Red Jello in Milk

I recently read two short articles on the relationship between food and cultural identity. We all have those meals which bring back childhood memories; for some people it's cooked cabbage, for others pinto de gallo, and yet for others maybe it's a simple pb&j sandwich. I have two, both of which I can no longer eat due to being a vegetarian, yet just the thought of them whisks me back to my childhood. The first may sound like the absolutely worst meal on the planet, but for me it was the thing I asked to eat on my birthday every single year while growing up- canned ham (yes, canned ham), mashed potatoes (from powder), and a Maraschino cherry glaze (literally just the juice from the can warmed up on the stove). This overly processed, salt ridden, diabeticly sweet, concoction of foods would be enough to turn most people into raw vegans, but for me it was my grandma's speciality and I loved it. This connection between food and ones childhood is a connection that transcends age, race, culture,and any other form of separation. In his article Eating White, Nicholson tells about his mothers relationship with white food and how when he eats white food memories of her come flooding back. This relationship with food is one that everyone has, whether it be the smell of warming Maraschino cherry juice on the stove, or a piece of white bread with white cheese, food has the ability to transcend the present and recreate the past with every single bite. But food is more than just memories, it is also culture and identity. My grandmother made for me what I like to thinks of as the most American dessert possible- red jello and milk. Every time I visited her and my grandfather we had the exact same routine, first we would go thrift store shopping for what seemed an eternity and then, when I finally thought I would surely die of boredom, we would return to their home where we would sit down at the kitchen table. My grandmother would then open the fridge and pull out her giant metal bowl of red Jello, which was as much of a staple of her house as the constantly smoking cigarette which hung from her lips. She would then break the Jello up and then pour ice cold milk all over it until the only red that could be seen were the little red islands floating that broke off from the main part and were floating in a sea of white. She would then hand out spoons and the three of us would feast on red and white, until all that was left was a small puddle of milk with little pieces of red Jello that were impossible to catch with the spoon, this was the moment I waited for, this is when I got to lift the giant cold metal bowl to my lips and drink the flavored milk. While I know red Jello in milk isn't a staple in every Americans diet, for me, it is summertime in the great Mid West. It is for me, just as American as apple pie, fireworks, the 4th of July, and Uncle Sam. In another article I read, Home Run- My Journey Back to Korean Food author Ahn remembers similar experiences with his mother cooking in the kitchen, experiences that for him are as Korean as they are individual identity. His relationship with Korean food keeps him connected to his cultural identity and allows a tool for him to share his culture with his son. Food can do a great many things, for some it brings back memories of loved ones, for others it keeps them grounded in their heritage in an every expanding global community. For me it does both, food acts as a medium between me and my loved ones and keeps me grounded in what I consider my roots of Middle America.

A Noodles Lunch

After a trying and exhausting hour of listening to our professor talk about Gender Theory, my friend and I found ourselves ravenous. The one and only solution was to head to the Coloradian started Noodles and Company for a lunch of Noodles from around the globe. Upon arrival I had to decide from which continent to enjoy in Noodly delight: North America, Europe, or Asia. But how was I to decide between Wisconsin Mac n' Cheese and Japanese Pan Noodles, my indecision lead to my friend deciding for me... Pan Noodles (which I suppose was only fair, he was buying after all). Our server also informed us of their new Coke machine with at least a hundred different favors. She saw the glimmer in both of our eyes and put to cups on the counter for us to try the new machine, and try we did. I personally mixed every flavor of Lemonade and Sprite together; a combination ranging from Orange Lemonade to Raspberry Sprite. After wasting a solid five minutes at the machine mixing and matching different combinations, we finally sat down and waited for our Asian inspired creations to arrive. When my Pan Noodles came my eyes feasted upon the perfectly seasoned noodles dressed with a wig of bean sprouts and a sprig of cilantro. But the feast my eyes experienced couldn't compare to the symphony of tastes my starving, poor, college mouth experienced. They were the perfectly carimelized noodles one dreams about, made all that much better because they were seasoned with the lovely price of free. My meal ended with the final cube of soy seasoned tofu, leaving my belly content and my wallet full. Matt and I left Noodles each at least a pound heavier and with another concoction of various sodas to hold us over till our next culinary adventure.