(Don’t) Leave the Cooking to the Professionals

Mitchell Feldman  

Don’t use the fact that you live in a dorm where there is an infinite supply of prepared food as an excuse to abandon cooking. The dining halls provide us with plenty of ingredients to make our own yummy (or not so yummy) dishes. Here are some ideas of foods to prepare to keep your chef skills up to par. (*Many of these dishes can be made in the Markley dining hall at the make-your-own pizza station).

BLT Pizza - Fold over the edges of the pizza dough. Fill the dough with bacon, lettuce, tomato, and a light portion of mayonnaise. Bake.
   Rating: 11/10, according to the guy who made it.

Strawberry Pie - Take pizza dough and fill with the strawberry yogurt topping. Cut up another dough into strips and criss cross them over the pie. Bake.
   Rating: ?/10, as I am afraid of fruit and did not try it. It does look pretty though.

Cookie Pie - Mix chocolate chip cookies with milk or ice cream in a bowl. Fill a pizza dough with the mixture. It will look disgusting. Consider doing this in private. Then bake it.
   Rating: 3/10. It tastes like wet cookies.

Pizza Burrito - Cover a pizza dough with chicken, rice, cheese, sour cream, etc. Roll. Bake. Make sure to keep the dough very thin.
   Rating: 8/10. The dough actually works well as a tortilla.

Nachos - Put chips in a pan. Cover with cheese. Bake. Apply sour cream and salsa.
   Rating: 2/10. The cheese turned harder than you ever want cheese to be.

Calzone - Make a pizza. Roll it. Fold edges.
   Rating: 8/10. It tastes like pizza.

Pudding Pie - Mix together pudding and whipped cream. Fill with cocoa crispies and pieces of cookie. Bake a pizza dough alone, folding up edges. Fill the baked crust with the mixture. Refrigerate.
   Rating: 7/10. I thought it tasted good but no one would try it. Turns out pudding is scary.

Tricks

• When eating Greek food, take feta cheese from the salad bar
• To take ice cream on the go without a cone, put it in between two cookies. Maybe bring a napkin out too
• Mix ice cream and root beer to make a root beer float
• Actually, just mix all the desserts

What I Ate On My Summer Vacation: Kokoreç

Karry Lu  

At midnight they woke us up for border crossing; when it was my turn in line I paid for the visa with the 15 euro I had carefully stored between the pages of a Bosnian novel entitled “Love and Obstacles.” Back on the bus I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the weird angle my neck was bent at. When I woke up I was in Turkey; Turkey the gateway to Asia, straddler of the Black Sea. Turkey the mysterious, the last of the great empires broken in the last of the great wars. Miles of sun-parched wheat emerged against the half-stolen light of morning. A few scattered trees perched aloof and hazy on the horizon. I blinked, yawned, and fell back asleep.

In Istanbul, I ate a lot of kebabs, because that’s practically unavoidable, but I also ate a lot of kokoreç. Kokoreç while I dodged and weaved past impenetrable traffic in impenetrable humidity; kokoreç under the waning afternoon shadows of Besiktas Stadium; kokoreç washed down with a half-liter of Efes and the gentle lapping of the Bosphorus. I ate some other things too, tantuni and midye dolma and even had some Shake Shack on Istiklal Road, past the Urban Outfitters and a McCafe where the hip local kids lined up for soft-serve ice cream at 2 AM and to freeload wi-fi and to be seen and heard.

When I was in Vienna I met a Turkish lawyer who told me to eat kokoreç, and because I crave hipster bragging rights, I had to track it down. After a bit of the typical confused-foreigner routine, I eventually found a stall that sold something that looked like what I found on Google image search: a long, glistening log of fat.

Which is not too far from the truth. Kokoreç is offal (hearts, lungs and kidneys) wrapped in lamb or goat intestines and then slowly roasted on a rotisserie. When it’s turning on the spit it looks vaguely like a giant sausage, wrapped tightly in twine and smoked lightly with off-brand Turkish cigarettes. When you order, the guy slices off a round, minces it, seasons with oregano and red chili pepper, and serves it in a half-baguette. Might set you back $3. Istanbul has no shortage of meats stuffed inside or served on top of a payload of carbs, but kokoreç is a standout, partly because it’s endemic to this part of the world, something that hasn’t yet been packaged and sold by the Western gaze. I imagine it’s the culinary equivalent of the classic foreign romance: unexpected, fiery, slightly questionable and liable to leave a tingling numbness in your mouth. The first taste is always a revelation; supremely savory but with proper heat, the chewy spring of the intestine countered by the comforting softness of the bread. Sometimes they’ll add chopped tomatoes and bell peppers for a hit of lightness. Sometimes you’ve just gotta man up and chow down some tripe-wrapped thymus. You can ask for a squeeze of lemon juice. I remember the first time, that texture, the smell wafting from the charcoal grill and the warm juice running between my fingers, motorbikes honking and roaring straight past the wide-eyed Chinese tourists in visors snapping pictures of Suleymaniye Mosque in the distance. Later on, in the afternoons when I sipped black tea in outdoor cafes and read longform journalism about teenage bullying on my Android because I didn’t have anyone to talk to, I thought about eating more kokoreç. Getting a beer, and maybe some kokoreç. I remember the last time, on my last night, at the end of another winding alleyway choked with exhaust and vapors from sweating humans and panting dogs, a couple of old Turks with graying mustaches and dusty brows running a stand next to a bus stop. Afterwards I sat along the river, chewing slowly with every bite burning away into nothing, observing the lights of Kadikoy, shutting off and going dark in this sprawling, unperturbed city. At the airport I spent my last few lira on local anise liquor and crepes, which weren’t great. When I passed through security there was a group of British kids arriving with their suitcases in tow, wheels rattling over the automated walkway. In town for holiday, for a lark, to find themselves in others, their lilting voices echoing far away as they fired up their Instagram feeds. Outside, the temperature dipped, and the moon hung low over Istanbul.

Childhood Enhanced

Andre Bshara  

Moms and dads everywhere know how to prepare one. Children everywhere like to eat it. I know what you’re thinking: a sandwich. You are correct. But there is a specific type of sandwich that leaves people speechless. Literally. When the contents of this sandwich get stuck on the roof of your mouth, you won’t be able to utter a single comprehensible word. Now I think you’ve narrowed it down. A peanut butter sandwich is a classic example of the main course in a child’s lunch. Most kids enjoy their sandwiches with a spread of strawberry or grape jelly, but some kids enjoy it plain. Well I am here to help those kids out. Although I do enjoy peanut butter sandwiches with/without jelly, other additions can be made to intensify the flavor. Before I get into the details, I would like to address the kids who do not put enough peanut butter on their sandwiches. STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING. Be generous with the spread. You can even put an extra dollop in the middle—think of it as a goal or a little achievement for getting to the middle of the sandwich. Each one of the following modifications to the peanut butter sandwich has a generous helping of everything.

One piece of bread is covered with peanut butter. The other piece is covered with Nutella.. What is the first reaction that any regular human being would have? It is to slap those two sides together. This first combination is simple yet delicious. Chocolate and peanut butter made into a sandwich is ridiculously delicious. Now in order to put some texture into each bite, granola may be used.

Want to test your knife skills and make a sandwich at the same time? Chop up a banana into thin disks to put on your peanut butter sandwich. The banana slices should cover the entire surface of the bread. Although it is a bit unstable once you pick the sandwich up, it is a risk worth taking for more goodness in your sandwich. Tasting this combination will make you/your children/any child ever want to cover an entire banana with peanut butter and fry it. I wish this were possible (maybe it is?). These ideas build off each other. Put some Nutella in that peanut butter and banana sandwich.

If you’re looking to combine peanut butter with the purest form of sweet, then you need a jar of honey. You cannot have the honey that is sold at supermarkets. No. Get that honey from some local farmer’s market for maximum effect. Put some on the peanut butter sandwich you have waiting at home, and enjoy. And if you want, take that peanut butter, banana, and Nutella sandwich we were talking about earlier and add honey.

The ultimate peanut butter sandwich consists of all the previously listed items, but with your preferred flavor of jelly. That’s not all. Make it a double-decker peanut butter sandwich. Add one more layer, just so your nose can end up with some of the ingredients on it.

Take these suggestions to heart; they are all great snacks. And as always, cut from corner to corner.

An Ode to Organ Meat

Stephen Tryban  

One of the most enjoyable and satisfying experiences I had on my family trip to Italy was my first sampling of tripe. Tripe, for those who don't know, is the edible stomach tissue of an animal. While we were in a small trattoria nestled in the mountains of the central provinces, our family friends overheard my desire to try the organ meat (why I wanted to in the first place still escapes me), and ordered me a dish of "trippa alla romagna.” Laid out in front of me was one of the strangest animal products I'd ever seen bathed in a rich tomato sauce which offered a wondrous aroma. It ended up being my favorite dish on that trip, so much so that I ordered it again during our stay in Florence.

Now, years later, I find myself in a culinary climate that, more or less, rejects organ meats. Such cuts were sparse on Italian menus, but seem to be non-existent on the menus of even some of the most exotic restaurants in the United States. What I find especially concerning is the lack of tripe. Just how could such a delicious food find itself only on the metaphorical chopping block?

Admittedly there are a number of factors that work against it. As mentioned before, tripe is essentially the edible part of an animal’s stomach. This fact alone is already a red flag for many who see eating tripe as downright unhygienic. Most tripe, however, is "dressed": boiled and bleached, usually by an experienced butcher or professional "tripe dresser". Nonetheless, even the faintest idea of the possible remaining stomach contents can churn one's own stomach. Its appearance is bizarre, sometimes sporting a honeycomb like pattern, while other times it sprouts feathery-like extensions. For good measure, the word "tripe" itself has become synonymous for garbage or crap.

With that said, what does tripe actually have to offer? For one thing one would find that tripe, like most sweetbreads (another, albeit confusing, name for organ meats in the culinary world), is not in high demand, and as such, one could probably barter a good price for it. While containing slightly more cholesterol than your average cut of meat, tripe is a great source of zinc, vitamin B12, and selenium. Additionally, the website of an obscure "tripe store" in Leeds, England boasts that tripe has the ability to increase ones libido fourfold (although evidence is a bit lacking on this phenomenon). But it is truly the taste of tripe that makes it remarkable. While its texture is rather odd, tripe has a rich and hearty flavor that is unmatched by any other cut of meat I've ever had. I urge you to experience it for yourself.

Although appearances may be deceiving, tripe truly is one of the tastiest sweetbreads around. The fact that it isn't more widely available to the gourmand's palate is, in my opinion, a load of tripe.

Test Kitchen

Caitlin Morath  

Take the fast-pace energy from Top Chef, fold in the secret ingredient from Iron Chef, and then sprinkle on the creativity of a contestant trying to cook on Survivor. There you have it: my experience cooking in The Neutral Zone kitchen.

Where is this culinary adventureland you might ask? It’s hidden inside a teen drop in center only a few blocks off campus. My day job at NZ is technically that of tutor, but I moonlight as Executive Chef as well.

The space provides a perfect test kitchen. The café is stocked with ingredients, although many are leftover donations from dinners and events, so nothing quite matches. Same goes for cooking utensils- there are plenty around but sometimes it requires creativity to get the result you want (like the time we transformed tongs into a lemon zester… worked out better than you might expect).

But the best part about cooking at NZ isn’t the creativity or ingenuity; it’s the teens. First of all, they will eat almost anything. There is nothing like a group of hungry kids to make you feel better about your most outrageous kitchen creation. Knowing that there will always be someone around willing to eat the food, or at the very least appreciate the effort, makes food risks seem a little less scary and a lot more fun. And I’m not the only crazy chef around.

More often than not, teens will join me in the kitchen. From maple syrup in biscuits, tablespoons worth of cinnamon in cookie batter to taco seasoning on pasta, these sous-chefs help to remind me that even the craziest cooking creations have the chance to turn out alright.

So whether you’re inspired to come cook for Neutral Zone, or just to add a secret ingredient to tonight’s dinner, I encourage you to go forth and cook crazy.

Osteria's Treats: Short of Expectations

Rama Sarraj  

In an attempt to find Italian dessert that would be as authentic as Iorio’s gelato, my friend and I decided to explore Mani Osteria on East Liberty. The atmosphere was great – bustling, bubbly, and fun. Our main meal was impeccable, so naturally we had high hopes for dessert. We ordered the mini cannolis, which come in three flavors (lemon-ricotta, chocolate, and pistachio), espresso panna cotta, and Limóncello flavored gelato. Unfortunately, the desserts were not on par with our expectations. The cannolis, though flavorful, were slightly dry. For those looking for a rich and satisfying dessert, they are also too light and small (they are bite-sized). They were also not sweet enough to satisfy my (difficult-to-satisfy) sweet tooth. Moving on, the panna cotta was better in terms of size and taste, but it was lacking coherence in flavors. It is a rather unusual for a panna cotta; it comes in a cup and is divided into several layers: the first layer consists of a white cream topped with candied almonds, the second a jam/jelly-like substance, and the third a rich espresso-flavored mousse. The candied almonds were crunchy, caramel-flavored and delicious. The whipped cream, however, was more like heavy whipping cream. It seemed to have no sugar and was very flat. The second layer, though sweet and tasty, had an odd, gooey texture that did not blend in with the cream at all. On the other hand, the third layer, the espresso mouse, was not as soft as one would expect and tasted very strongly of coffee. For coffee-lovers, this might be a treat. But for cream-lovers like myself, the panna cotta contains very few hints of the creamy goodness of the authentic Italian dessert. The Limóncello gelato was the best of the three desserts – it was creamy yet zesty and refreshing, a difficult combination to get right, but the three-scoop portion was more than enough for two!

Though the overall quality of the desserts at Mani was high, there were too many inconsistencies in the portions, textures, and flavors. With a little work, these classic Italian desserts could be fabulous. This is not to say that Mani is not a first-class restaurant – perhaps it is because the main course food is so great. I would strongly recommend a main course at Mani, but Ann Arbor has many other restaurants and cafés that can offer a scrumptious Italian dessert treat.

Food and Philanthropy

Courtney Chandler  

After deciding to come to Michigan, I remember thoroughly searching through the seemingly endless list of clubs offered across campus. Being a foodie, I took special note of clubs involving cooking, eating, or any combination of the two. In the end, I not only found Wolverine CuiZine, but additionally found two clubs that incorporated my love of food and philanthropy: Project Flavor and Kid’s Kitchen.

The members of Project Flavor meet bi-monthly at the Ronald McDonald House of Ann Arbor, which provides a ‘home away from home’ for families with hospitalized children. Ann Arbor’s Ronald McDonald house is located across from the Mary Markley dormitory, in close proximity to Mott’s Children’s Hospital. On alternating Fridays, members cook dinner for the families, and everything is made from scratch – from apple crisp to tabbouleh to hamburger buns (which ended up being a complete disaster and prompted a last-minute emergency trip to the store). At the end of each cook date (which last about four hours), the families come in and eat the meal.

Kid’s Kitchen has a similar mission statement – members meet approximately once a month for baking events. At these events, everyone bakes different sweet treats (such as cookies, cupcake, and rice krispie treats), which are then delivered to Mott’s Children Hospital or the Ronald McDonald house.

Both clubs offer extremely rewarding experiences, and the dinner and sweet treats hopefully bring homemade comfort to families and children in trying situations. Other food clubs across campus include: the Ann Arbor Student Coop, which provides fresh, affordable, and sustainable food to students on campus; Cultivating Community, which empowers students to become leaders in sustainable food systems through hands on organic gardening, community outreach, and education; and Food Futures, which brings together members of the Michigan law community and other professional and gradate students to help promote intelligent food production and food security policies.