Final Restaraunt Review

            In the Kalamazoo, Michigan area there seems to be only a handful of Mexican restaurants. One chain restaurant is Los Amigos. What began as a small restaurant turned into a chain that has developed into three separate locations. The inspiration behind it all was the owner Juan Carlos Ortiz. He came from Kentucky to help his family and opened up a business. From the growth in the past years with opening new two restaurants, it has become a success. The newest edition to the chain restaurant is located on Gull Road.

            Walking into the small business, decorations of vibrant colors are placed all around the restaurant. The furniture throughout the large room is made out of wood, with carved in designs of flowers and simple swirls. Images of Historical Mexican figures such as Emiliano Zapata and Pancho Villa line the walls of the walkway. Tejano music plays while guests are being seated, the waiters scramble to get to and from tables with trays covered in plates of food. Stained glass light fixtures along with open blinds on the windows light up the neatly set up booths and tables. Towards the back of the room, there was a bar with neatly lined barstools and large TVs.

Immediately the waiter takes down drinks and brings them fast enough to get in a quick sip before conversation happens. The Coca-cola brand drinks are then followed by a fresh basket of corn tortilla chips and a bowl of watered down salsa. The chips are lightly salted, thick enough to not break when dipped in salsa and not greasy at all. The red salsa was a paste of smashed tomatoes, onions, and peppers.

The menu is large with a variety of dishes. Looking at it can overwhelm someone who has no idea what they want to eat. Although the small print does not help matters, the vibrant colors and pictures help guide the customer to the different sections. From seafood to off the grill choices, it is difficult to just choose one dish. A good alternative is to choose the combinations dinners, for they provide a variety of combinations between tacos, burritos, fajitas, and many others all on one plate. The overall price range is from $10-$20. Along with a lot of dishes, the menu offers a list of alcoholic beverages, from Margaritas to Wine and Beer. Mixed drinks and special order items are also listed.

            Here the saying “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse” is taken literally, for the serving sizes are more than filling. If the unlimited chips as an appetizer weren’t enough, then the entrée will be. Large colorful glass plates hold entrees and make the meal seem heavier than what it is. The California burrito is as large as the oval dinner plate, smothered in melted Monterrey jack cheese. This particular burrito is stuffed with cooked fajita, rice and beans, guacamole, and Pico de Gallo. Depending on which end is chosen to start with, it is either a mouthful of meat or guacamole. Obviously because when it comes to burritos, these guys feel that guests should have meat and sides separated rather than mixed together in one bite.

            For the guests who remain undecided when the waiter comes, the Pollo Tapatio is the plate to go with. Described as charred grilled chicken and shrimp with a side of rice and beans and a small lettuce and tomato salad topped with sour cream. The dish provides a small aspect from every part of the menu and is more of a sampler entrée than a complete meal. The portions are filling, for the entire order comes on two large oval sized plates.

            For pure meat lovers, the Carnitas and Pollito fajita are the way to go. With the majority of the entrée grilled meat, the beef fajita (Carnitas) comes with a small portion of red rice on the side and beans. In addition, grilled green peppers and onions are caramelized and mixed with the meat, adding a rich taste to the seasoned fajita. The brown color gave way to a perfectly cooked fajita. The chicken (Pollito) fajita gave the same amount of satisfaction, however, it was mixed with caramelized red peppers and purple onions. Both came with a side of rice and beans. In addition to a variety of hot sauces to give it an extra kick.

Although these meals had a great presentation, they lacked proper preparation.

The chicken was rubbery and dry, and when mixed with the rice, there was no way to swallow without taking a sip of drink first. The vegetables seem to be fresh, but were drenched in lime juice and caused them to be soggy. Eventually, the juice will spread to whatever else is on the plate. As a result, one could possibly get beans with a lemony flavor, the ideal combination for losing an appetite.

            Charred grilled is also taken literally; pieces of both fajita and chicken seem to be burned on the edges. The only properly done right charred grilled item is the onions, for they are caramelized to a rich brown and crisp taste.

            The guacamole can speak for itself, for the ingredients seem to be a mystery. The lime green spread was lumped upon the plate. The creaminess of it did not seem to be coming from pure avocado, but rather a puree of sour cream and avocado, which is not what true guacamole is. Scattered tomato and cilantro were also there but overpowered by the sour cream.

            The most questionable part of the meal was most certainly the Pico de Gallo. What is supposed to be fresh chopped tomato, cilantro, onions and minimal lime juice, seems to be more of a soggy mess? What is supposed to look like mixed chopped vegetables looked like a puddle of vegetables? The immense amount of lime juice drowned out the chopped tomatoes, along with everything else. There was also a mystery ingredient, for there seemed to be a peppery taste to the mixture. Whether it be added pepper spice or chopped green peppers, either is not supposed to be in Pico de Gallo.

            As for dessert, the fried ice cream is divine. Served in a clear margarita glass, it comes with two scoops of fried ice-cream, topped with honey and chocolate drizzle and a cherry. The crunchy crust gives way to a semi-frozen inside. Vanilla ice-cream mixed with honey seeps out of its shell and into the glass. The honey and chocolate drizzle both add to the sweetness of the concoction.

            In comparison to El Gallo Blanco or its sister restaurant on Stadium Drive, Los Amigos on Gull Road falls short. Its presentation of the food is great, however, they need to step up on their presentation.

However, the overall atmosphere of the restaurant puts guests at ease. As a casual dining spot, it is great for families to come and enjoy a good meal, or to celebrate a birthday with some good friends. Either way, the service is more than helpful and can help guests enjoy their meal to the fullest. 

Authentic Enough

            Walking into a Mexican restaurant in the Midwest, one would expect piñatas hanging from the ceiling, loud mariachi music playing, the staff wearing long white buttoned up shirts with black pants, with a side feeling of happiness. That is not what you get when you walk into Los Amigos Mexican Food Restaurant on Gull Road in Kalamazoo, Michigan.

            Walking into the restaurant, you get a sense of Mexican authenticity. The furniture throughout was made out of wood, with carved in designs that caught the eye. While being walked to your table, the subtle sound of Tejano music fills your ear. It is loud enough to take notice, but low enough to be able to hear and have conversation with your party. Stained glass light fixtures along with open blinds on the windows light up the neatly set up booths and tables.

Immediately the waiter takes down drinks, and brings them fast enough to get a quick sip before conversation happens. The Coca cola brand drinks are then followed by a fresh basket of chips and a bowl of watered down salsa. If you’re not careful enough, you’ll get full solely on the complimentary refilling of the basket and drinks.

            Here the saying “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse” is taken literally, for the serving sizes are more than filling. If the unlimited chips as an appetizer weren’t enough, then the entrée will be. Large colorful glass plates held our entrees, already heavy with cheese. For the California burrito was as large as the big plate, smothered in melted Monterrey jack cheese. This particular burrito is stuffed with cooked fajita, rice and beans, guacamole, and something the resembles Pico de gallo. Depending on what end you begin from, you either are introduced to tender and chewy fajita or thick and creamy guacamole. Obviously because when it comes to burritos, these guys feel that you should have your meat and sides separated rather than mixed together in one bite.

            If you’re not trying to just eat everything wrapped in one tortilla, then the Pollo tapatio is the plate for you. Described as charred grilled chicken and shrimp with a side of rice and beans with a small lettuce and tomato salad topped with sour cream. This is the dish for someone who wants to taste everything on one plate. The overall dish looked delicious, the buttery glaze off the shrimp, the melted cheese topped beans and the rich lime green guacamole could appease anyone.

            For pure meat lovers, the Carnitas and Pollito fajita are the way to go. With the majority of the entrée grilled meat, this came with a small portion of red rice on the side and beans. In addition, grilled peppers and onions were caramelized and mixed with the meat, adding a rich taste to the seasoned fajita. The brown color gave way to a perfectly cooked fajita. The chicken (pollito) fajita gave the same amount of satisfaction: grilled to where the chicken was well done.

What these meals lack in flavor they make up in presentation.

The chicken tastes rubbery and dry, and when mixed with the rice, there was no way to swallow without sipping your drink first. The vegetables seem to be fresh, although having them drenched in lime juice caused them to be soggy, and eventually the juice spread to whatever else is on the plate. As a result, one could possibly get beans with a lemony flavor, the ideal combination for losing an appetite.

            Charred grilled is also taken literally; pieces of both fajita and chicken seem to be slightly burned on the edges. However, the grilled onions were perfectly caramelized, with a slight crisp but not raw flavor.

            The guacamole can speak for itself, for the ingredients seem to be a mystery. The color seemed authentic, for lime green is what guacamole should look like. It was how it tasted is what made me second guess it. The creaminess of it did not seem to be coming from pure avocado, but rather a puree of sour cream and avocado, which is not what true guacamole is. Scattered tomato and cilantro were also there, but overpowered by the sour cream.

            The most questionable part of my meal was most certainly the Pico de gallo. What is supposed to be fresh chopped tomato, cilantro, onions and minimal lime juice, seemed to be more of a soggy mess. The lime juice overpowered what seemed to be left out vegetables. There was also a mystery ingredient, I could not tell if it was either too much cilantro or another green leaf herb, but there was another component that made the small portion manageable to eat.

            As for dessert, do not think you will have enough room in your stomach for some. There will be plenty of left overs, and if you have school or work the next day, it is the perfect way to get out of having crappy cafeteria food or premade frozen meals. However, if you’re feeling up to it, the friend ice-cream is a good decision. Although extremely sugary and sweet, it is divine. To have a crunchy crust and a cool inside, the ice-cream is the perfect way to end your already fattening meal.

            In comparison to El Gallo Blanco or its sister restaurant on Stadium Drive, Los Amigos beats the competition. The truly authentic Mexican meals are a good starting point to be brought into a full on Mexican experience. The overall environment was nothing out of the ordinary, but had the expected images of Historical Mexican figures such as Emiliano Zapata and the Typical Pancho Villa. The service is amazing, for drinks re refilled when only half way empty. There also seemed to be what looked like a bar, which is good since an entire page of the menu is dedicated to the different alcohol choices they offer. Piece of advice: Do not come in a group of four with two guys and two girls and sit in a booth divided evenly for the waiter will assume it is a double date and charge two meals on one card leading to problems when paying. Other than that, they know how to make the dining out experiences worthwhile for hungry customers.

Pre Restaurant Review

The original plan for the day was to go apple picking and eat at the orchard. However, my plans changed when my friends and I realized we went to the apple farm without a restaurant, and being a group of hungry college kids who wanted some comfort food, we decide to eat at the Los Amigos Mexican Food Restaurant on Gull Road. I'm making my friends wait in the car as I write this, and so I am not entirely sure how I feel about this restaurant. Since it was a very last minute change, I feel it would be great to just get something because I am starving and really just want some food. I went to the other chain restaurant on Stadium drive, however I was not entirely pleased with it. The food wasn't as fresh as I had hoped and the overall service wasn't that great either. I hope this restaurant isn't the same. 

I do not know anyone who has been to this specific restaurant either, and so I'm hoping the service and quality of food isn't the same as my past experiences.

Being from a Mexican heritage, I already do not want to eat here. I have the past experiences in my mind, and coming in with such high expectations I feel this place will just get bad review from me. In addition, I feel the quality of Mexican food around Kalamazoo hasn’t even been close to average for my personal rating, so I am hesitant to just go in and want to experience something negative all over again.

By doing some quick research on not only my phone but my friend’s cell phones as well, this restaurant seems to get pretty average reviews. It’s not the best, but it isn’t the worse. I don’t know if this should comfort me or not. I’m glad it isn’t the worse, because I feel I have already experienced that, however on the other hand, I want to know why these people did not give it the full five stars. Was it because the food quality wasn’t there? Possibly the service? Looking at all these different comments, there seems to be a mix of the two. It is possible that this is just an average restaurant, and that it seems to just be a place to go and enjoy the food rather than having the full on Mexican experience.

I really don’t know what to expect. I would like to think that I should expect roughly the same kind of food that I had at the other chain restaurant and other Mexican restaurants in the Kalamazoo area. However, I want to go in with a clear mind and try to not have any extreme biases towards it. Even with my Hispanic background, I am going to try to not be completely disappointed or ecstatic when I see my food, or notice that something doesn’t fit completely right with the overall feel of the dish. I am also going to try to not judge the food so harshly, as if I could cook something better than what is being served to me.

CYOA: Where's it at?

For a certain culture, there are basics that everyone should know. There are the staple foods and the methods used to cook them, then there are when and where to eat certain dishes. However, these basics can only go so far and differences between individuals become prominent. This is the case for the Mexican culture, and specifically for me, the differences become prominent between California and Texas.

For my CYOA, I am going to explore Mexican food and the way it ranges from area to area, specifically between California and Texas. This is important to me because of my Mexican heritage and Hispanic lifestyle. Growing up in Texas, I experienced a range of food from being pure Mexican to pure Texan. It wasn’t until I came to school here in Michigan that I realized although I can know another individual with a Mexican heritage, the type of food or the way we cook things can be different. I assumed it was all the same throughout, and everyone knew what the difference between a taco and a taquito were. I want to expand on these differences and similarities, and show how this can be the case for other cultures as well. 

I have two videos to show you all. The first is a video that compares American style food/snacks and Mexican style food/snacks. The second video is a comparison between California and Texan Mexicans at a gathering that highlights key differences between the two. These videos are simply just for humor, and in my presentation, I will go deeper into the different varieties of Mexican food and how this can be related to other cultures as well.

Video One: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YlI_jsalGEs

Video Two: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QrH_cPby2Ug 

From Sopa to Hot Cheetos

Ashley Santana

Seminar

October 10, 2016

From Sopa to Hot Cheetos and Cheese

I remember when I was younger our dinner evenings at home went like this: Mom makes the food, Dad watches the game, Daniel and Brenda are doing something they’ll regret later on, and I’m quietly reading my Barbie book in the corner. At the age of seven, she was my favorite character. Mom was making her easiest recipe; sopa. It had been a long day for her, or at least that’s what she was telling Dad. He was feeding our dog, Blue, while she kept going on about an annoying customer.

            The smell of tomatoes and cilantro filled my nose as I fulfilled my diner duty of taking out forks and putting them on placemats. I recount how many forks I got out, not daring to touch the butter knives Mom and Dad use. Mom told me I’ll cut my hand off, and I need my hand in order to play with my toys. I look back towards the stove at Mom, waiting to be told what to do next. Her belly was huge with a tiny monster living inside her. Dad calls that monster “the Baby”, but I know it isn’t one. Mom says it kicks her a lot, which makes me mad because no one is allowed to kick my Mom. I don’t understand why it isn’t getting in trouble for kicking because if I kick Daniel then I would be in big trouble, so it isn’t fair.

            I look back at Dad, he’s across from me on the table. The Cowboys are on, so of course he’s watching the game, completely oblivious to the fact that Daniel is stuffing Cheerios up his nose to make Brenda laugh in their highchairs. Growing up in South Texas taught me that football was life, and whether it be high school or professional, it was always around.

“Time to eat. Ashley, go wash your hands. Ani, can you help me serve the kids?” my Mom shouts. I leave to the bathroom, overhearing my parents’ conversation.

“But honey, the game is on!”

“I don’t care, I can’t serve three kids by myself. And you need to wash your hands also, they’re filthy.”

“Uh-oh, Daniel stuffed the cheerios up his nose again” Dad finally saw. He got a paper towel and forced Daniel to blow out, hoping the cheerios would come out of his button nose.

“Dammit Ani, you were supposed to be watching them!” Mom shouted.

            I return to my seat at the table. Daniel and Brenda already have their bowls in front of them, with an orange five o’clock shadow around their mouths.  My bowl is on my Barbie placemat, with a scoop of Pico de Gallo in it.

 “Daddy, it’s too hot. Can you blow on it to make it cooler for me?” I ask.

“Yeah mamas, just let me see this last play. Then I’ll do it for you.”

Mom comes and leans over me, blowing on my food because she knows too well that my father could be distracted by the game for hours. Slowly, I grab the warm tortillas from the towel on the table. I tear pieces off, and use it as my utensil. The small noodles floated alongside the cilantro pieces. The orange water seeped into the smushed beans and tomatoes. The greasy water stained everything it touched, from the bowl, my tortilla, and my hands. Mini batches of sopa wrapped in tortilla entered my mouth, each piece better and bigger than the previous. The cilantro and tomato tastes so good with the Pico, and with the tortilla it somehow made it even better.

 I always had a napkin on my lap, just like grandma when she eats. Except, I taught myself to put a tortilla on top of it, so that if I drop food on myself, it would fall onto the tortilla and when I check it would be a ready to eat taco. Mom got mad at me every time I did this. She said that I would only drop food on myself because I was too far from the table, and I should scoot in more. I always did, but there would still be food on my napkin no matter how close I sat. I still did it, only I’d do it without her seeing me. Looking back now I don’t see why I stopped doing it, it was genius.

            As I grew up, there were less sopa dinners. Less of the family gatherings at the table and more of fast food dinners or really small meals. Less of us kids playing together and more fighting and arguing. I don’t remember much between my elementary years and high school. Dad had to close down the company, the recession hit the housing market too much, and we just couldn’t keep up with the bills and costs of owning a company. Mom went back to work at the school, while trying to earn her degree. Between picking us up, keeping up with the house, work and school, I don’t know how she did it. I think it was more caffeine than actual energy. Grandma got sent to the hospital, her breast and colon cancer had returned from when she was younger. Family dinners were rare after that. Mom and Dad would trade off at the hospital, we started taking the bus home, and I would make sandwiches, egg and bacon, simple things for my younger siblings. They didn’t need to know Mom was too exhausted to cook or why Dad wasn’t home because he was working overtime. They didn’t need to know anything, they just needed some food. Simple dinners were all I knew, I didn’t know how long to let the fajita pieces simmer in a pan or how to make sure the flautas wouldn’t burn in the oven. The meals my mom used to make would take hours, meanwhile four grilled cheese sandwiches cooked within minutes. We strained away from my Mom’s traditional cooking and leaned towards my fast and easy cooking, just a natural change in our circumstances.

            The years continued on and before I realized it I was in high school. I became a part of a wide range of clubs. Daniel and Brenda were in sports, and David was already going to finish middle school. My mom be our chauffer to destinations ranging from practice to games, required volunteer events, and school dances. She was now a teacher and Dad was working. Grandma was okay now, stronger than ever, a survivor. However, things never really went back to the way they used to be.

            Friday nights were now pizza nights. My mom would pick up a one after work, bring it home, and whoever was with her would eat. David was always the one who was there, for pizza was his favorite. Us older ones were always busy, and it was rare that all three of us would be present together. On the off chance we were, my mom would be overjoyed. I would get the glasses and fill them with ice, Brenda would make the sweet tea we all loved and enjoyed, and David would get the paper plates from the cabinet, enough for each of us.

“Mom, did you get the pasta?” Brenda would ask. She always watched what she ate, and figured pasta would give her the energy she needed for games.

“Ugh, Supreme? Did you get another Pepperoni? I hate those vegetables, especially the mushrooms.” Daniel is the pickiest eater I know. I think his idea of a perfect meal would be steak with corn on the side and mashed potatoes. I hated him at dinner for his disgust of flavors and good food.

David and I were the quiet ones. We ate what my mom got with no questions asked. I hated when the other two would question what my mom got, and would complain when it wasn’t what they wanted. Just eat what you’re given and it’s all good.

            After our pizza, we would always have a game to attend. In the fall, it was either Brenda’s volleyball games, Daniel’s football games, or the town’s high school football team, Donna’s Mighty Fighting Redskins, home game. These all lead to the good ole’ concession stand foods. My favorite were the hot Cheetos and cheese, the hotness of the Cheetos would be greater in flavor mixed with the melted cheese. This time it was the football game of the Redskins, so we put on our team shirts and headed for the football stands. Daniel and Brenda didn’t want to sit with us, so they were in the student section with their friends. Since both my parents went to the town’s high school, we have reserved seats every year. Right in front of the fifty yard line, which according to my dad was the best seat in the stadium, was were where we sat every year. Around the end of the second quarter is when I would start to get hungry again, so the quick trip to the concession stand started with asking what everybody wanted.

“Mom, do you want a coke? Dad, what else do you want?” I’d always ask. Being the designated child to go and order our food was my new role, feeling like a waitress getting the order then bringing it back.

“Hmm, get me a pickle with popcorn, Mamas. Your Mom wants a coke with a fajita taco.”

 “Ashley, can I join you?” David would ask.

“Yeah sure, Pupas. You get the drinks and I get the food.”

            The concession stand would always be packed. Three lines at the football games always took forever to move. I never understood how people did not know what they wanted once they got to the front, I mean they were standing in line for ten minutes, one would assume they at least had an idea of what they were craving.

“How may I help you, Ma’am?” the worker asked me. I hated being called Ma’am, it made me feel like my mother.

“I’ll have one hot Cheetos and cheese, one nacho no jalapeño, a pickle and popcorn, and one fajita taco. Also, get me two waters, a coke, and one Sprite.”

Being the oldest, ordering was a job forced upon me. I was a pro at ordering, my other siblings would be too embarrassed to even ask for an extra ketchup at McDonald’s. It was nonsense, but I never argued it. Even if I did, I would be told I’m the oldest, and need to care for my siblings, as if I hadn’t known this information already.

“Here ya go.” the lady said. She placed the food on a tray for me to take, since it was a lot. Her plastic gloved hands pushed the tray while I would lift it.

“Thanks, have a nice night!”

“You too!”

Back at the bleachers, the food and drinks would be distributed, and we’d all sit down and watch the game. The cold metal always gave me the chills, but the warm sensation I’d get from placing the hot Cheetos on my jeans would warm me up slightly. I’d start eating them, careful when bringing the plastic spoon towards my mouth. It only held so many, and even tiniest bump could make one cheeto slip. A handful of napkins were always used to make sure not to ruin our shirts, and no dirty faces were allowed in public. The crisp fall air would brush my face, and would leave me with frizzy hair by the end of the game. The football game would commence, and the crowd would roar, us along with it. It was tradition, our Friday night tradition.

            Looking back now, I see how much we truly have grown and changed. We’re still a family, but such a different one than when I was little. Back then we were happy to be together, now we could barely stand each other. My parents were older and exhausted from raising four kids, each with an attitude of their own. My siblings and I rarely stayed together, much less played or enjoyed each other’s company. It was different, so much that at times I barely recognize that we are indeed the same family. In between my childhood of homemade family dinners and my high school life of football games and fast food, I grew up. I grew into the oldest child with new duties. Starting by getting forks and ending with the designated concession stand waitress, I always had a job, even if I didn’t realize it at the time. I guess it was just something that family did, no matter what.

Secret Ingredients Response

Is there a Crisis in French Cooking?
Adam Gopnik

                In the book, Secret Ingredients, one excerpt that I really liked was Adam Gopnik’s piece about the crisis in French cooking. One thing for sure that made me interested in this piece was the way it started, opening up a scene for me to picture, with a cook creating the tomato dessert. Then he goes on to describe the two assistants, David and Guilhem, and then so on to the rest of the kitchen. It brought me to a sense of seeing what it meant to be a cook in France.

                I was interested, however, in what the piece was saying. French food is in a crisis. Reading this piece made me sad, for the idea of tasting real French food and travelling to Paris and walking the bistros seemed like a dream, one that I wanted to pursue and live out at some point. Growing up in South Texas, I wanted to taste and eat something other than the typical BBQ plates or the Mexican food that was given to me. Reading and watching TV opened French culinary for me, and I was in awe of it all. However, now reading this piece, I don’t know what to think.  Gopnik states, “Two of the best chefs in the London cooking renaissance said to a reporter not long ago that London, along with Sydney and San Francisco, is one of the capitals of good food, and that the food in Paris- ‘heavy, lazy, lacking in imagination’- is now among the worst in the world” (69). Seriously? Maybe my information and what I have grown up to believe is outdated but I would not have expected London or even Sydney to be those with the best cooking in the world. Granted, I have never travelled to either, much less France, so I do not actually know what food they have. However, when I have had conversations with chefs or food journalists back home, it was the dream to travel to France and taste the food there, not knowing what would even be on the menu. To hear that French food has gone down in preference is quite astonishing.

                Continuing on throughout the piece, I did not know that French food was so structured. Gopnik talks about Alexandra Guarnaschelli and her experience cooking in France. She mentions an experience where she made a sauce, but an argument arose about the seasoning of it. This amazed me, for one thing, because when I think of cooking, I think of creating something you wish, following some basic rules but not always sticking to them. From Alex’s perspective, that does not seem to be the case in France. It's either do it the traditional way or don’t do it at all. It’s absurd, for this notion expects each cook to follow a definitive recipe. This then causes me to question why would there be different restaurants. Why would there be variety in food if it was supposed to be made and done in the exact same way? This idea for French food is odd, and I, for one, definitely do not agree with it.

                I finished reading the piece, and my roommate brought me some pasta they had made. I was starving, but looking at it, I could not help but wonder what a ‘true’ French chef would think. Would the sauce be creamy enough? Would the pasta be undercooked or overcooked? It frustrated me. I ate it, though. Gopnik truly did open my eyes into French cooking, and to answer his question of whether there is a crisis in French cooking, I think yes. The crisis of wanting to stick to their traditional values and ways but not being able to innovate or stay in fear that their cooking is lacking interest is valid. I think that for cooking to truly be great and remembered, it has to be created by the chef, not tradition. Yes, the basics of a sauce or plate are basics, but that is not everything it can be.

                I don’t know what I feel towards French cooking now, but I think I would want to attempt at tasting it and see what Gopnik has discussed first hand. Never will I be a cook, but I think attempting French cooking would be a challenge I am willing to take on. 

Dinner and Change

I remember our dinner evenings went like this: Mom makes the food, Dad watches the game, Daniel and Brenda are doing something they’ll regret later on, and I’m quietly reading my Barbie book in the corner. Mom was making her easiest recipe; sopa. It had been a long day for her, or at least that’s what she was telling Dad. Apparently, some lady came into the office and wanted to change the granite Dad had already put on her countertops. Mom insisted that she was already over budget, but the lady refused to accept it. I thought it was pretty when Dad took me to her house, it was gray, like our dog Blue.

                The smell of tomatoes and cilantro filled my nose as I fulfilled my dinner duty: taking out the forks and putting them on our placemats. I recount how many forks I got out, not daring to touch the butter knives Mom and Dad use. Mom told me I’ll cut my hand off, and I need my hand in order to play with my toys. I look back towards the stove at Mom, waiting to be told what to do next. Her belly was huge with a tiny monster living inside her. Dad calls that monster “the Baby”, but I know it isn’t one. Mom says it kicks her a lot, which makes me mad for two reasons. No one is allowed to kick my Mom and two I don’t understand why it isn’t getting in trouble for kicking because if I kick Daniel then I would be in major trouble, so it isn’t fair.

                I look back at Dad, he’s across from me on the table. The Cowboys are on, so, of course, he’s watching the game, completely oblivious to the fact that Daniel is stuffing Cheerios up his nose to make Brenda laugh in their highchairs.

“Time to eat. Ashley, go wash your hands. Ani, can you help me serve the kids?” my Mom shouts. I leave to the bathroom, overhearing my parents’ conversation.

“But honey, the game is on!”

“I don’t care, I can’t serve three kids by myself. And you need to wash your hands also, they’re filthy.”

“Uh-oh, Daniel stuffed the cheerios up his nose again”

“Dammit Ani, you were supposed to be watching them!”

                I turn on the facet and start scrubbing my hand with my strawberry scented soap. Left, then right, rinse, repeat. The bubbles start forming, and the sink drain is invisible. Oh no, there isn’t any soap on my hands. Let’s get more! I tell myself. I pump a ton into my hands, and within a minute the entire sink is filled with bubbles. Now I’m squeaky clean!!

                I return to my seat at the table. Daniel and Brenda already have their bowls in front of them, with an orange shadow around their mouths.  My bowl is on my Barbie placemat, with a scoop of Pico de Gallo in it. “Daddy, it’s too hot. Can you blow on it to make it cooler for me?” I ask. “Yeah mamas, just let me see this last play. Then I’ll do it for you.” Mom comes and leans over me, blowing on my food because she knows too well that my father could be distracted by the game for hours. Slowly, I grab the warm tortillas from the towel on the table. They’re warm, perfectly homemade and big. I tear pieces off, and use it as my utensil. Mini batches of sopa wrapped in tortilla entered my mouth, each piece better and bigger than the previous. The cilantro and tomato tasted so good with the Pico, and with the tortilla it somehow made it even better. I always had a napkin on my lap, just like grandma when she eats. Except, I taught myself to put a tortilla on top of it, so that if I drop food on myself, it would fall onto the tortilla and when I check it would be a ready to eat taco. Mom got mad at me every time I did this. She said that I would only drop food on myself because I was too far from the table, and I should scoot in more. I always did but there would still be food on my napkin, no matter how close I sat. I still did it, only I’d do it without her seeing me.

                It was David’s birthday today. Thirteen years have passed, and I love him more than life itself. My younger brother, who used to be the baby I detested and tried to push off the bed when mom was not in the room, was now my favorite person in the world. We were all grown up: me apart of so many clubs and extra-curriculars, Daniel on the soccer team, Brenda on the volleyball and basketball team, and David in middle school. All having my mom be our chauffer to destinations ranging from practice to games, required volunteer events, and school dances. We were still in our tiny house, even though we moved to three others before coming back to it. Mom was now a teacher, Dad was working with some other company.

                Friday nights were pizza nights. My mom would pick up a one after work, bring it home, and whoever was with her would eat. David was always the one who was there, for pizza was his favorite. Us older ones were always busy, and it was rare that all three of us would be present together. One the off chance we were, my mom would be overjoyed. I would get the glasses and fill them with ice, Brenda would make the sweet tea we all loved and enjoyed, and David would get the paper plates from the cabinet, enough for each of us.

“Mom, did you get the pasta?” Brenda would ask. She always watched what she ate, and figured pasta would give her the energy she needed for games.

“Ugh, Supreme? Did you get another Pepperoni? I hate those vegetables, especially the mushrooms.” Daniel is the pickiest eater I know. I think his idea of a perfect meal would be steak with corn on the side and mashed potatoes. I hated him at dinner for his lack of love for flavors and good food.

David and I were the quiet ones. We ate what my mom got, no questions asked. My little brother always knew to get the smallest pieces for me and the biggest ones for him. The other two ate everything in-between.

                After our pizza, we would always have a game to attend. In the fall, it was either Brenda’s volleyball games, Daniel’s football games or the town’s high school football team home game. These all lead to the good ole’ concession stand foods. My favorite were the hot Cheetos and cheese, the hotness of the Cheetos would be greater in flavor mixed with the melted cheese. David’s were the classic nachos, no jalapenos because they were way too spicy for him.

“Mom, do you want a coke? Dad, what else do you want?” I’d always ask. Being the designated child to go and order our food was my new role, feeling like a waitress getting the order then bringing it back.

“Hmm, get me a pickle with popcorn, Mamas. Your mom wants a coke with a fajita taco.”

                Walking down the bleachers always made me nervous, what if I fell down and made a fool out of myself. The gyms or fields would always be rowdy. The constant sound of conversations, cheering, and the occasional ‘Booooo!” always excited me. I’d hear people talking about how their son got injured while playing last year, or how their daughters were excelling in school. It was just a mix of sound and enjoyment, and it filled the atmosphere.

“Ashley, can I join you?” David would ask.

“Yeah sure, Pupas. You can help me with the drinks, you get the drinks I get the food.”

                The concession stand would always be packed. Three lines at the football games always took forever to move. I never understood how people did not know what they wanted once they got to the front, I mean they were standing in line for ten minutes, one would assume they at least had an idea of what they were craving.

“How may I help you, Ma’am?” the worker asked me. I hated being called Ma’am, it made me feel like my mother.

“I’ll have one hot Cheetos and cheese, one nacho no jalapeño, a pickle and popcorn, and one fajita taco. Also, get me two waters, a coke, and one Sprite.”

David hated ordering. He would always get embarrassed or forget part of the order. Being the oldest, it was a job forced upon me. I was a pro at ordering, my other siblings would be too embarrassed to even ask for an extra ketchup at McDonald’s. It was nonsense, but I never argued it.

“Here ya go.” the lady said. She places the food on a tray for me to take since it was a lot. Her plastic gloved hands pushed the tray while I would lift it.

“Thanks, have a nice night!”

“You too!”

Back at the bleachers, the food and drinks would be distributed, and we’d all sit down and watch the game. The cold metal always gave me the chills, but the warm sensation id get from placing the hot Cheetos on my jeans would warm me up slightly. The crisp fall air would brush my face, and would leave me with frizzy hair by the end of the game. My baby’s brothers blue eyes lit up with he started eating his nachos, dripping in cheese. A handful pf napkins made were always used to make sure not to ruin our shirts, and no dirty faces were allowed in public. The football game would commence, and the crowd would roar, us along with it. It was tradition, our Friday night tradition.