a larger format. However, it did not taste as fresh as the smaller cookies. I would recommend buying the regular chocolate chunk cookie, unless quantity is one of the more important factors in your cookie purchase.

– 10. Oatmeal Raisin

Unfortunately, it was low-ranking on account of it tasting too much like a granola bar. We did not come to a cookie bakery to be healthy. It could also be improved by adding cinnamon and decreasing some of the unnecessary crunch.

– 11. White Chocolate Macadamia Nut

It was a bit too sweet. It tasted like it was made from regular vanilla dough, but the taste of the white chocolate unfortunately clashed with its flavor.

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BY KELSEY WARREN AND SARAH FINKELSTEIN PHOTO BY EMILY YAO ILLUSTRATIONS BY ALAINA CHOU 14

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For many of us amateur student cooks, we are more inclined to cook for ourselves than for others. Given the inconsistency of our schedules, it is difficult to set aside the time to cook for our friends. Mostly, however, we don’t want to submit our friends to our cooking mishaps—which happen more than we’d like to admit. Noticing this, we—Sarah and Kelsey— decided to cook each other a meal. We went shopping for ingredients the other person would cook, met up at Sarah’s house, and set off to prepare a Sunday night feast! Happy reading! penn appétit

Sarah and I became friends freshman fall. We bonded over many things, one of which being our love of food. However, living in the dorms meant that we were never able to cook together. I hope it’s not a deal breaker... Drawing upon my illustrious career as a Chopped groupie, I want to find an outrageous ingredient for Sarah to cook. So, reasonably, I decide Sarah’s first ingredient will be sardines. I chose dried linguine, lemon, avocado, and root vegetables as the other ingredients. What would I do with these ingredients? A pasta dish with a lemon-butter sauce.

Over the past year, Kelsey and I got to know each other’s cooking styles. Mine relies on more of a hodge-podge-throw-it-all-together-load-it-upwith-spices-and-butter-how-could-it-be-bad kind of attitude (yet I love the precision of baking...). Kelsey’s, on the other hand, is built on a very classic ideal...protein, vegetable, and starch, each prepared differently and finding their own spot on the plate. To challenge Kelsey, I give her a melange of vegetables that I once remember combining in one pot with spices to make a stew. Preceding the cooking, I write her a letter stressing that she should lean into the idea of a one pot, out-of-her-comfort-zone dish, exactly what I would do with the produce.

My grand dreams of a lemony fish and pasta dish came tumbling down when Sarah tells me she is allergic to fish. I should have learned to ask about allergies when I fed Sarah a peanut butter cookie I’d made last year, unknowing that she was allergic to peanuts...this cooking challenge is really testing our friendship! As I stare into my fridge to find other ingredients for Sarah to use, I make a connection between my root vegetables, zucchini spirals, and eggs. Maybe she could make a quiche? An egg salad? This exercise is about out-of-the-box thinking, and Sarah is pre-med—she can handle it.

When first looking at the ingredients she gave me, I was nothing short of confused. Root vegetable mix, zucchini noodles, balsamic vinegar, avocado, lemon, and three eggs. I was so frazzled that the eggs couldn’t even be incorporated into the dish! I opt to make two separate dishes, finding no middle ground to combine all six ingredients. Going with my first instinct, I throw the root vegetables in a pan with spices (as per usual) and hope for the best. I cook the zoodles with garlic and oil and start to make an “avocado sauce” (trust me, as questionable as it sounds, it was really pretty good), adding the lemon and some basil and olive oil. After tossing it with the zoodles, I realize that my dish is a green mush, at least a tasty green mush. To the root vegetables, I add some of the balsamic and some honey to coat them. These were definitely the star; with a sweet and spicy kick, I will definitely make these again.

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Even though I am not the most meticulous chef, I feel like I proved that sometimes, spices, oil, and a little bit of salt (no black pepper, as per Kelsey’s rules) can take a bunch of random ingredients and turn them into an amazing meal to be shared with friends. And who knows, maybe next time the eggs will make the cut...

When met with her ingredients for me—small portobello mushrooms, Brussels sprouts, baby heirloom tomatoes, chickpeas, and spring mix—I immediately start heating up the stove top. I start by halving and cooking the Brussels sprouts and mushrooms—both with coconut oil—over medium heat. I wash and dry the chickpeas, preheat the oven to 425°F to toast them. Once the Brussels are cooked through, I salt them and lay them face-down on the sheet with the chickpeas. I drizzle the whole sheet tray with olive oil and put it in the oven. As I let the mushrooms soften, I wash the spring mix and put it into two bowls. I wait until everything is almost done, and sauté the tomatoes, knowing they won’t take long to warm through in a pan. They come out soft, aromatic, and colorful—a perfect addition to the Brussels and mushrooms which look rather dull, albeit tasty. I add the chickpeas to the spring mix and serve it with balsamic vinegar on the side. While lacking innovation, the sautéed tomatoes, mushrooms, and Brussels sprouts are simply delicious! The heat from the chickpeas, combined with a balsamic vinegar dressing, made a basic spring mix feel appropriate for the fall. After all, sometimes the simplest meals are the best meals!

Kelsey’s dish was a beautifully presented warm salad for the fall. The chickpeas, a bit crunchy and spicy from being baked in the oven, were the perfect addition to the sauteed mushrooms and heirlooms. Kelsey had her mushrooms cooking in a different pot from her tomatoes, and her Brussels and chickpeas on different halves of the baking sheet (the polar opposite of what I would’ve done in that situation). In these differences exists the beauty of food as a creative outlet and experience.

I am intrigued by Sarah’s root vegetables which she seasoned with balsamic vinegar and honey. They are sweet and warm—the perfect fall dish! Her avocado-zucchini guacamole is innovative, although we decide the texture of the avocado doesn’t mesh well with the zucchini. Contrary to my strategy, she did a great job at testing the limits of each ingredient.

We successfully shopped, cooked, and ate! While it might have tested the limits of our friendship, we made it out stronger than ever. Duel again, soon? penn appétit

a spirited weekend: types of alcohol

BY NINA SELIPSKY PHOTO BY JUSTINE DE JESUS

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Weekend (or sometimes weekday!) nights are a great time to meet friends for a drink. While a tried-and-true happy hour

margarita rarely disappoints, there are often more options worthy of consideration. Next time five o’clock hits, consider ordering something new or mixing up your own cocktail. But with so many different types of alcohol out there, it can be daunting to know what to choose. Read on for some background info on an assortment of spirits (each roughly 40% alcohol by volume), as well as suggested pairings and fun facts to make your next happy hour, well, more spirited. Weekend (or sometimes weekday!) nights are a great time to meet friends for a drink. While a tried-and-true happy hour

Vodka

Gin

Originating from Poland and Russia, vodka is distilled from starch or sugar-rich plant matter. Grains such as corn, rye, and wheat make up most of today’s vodka— experts generally consider rye and wheat vodkas superior due to their lean, dry taste (but don’t tell corn!). This clear beverage can also be distilled from potatoes, making it an option for all of our corn-sensitive friends out there. Vodka is traditionally drunk “neat,” meaning without water, ice, or any other mixer. But for those who prefer something a bit milder than vodka straight-up—myself included—it can be mixed into a Cosmopolitan, Moscow Mule, or Vodka Martini. It’s even used at times in cooking as a substitute for water (its root voda means little water, after all). One example is pie crust, because it helps the dough come together but doesn’t form gluten (as water would do), leading to a tender, flaky crust. However: Penn Appétit does not recommend substituting water for vodka in all areas of life. Just in sauces and pies!

Some allege that the only sophisticated way to make a martini is with gin. I’ll leave the choice up to you, but unlike vodka, gin is made to be mixed. Distilled from juniper berries (which taste like pine with a touch of fruit and pepper), the botanicals in gin combine well with other classic cocktail ingredients—the French 75, Gin Fizz, and Gin & Tonic are just a few examples. Gin originated as an herbal remedy in the Middle Ages, evolved into jenever, a Dutch medicine-turned-liquor, and finally became popularized in England after the 1688 Glorious Revolution. If you’re looking for a new holiday-themed taste test, gin with gingerbread was reportedly the first ever recorded food and alcohol pairing in England in the 1660s. Healing powers no longer guaranteed, but not not guaranteed either.

Rum

Tequila

For me, rum conjures up Jack Sparrow (sorry—Captain Jack Sparrow) stranded on a beach screaming, “Why is the rum gone?!” to Keira Knightley’s Elizabeth as she burns the last of it. Produced mainly in Caribbean and Latin American countries, rum is made by fermenting and distilling sugarcane molasses or juice, and then using barrels to age the distillate. Rum comes in light, golden, and dark grades, with light rum lending itself well to cocktails (hello, mojito) and dark rum to being sipped neat or on the rocks (although of course it can be mixed into cocktails, too). The aging process determines the color of the rum— white rum is aged only a year or two in stainless steel, so it remains colorless. Golden rum develops its color by soaking up the oak barrel hue for a few years. The mahogany tint of dark rum derives from aging at least two or three years in oak barrels.

There’s a reason the song, “Tequila,” became a hit in 1958— the song and the drink are definite crowd-pleasers. Tequila was first produced in the 16th century near the city of Tequila, which was not officially established until 1666. Tequila to this day can only be made within particular regions of certain Mexican states. The spirit is made by distilling the fermented juices of the Weber blue agave plant, which is larger and more blue-gray in color than its smaller green cousin, A. tequilana. After seven to ten years of growth, the agave plant is ready to be harvested for tequila production. In Mexico, tequila is commonly served neat, while much of the rest of the world envisions tequila as a shot with salt and lime or a margarita. For any Grey’s Anatomy fans, in the words of Meredith Grey, “I’m always up for cheeseburgers and tequila.”

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PENN’S

Declassified

BYO survival guide BY RACHEL WECHSLER PHOTOS BY JUSTINE DE JESUS

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t’s Saturday Night. You want to do something fun and different and adventurous—and I don’t blame you, it has been a long week. So you grab a few friends, pool your heads together, and decide to go to a BYO: a restaurant that lets you bring your own alcoholic beverages while eating at their establishment. If you haven’t enjoyed this dining experience yet, I highly recommend it. It is an amazing way to see Philly, get off of Penn’s campus, and enjoy good food with good company. Philly is unique in that it has so many different types of BYOs; from small boutique cafes to large restaurants, from mediterranean plates to chinese dishes, and from up-scale silverware to paper plates, there are dozens of choices. It is easy to get lost in this wide range of BYOpportunities. Don’t get me wrong, while there are dozens of delicious gems that are both cozy and culinary, it is not hard to find BYOs that serve nausea-inducing meals. Often, these places are just as expensive as those restaurants that drive you into a food coma, and as members of Penn Appétit, we want to help you know how to choose the right ones. So here we are: declassifying the best options for survival in a city resplendent with BYOs. LOW-PRICE OPTIONS LOW PRICE OPTIONS: A Mano: In the mood for some pizza, but sick of Allegro’s? A Mano is the place to be. This Italian restaurant is an amazing low-price alternative to upscale restaurants, and it has the benefit of being a convenient BYO! Filled with dozens of different types of pizza and pasta, the menu will overwhelm you with its mouthwatering selections of classic italian dishes. Most importantly, at A Mano, there is no such thing as too much cheese. (Pro-tip: its mushroom ravioli is the best pasta dish you’ll find in Philly.)

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Bocconcini: Did someone say free bread basket? Boccocini did! So basically you are already sold. Translated as “small bites” in Italian, Boccocini takes its namesake on by the mouthful. Its portions are generous and its menu is all-encompassing, inclusive to pasta and meat eaters alike. Their appetizerselection is notably varied and reasonably priced, and perfect if you want a bite to share with dinner dates. Ekta: Right on campus, and the naan hits the spot. This Indian restaurant is perfect for the nights when you don’t want to walk far, and are in the mood for lots of food for a low price. I recommend grabbing a few friends, and sampling their buffet’s wide array of dishes. Nothing goes better with beer than some rice, curry, and garlic naan! Kanella Grill: Wouldn’t it be amazing if “Greek Lady” were a BYO? Well, lucky enough, there is another delicious and affordable Greek option nearby. Kanella does not shy away from the Greek classics, and offers grilled halloumi, hardy gyros, greek-salad, and resplendent kebab platters. It is a really

great option if you want some wine with your feta! La Viola: An iconic spot for pregames, and all-things inebriated. Grab a dozen boxes of Franzia, bring twenty of your closest friends, and head to La Viola if you want to have pasta while you and your friends scream at each other across the table about cheese. Located in Center City, this Italian Restaurant is affordable and offers sizable portions of traditional Italian dishes, at a conveniently low price. Saté Kampar: This Malaysian restaurant brings an authentic taste to each of its dishes. Its owners, a young married couple from Kampar, Malaysia, are first-time restaurant owners and obsessed with making each dish accurately represent the dozens of flavors that dominate Malaysian cuisine. Their menu does not disappoint: seasonal herbs, crispy tofu with julienned vegetables, and delicate rice vermicelli dressed with lime and toasted coconut. Definitely a good place to go if you are feeling spontaneous.

HIGH-PRICE OPTIONS Audrey Claire: If you haven’t yet had the pleasure of visiting this chicmediterannean restaurant, then get yourself on OpenTable ASAP. This BYO is one of my absolute favorites: aside from bringing warm pita to the table, Audrey Claire is famous for their family-style platters of seared shishito peppers, za’atar spiced grilled chicken, and pear and gorgonzola flatbread. If you’re in search for an upscale meal—and a place nice enough for your mother—then Audrey Claire is where you should look! Ambrosia: This cozy Italian restaurant is perfect if you’re looking for a quiet night out with a small group of friends. Located on 24th and Locust, Ambrosia’s interior transports you into a nineteenth century villa. Low lighting, wooden tables, and bright flowers only enhance the dining experience. Its options for shared-appetizers are endless, and its grilled artichokes with warm burrata is a crowd pleaser every time. Kalaya: In need of an authentic Thai fix? Then Kalaya is the place to be. Not only is each item on the menu an authentic and traditional dish, but its co-owners will quickly steal your heart with their contagious warmth and passion for food. Much of their food is based on oldfamily recipes, which is why they have options like “mom’s khao yum kamin”— southern thai rice salad with toasted coconut—that you won’t be able to find anywhere else. Little Fish: Ten years after it was named by Bon Appétit as the 3rd Best New Seafood Restaurant in the USA, Little Fish is still an exciting place to be! It is no surprise that this BYO is filled with daring dishes and fascinating fish combinations. The staff is beyond friendly and is incredibly knowledgeable about all-things fish, keeping the mood of this small restaurant upbeat and fun. The menu is constantly changing, and has new dynamic dishes each time you arrive. (The bluefin tuna is their most famous dish!)

Pumpkin: Known for its imaginative take on local and sustainable food, Pumpkin will dazzle you with its exquisite taste and creativity. Although the menu selection is small, the three-courses-for-35 option will leave you dreaming about its Scallop Crudo and Bourbon Pot De Crème. The low lighting and mismatched wood enlists a feeling of home, and its honest-American food will have you reminiscing about warm summer days.

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FRIDAY SATURDAY SUNDAY A New Take on Philadelphia's Beloved Classic

BY SOPHIE QUAGLIA PHOTOS BY JUSTINE DE JESUS AND EMILY YAO 24

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Friday Saturday Sunday has been an essential part of Philadelphia nightlife for almost fifty years. Located only a few blocks from Rittenhouse Square at 261 S 21st Street, the restaurant has stood the test of time, but that’s not to say it’s remained static. Its history is well known among lifelong Philadelphians who’ve been around long enough to be familiar with the original restaurant, and for good reason. The initial owners were fully steeped in the counterculture, anti-war movement of the time (in fact, the first review of the restaurant from October 1973 focused on these “war babies” as “greening the gourmet restaurant scene”), and played an important role in Philly’s restaurant renaissance in the 1970s. What they attempted to deliver was the exact opposite of what was ubiquitous in the dining scene at the time: a restaurant that was simple, unpretentious, and inexpensive. Friday Saturday Sunday opened on a dare between the original six partners, who each threw $2,000 into a hat as venture capital to open a restaurant, and then took turns running it, each with their own share of crazy ideas. Eventually, co-owner (and Penn graduate) Weaver Lilley bought out his partners, and took over running it full time. The name ‘Friday Saturday Sunday’ is a bit of a misnomer, since under Lilley the restaurant was open every day of the week. The idea had originally been to open only during the three most popular dining nights, but the owners quickly discovered that those three days—Friday, Saturday, and Sunday— only produced enough revenue to cover the expenses, resulting in a restaurant that was open seven days per week. But the original name stuck. The new owners, Chad and Hanna Williams, who bought the restaurant in 2015 and who double as the head chef and general manager, respectively, have distanced themselves from this history. It is impossible to mention Friday Saturday Sunday without having someone reminisce about their iconic fish tank or the cream of mushroom soup, and yet these have been removed from the new Friday Saturday Sunday, separating the restaurant from its former self. In fact, it seems as though the new incarnation stands in many ways in stark contrast to the restaurant’s original founding principles. What had originally been simple, unpretentious,

and inexpensive is now elevated, formal, and expensive. Recent reviews describe the restaurant as serving “elegant New American fare,” with former regulars feeling “confused by the restaurant’s new layout, menu, vibe.” It is hard to deny that Chad and Hanna Williams have had success in taking this staple of Philadelphia’s dining scene and shifting it to become more upscale, after an eighteen-month closure for renovations, with the restaurant reopening in December of 2016. The exterior still stands in its former glory, non-threatening and unimposing. In fact, it blends right in with the residential city townhouses surrounding it. The golden-hued door and aged writing on the window all give a very understated yet regal impression to the old-timey exterior. Inside, it is hard to imagine that the restaurant has been recently renovated. It is clear that pains have been taken to ensure that Friday Saturday Sunday maintains a rustic aesthetic and a carefully curated historical look. The first floor, which had been the dining room and is now the bar, has checkered black and white floors and features ample wood on the walls, perhaps maintained from the original. The light comes from rustic lights and candles, both of which cast an orange glow on the intimate room. The hostess talks to us as we wait for five pm, when the dining room opens. She has only been working there for about five months, and yet she already has an extensive list of VIP guests who she’s greeted at the doors of the renowned restaurant, from politicians penn appétit

like Senator Elizabeth Warren to Eagles players both past and present, including Nick Foles and Jason Kelce. At the bar, people of all ages sit and order drinks, connected only through their formal and highly elegant attire. One woman remarks, “I was thinking we might not get a seat, but we clearly beat the rush.” The bartender responds, “it’s going to fill up pretty quickly since it’s Friday.” This comment turns out to be more accurate than could have been anticipated, as only ten minutes later there isn’t a single free seat left at the bar. Much like the clientele, the restaurant itself—and certainly the music playlist—is sexy and sophisticated, a turn from the more informal aesthetic of both the original restaurant and its frequenters. While the bar-area is rowdy, the intimate dining room upstairs is quiet, to the point where it’s hard to believe that you’re not alone in the restaurant. Most of the menu is smaller dishes meant to be shared, with only a few larger, entrée sized items. The menu is certainly heavy on meat-based dishes, but there are still a small selection of vegetarian options. Following the delivery of bread to the table, a gift from the kitchen is presented, a beautiful egg shell delivery 26

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with a mushroom soup, topped with a potato crisp and caviar. The server, looking as though this is not his first time answering the question, tells us that the mushroom soup is not, unfortunately, an homage to the mushroom soup of the previous incarnation of the restaurant. This question is warranted, however, since Williams has said that he’ll “find some reincarnation for it. Maybe for anniversaries.” Apparently, though, this starter is not one of them. The following courses all prove that Friday Saturday Sunday has successfully transitioned into the realm of upscale dining, with dishes that are intricate, beautiful, and delicious. Overall, the restaurant sells itself as the perfect location for when your parents come to visit. Or, if you’re going on a date with someone really rich. Or, if you’re really rich and want to spend money to impress your date. Bottom line, Friday Saturday Sunday is not necessarily cheap, but the sophistication and sex-appeal permeating through the restaurant, not to mention the quality of the food, makes it a worthwhile dining destination, while its simultaneous saturation in history and complete modernity makes it an important part of the Philadelphia dining scene.

COOKING WITH BOOZE

BY NINA SELIPSKY PHOTOS BY EMILY YAO When I was young enough to order off the kids’ menu but old enough to know what vodka was, seeing “penne alla vodka” on the entrée list made me do a double take. I had to ask my mom if I was even allowed to order it—why was it on the menu if alcohol was only supposed to be for adults? My mom laughed and told me it wasn’t really liquor anymore; you couldn’t even taste any trace of it. Still, it blew my young mind that I would be able to order something with “vodka” in the name—sans ID, or even proof of graduating elementary school, for that matter. A dish with alcohol suggests a certain amount of mystery and exhilaration.

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Many years later and past the age of 21, I decided to try my hand at cooking with booze. Leafing through recipes in a Pacific Northwest food and wine cookbook, I made my selection: Cabernet Sauvignon Risotto. The recipe called for Arborio rice, chicken stock, unsalted butter, one large onion, whipping cream, and the key ingredient: Cabernet Sauvignon (a robust, fruity, dry red). I boiled my chicken stock, melted my butter, chopped my onion, and added my rice. When it came to the recipe’s namesake, I had selected a nondescript Cabernet—nothing fancy, as I thought any nuances of a nice bottle would be lost on the stove (but some people say to cook with what you would drink, so splurge if you’re so inclined!). As I poured the smooth wine into the Arborio mixture, I was stunned by the masterpiece before me. Instead of just disappearing into the rice and broth, the Cabernet was slowly turning my concoction more and more purple with each splash— beginning as a lavender-grey ombré

before settling into a deeper violet tone. I couldn’t help but steal a taste out of the pan. Letting the rice almost dissolve in my mouth, I loved the way the wine gave the risotto a slight fruitiness, with just a hint of acidity to awaken my tastebuds. Adding alcohol to my recipe was not only enhancing the flavor of my dish, it was also enhancing its presentation. I didn’t know if I would ever be able to go back to regular risotto when I had created this amethyst variation with just twenty minutes and a bottle of red. Now understanding what the right spirit in a recipe could do, I decided to look into exactly why liquor can make a dish better. As it turns out, alcohol bonds with both fat and water molecules, allowing it to carry aromas and flavor. In a marinade, it seasons the meat and helps it tenderize. When simmered down into sauces, spirits can help to concentrate the flavor. The point here is not getting tipsy (although sipping a glass of the extra wine while cooking could surely do that for you): the act of cooking booze

usually cooks off the alcohol due to its very low boiling point, leaving behind a nonalcoholic, flavorful liquid. The point is that cooking with liquor can add depth and excitement to your typical recipes. Whether it be wine, beer, or vodka, booze is an immediate flavor enhancer. Besides my purple risotto, you can make a moist bread using beer, or a pasta sauce or finishing glaze for grilled meats using vodka or rum. Alternatively, what’s the only thing better than dessert? Dessert amplified with a hint of booze, of course. Bourbon Banana Bread, Baileys Chocolate Mousse, or Margarita Lemon Bars are options that can elevate simple sweets to potluck crowd-pleasers, adding subtle depth without being too intense. Cooking with booze doesn’t need to be intimidating. On your next quiet night in, take a walk on the wild side by adding a splash of nature’s food-coloring to your risotto. Maybe it’ll spark your creativity; but if nothing else, it’ll make penne alla vodka-loving kids everywhere proud.

Crêpe Framboises

Raspberry Sauce:

RECIPE BY ADRIAN FLETCHER

Combine all ingredients in a saucepan and bring to a boil.

Serves 12 Crêpe Batter:

Reduce to a simmer and cook until thickened and can coat the back of a spoon.

2 large eggs ¾ cup all-purpose flour ½ cup milk ⅛ teaspoon salt ½ teaspoon sugar ⅓ cup cold water 1 tablespoon canola oil 1 tablespoon melted butter, plus more for cooking

Crêpes:

Raspberry Sauce:

Cook 2 tablespoons of batter at a time, cooking for about 2 minutes per side until golden brown.

16 ounces raspberries ½ cup sugar 1 teaspoon lemon juice Zest from ½ a lemon 3 teaspoons water 1 tablespoon raspberry liqueur (Chambord) Powdered sugar and fresh raspberries (optional)

Whisk together eggs, flour, milk, salt, and sugar, then add water and oil, whisking just to combine. Let batter rest for up to 1 hour in fridge. Heat an 8-inch skillet over medium heat and add butter.

Remove to a paper towel to drain until ready to serve. Add the raspberry sauce to the pan, then fold each crêpe into triangles and add on top of sauce. Drizzle with more sauce and powdered sugar, and serve.

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Hot Pot 30

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BY ESTHER LEE PHOTOS BY ALAN JINICH The air outside is crisp and cold. The full moon gleams, giving just enough light for me to see the path ahead. As I unlock the weathered door to enter a warm, cozy gathering in a small corner of the kitchen, I feel butterflies fluttering in my stomach. Not too climactic, but just the right amount that slows me down to enjoy the moment. At the center of the table is an old portable stove and a large wok filled with two different

types of broth—Mala (a type of spice used in hotpot and other dishes from Sichuan, China) and bone broth. Meat, vegetables, fish, and dipping sauces (my favorites are chili oil and peanut sauce) surround the stove. As all of us sit down, we start with surface level conversations, but slowly become comfortable sharing our deep thoughts. I dump some of the raw foods into the boiling broth and quickly take them out to ensure the best flavor. When I place the thin fatty slice of meat into my mouth, I cannot help but release a satisfying sigh

as I take in the bursts of flavors and textures. The hot steamy wok clouds my glasses, but—overcome by a jumble of senses—I do not take notice. With my eyes closed, I feel a comfortable numbing sensation on my tongue from the spices—this is the mala spice at work; I can feel the warmth in my inner body as I take in the steam and my current surroundings. Hotpot, or【火锅】 huo guo, is thought to have originated in Mongolia 800-900 years ago, perhaps at the time when Mongolians traveled far distances to conquer large areas

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of land and establish what would be known as the Yuan Dynasty. Now, hotpot is a common feast that is not only enjoyed by many Asian countries (primarily China) on holidays such as the Mid-Autumn Festival or the Lunar New Year, but also at small gatherings with friends and family. Although the feast can be prepared at home, a few of my favorite restaurants in Philly that serve hotpot are LaTao Hot Pot in University City and Chubby Cattle in Chinatown. LaTao is an “All You Can Eat” restaurant, a perfect place to try every hotpot food they have. With various meats, vegetables, and starches, there is something for everyone to try. Chubby Cattle is definitely on the more premium side, as you do order and pay for each ingredient. The meats are specifically chosen and finely cut to ensure the best quality. Here are my favorite ingredients:

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Thin Sliced Angus Beef

After just a few seconds in the boiling broth, this slice of beef can be dipped in any kind of sauce, but is best enjoyed by itself in its purest form. Watercress, Bok Choy, Daikon, Taro, and Haidai

These are a few of my favorite vegetables, but for all the plant-based eaters out there, hotpot is the perfect feast for you. The longer these vegetables are soaked in the broth, the more flavor they have. Beware of soaking them in the mala broth, for they get extra spicy! Fish Balls

Come in shrimp, lobster, cuttlefish, and other combinations of meats, these are softer foods. When cooked in the broth, these slowly expand and become more flavorful. Adding these will tie up the hotpot package!

Tofu, especially Frozen Tofu

These come in various textures but regardless, they soak up so much broth. Juicy and also burning hot, tofu adds another texture (can be soft and silky, firm, or filled with lots of air pockets) that is unlike other hotpot foods. In particular, frozen tofu gives a rougher texture that perfectly complements the soft fish balls and vegetables. Lastly, I can’t forget about a can of Wang Lao Ji Herbal Tea, one of the most popular tea drinks in China today! Hotpot is a symbol of the warmth that people surrounding the table have for each other. This way of eating not only displays group consciousness, but also is an indication of the willingness to share from the same pot. And if one is alone and just wants to have a good time, hotpot provides the comforting feeling of times when you were surrounded by your loved ones.

AN ODE

TO THE

Oh, the midnight snack. The times we’ve had together. No other meal has been there for me in the way the midnight snack has been. People say breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I say blasphemy! The midnight snack reigns supreme. People say you’re not supposed to eat after eight pm. I say have you ever tasted a McNugget at two am right before a black out? Who cares if it kills me? I’ll die doing what I love. I have a long and ongoing history with the late night snack. When I was just a baby, I would sit in my high chair long after my siblings left the dinner table, waiting for random snacks, as my mom would clean up. Maybe I didn’t make it to midnight back then, but for a baby, seven pm is basically midnight. And I knew, even then, that this was the time to eat. Everyone was gone, I had the kitchen to myself, and I could eat a weird mixture of snacks? Yes please! Sign me up for one am every night for the rest of my existence. This tendency to eat in the late hours of the night became heightened in my teenage years. All other meals were rushed, from breakfast being a banana as I ran into my first class. Then,

Midnight

Snack a quick lunch during my thirty-minute break. And finally dinner, sandwiched between track practices and doing homework. But at the end of the long day, after I had no more class, no more practice, no more work, I could finally indulge. I would make luxurious snacks that were only masquerading as a snack and were truly a full meal. I would sit in bed every night with my frozen pizza or plate of leftovers, while watching my favorite Netflix show. This, my friends, is how I maintained some semblance of sanity through high school. My mom definitely loved this eating habit of mine. She would always know when I got home at night from the clanking of bowls and forks at four am on a Friday night. Or Saturday morning? (I promise I will try to be quiet mom!) And in the morning she has a fun and exciting puzzle of what’s gone from the kitchen and what plates were used to see what I put together. So midnight snacking can even bring families together. I hope my college roommates love this as much as she did. The midnight snack to the college student is versatile and can take on many forms. For a college student, midnight can look vastly different depending on the night. The midnight

BY LIBBY CONSTAN PHOTO BY DANIEL HUYNH

snack can be a quick banana and red bull in a cubicle in Van Pelt to remind you that joy exists. It can be an entire pint of ice cream after yet another mediocre frat boy disappoints you. Screw Chad! Meet Ben and Jerry. Or, my favorite midnight snack, a mix of anything and everything in the kitchen. You can have any combination of foods for a midnight snack. Takis and sour straws? Delicious! Cereal and cold pizza? Mind blowing! Do whatever you want. You’re already breaking the rules. Why not break one more? And hey, everyone else is asleep so calories don’t even count. Right? In doing my extensive research for this article, I found that there is a lot of hate against the midnight snack. The article titles that show up when you look up the midnight snack resemble “The Healthiest Midnight Snack,” “How to Stop Midnight Snacking,” and “The Science Behind Why You Shouldn’t Midnight Snack.” With all this anti-midnight snack propaganda I write this article as a plea to forgive the midnight snack. It is the best time to eat if you are looking for a moment of peace and joy at the end of a long day. So the next time you hesitate in front of the fridge and think, “Should I really eat this right now?” remember that I, your resident food expert say, “Go for it!”

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BY DIYA SETHI AND SARAH FINKLESTEIN PHOTO BY FRANKIE LI 34 penn appÃ©tit

he glaring fluorescent lights blinded as we entered, shaking off any ounce of sleepiness that had entered our bodies at that late hour. The diner was reminiscent of an older time, seemingly straight out of a ‘90s sitcom. A sense of calmness overtook us as we saw the large bold clock that stared at us as we entered, reading “Good Things to Eat Around the Clock.” The booths were worn down from years of diner inhabitants all with their own stories, no doubt. The checkered backsplash of the diner juxtaposed the red island of the bar with individuals placed haphazardly along it, all minding their own business. There was a chuckle of laughter bouncing off the walls as we entered. The diner was homey and we were hungry, and so the adventure began. We found ourselves at The Melrose Diner off Broad Street in Southwest Philly, hoping to get some insight into what the graveyard shift at a diner looks like. We spent the drive there exchanging stories about drunchies at our own local diners, like Saturday nights drinking milkshakes and dipping french fries in them. In high school, those nights only lasted until 12:30 at the latest and, unbeknownst to us, those 24-hour diners continued on their vibrant courses, serving food throughout the night until people woke up and got pancakes with their families the following Sunday morning. So we came in to spend the night; to experience all hours of the traditional 24-hour diner. We arrived promptly at ten pm on a Saturday with two of our close friends. We were excited, hungry for some classic greasy diner food, and proudly staked our claim to a large booth one away from the back corner. With a perfect view of the high top chairs at the bar, we ordered coffee (had to stay fueled), slices of pie, onion rings, and pizza fries: thin-cut fries covered in a thick layer of tomato sauce with melted mozzarella cheese on top (One of Diya’s favorites, but the first Sarah’s

tried of them). The food was delicious and we shared laughs and free-flowing conversation, happy to have broken out of the “Penn Bubble.” We scoured the menu, planning out when we were going to order what, and how we were going to get through the night. Novices to the late night shift, we were fired up by the busy midnight conversation around us and excited for the night ahead. As the commotion bubbled down with the departure of our friends, the fact that we had made the decision to spend the night at the diner settled in. Our inhibited chatter shifted to short passing comments as we began to work on the homework we had brought to accompany us. Around us the diner seemed to take our cues, acquainting us with its routine. People who appeared to be regulars conversed with the waitresses at the bar as the diner’s previous intoxicating energy settled into a softness that only emphasized the weight of the bags under our eyes. Around 2:30 am, almost as if someone had flipped a switch, the night crowd stumbled in, unnoticed but suddenly blindingly present. The rambunctious shouts of the booths surrounding us drew us to take out our headphones and listen in on the frenzy of people. With discussions of late night shenanigans and what seemed like hundreds of orders of greasy fries, the diner had come out of its rut to a full house. Watching silently as the waiters and waitresses flew back and forth between booth to kitchen, we were astonished at the strength they must have had to push through the night while dealing with the drunken heaves of people that walked through their doors. To us, they were a disturbance to the peace we had sought out so vehemently, but to the waiters and waitresses who abided by their crazy orders, they were their livelihood. It was surprising how many interesting, eclectic people buzzed around us at this late hour of the night. Sitting at the bar was a man,

shakily feeding himself soup and ripping a classic dinner roll in front of a napkin full of pills; only to reach into his bag to pull out a nail clipper and start trimming his fingernails. One of the waitresses cheerfully yet tiredly explained how she hadn’t slept in two days and was leaving the diner at seven am to go to her daughter’s baby shower. Another, after witnessing his triumph of a full six-course meal, discussed eagerly what he planned to order at McDonalds after they finished paying their bills. Each person’s story was different, and yet we were all gathered sitting at the same ancient booths munching the night away. Around five am, the last of the drunk late night rush had found its way out slowly but surely, leaving us once again longing for our beds. Our eyes being held open by one last thread of consciousness, we sat in what had become our booth and watched the sun rise slowly outside. It was strange how quickly everything had become quiet from the previous rush. The staff seemed to know this routine perfectly as mops were brought out and salt shakers were filled back up in anticipation for the crazy Sunday morning. The people who had worked the graveyard shift slowly grabbed their last cup of coffee and left, as new servers hurried in to begin their shifts, presumably just as long. Our waitress’s workday ended at seven am the next morning, just as new peoples’ days were just beginning. As our tiredness overtook us and we involuntarily shut our eyes, our waitress, having suffered the night alongside us, insisted we leave with her. As burntout as we were, we knew she must have been doubly exhausted, so we decided not to argue. Abandoning our dreams of making it to the Sunday morning breakfast rush to dine on a final meal of pumpkin pancakes, we left at 8:03 in the morning. With the sun glaring almost as brightly as the fluorescent lights of the diner, we wondered to ourselves: Did Saturday ever end?

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CHINATOWN

NIGHT MARKET

OCTOBER 10, 2019

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PHOTOS BY ERICA XIN penn appétit

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24 HOURS, 3 MEALS,

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When do our days begin? With the rising sun? Or just at midnight? I’d argue that my weekend days begin with breakfast at Allegros at two a.m. Are daytime and nighttime defined by the rising and setting of the sun? If so, we miss out on a lot of daytime as college students. Our flexible class schedules encourage us to stay up late into the night and wake up late in the morning. If the day is instead defined by waking hours, our day could end at ten p.m. or two a.m., depending on the day; the night begins when the homework is done or we go to sleep...whichever comes first. I’m constantly reminded of the ways in which we’re aided in defying norms when it comes to the time of day in which we do things, such as libraries that stay open all night and 24/7 eateries around campus. Better yet, when it comes to the weekend, we know no bounds at blurring day and night. Does the night begin when we put our homework away and meet up with friends? Or when we finish our pizza slice and head home to sleep only a few hours before the sun will rise again? The day could start with the new calendar day at midnight or after we’ve slept and woken up. We’re conditioned to eat three meals a day: one when we wake up, the next in the middle of our day, and the last sometime before bed. They are all eaten during the day, but only two in the daylight. At college, the blurring of day and night challenges the status quo when it comes to meals: How many times can you say you’ve had breakfast and lunch on a Saturday and Sunday? I certainly can’t

Which comes first: day or night?

BY KELSEY WARREN PHOTO BY JUSTINE DE JESUS

name a time. However, maybe we count our early morning dose of cheesy, greasy pizza as breakfast? The Wawa macn-cheese is surely not customary breakfast material, but it hits the mark every time. Does it even matter what time we’re consuming these meals? Some would argue that breakfast is defined by the food we eat. Others, that it’s about the time it’s consumed. Breakfast is defined as the first meal of the day, lunch as being eaten mid-day, and dinner as the “main meal of the day” by Google. Using these definitions, our three meals on a Sunday could be breakfast late “Saturday night,” brunch when we wake up, and dinner. This brings us back to my original questions about whether day is defined as the time after you’ve woken from a night’s sleep, or at the start of a new 24-hour day cycle at midnight. Which meals count for which day? Is a late-night eat the previous day’s second dinner or the following day’s breakfast? So, so many questions. We’ve raised some interesting questions about how the time of day influences how we define our meals. But what about how the time of day influences which food items we eat? Growing up, my health-conscious parents only let me and my brothers eat Honey-Nut Cheerios for dessert. This was confusing for us as we saw our friends eating for breakfast what we ate for dessert. “It’s just not right,” I remember my brother, Brandon, lamenting as he begged my mom to let him have a bowl of sugary cereal before school. As a kid, he was hung up on the fact that he wasn’t able to eat these foods when they were supposed to be eaten.

The day begins when we say it does.

As I’ve grown older, school spirit days or birthday parties have bent what it means to eat during the day and night, such as pajama parties where we had pancakes for dinner and brunches where I had turkey and gravy. I’ve never been a fan of breakfast food (unpopular opinion, I know), so I would eat steak for breakfast every morning if I could. However, we’re taught to seek convenience in the morning, steering us towards the cereals and toast that we grew up on. Then, when the sky gets dark, we seek the rich meat and sauces that don’t feel appropriate for the day. Even more, we tend to go with comfort foods in the morning, but reach out towards more diverse varieties at night: for example, I’ve never had Pad Thai for breakfast. When I say my peers and I eat “brunch” on the weekends, I don’t mean pancakes and mimosas. I mean the meal that we eat when we wake up on the weekend before we hit the library. Why do we do this? Why not breakfast and lunch? Perhaps some want to avoid another meal in the dreaded dining hall, others might want to save money, and the rest of us are just lazy and busy. Thus, all of this ruminating could be boiled down to convenience...and biological need. If we need to stay up until the morning to finish homework (or choose to go out that late), our eating habits are going to be affected because we get hungry when we’re still awake. It feels like a stretch to call a late-night Allegros breakfast, and it doesn’t really matter what it’s called: it’s just good pizza.

Blurring the Lines Between Day & Night

& The Lies You’ve Been Told About Breakfast