Last Thing I Ate: Burek

Karry Lu  

Slovenia…shit. I’m still only in Slovenia. Every time I close my eyes, try to catch a bit of shuteye, I’m still in the forest, the endless forest. It was very pretty when I first got on the 6am to Budapest, when the sun was first starting to break over the trees. I remember thinking that Ljubljana Railway Station was the nicest, most modern one I’d seen since I landed on the continent, German-engineered steel beasts with their sleek, silver lines humming along high-speed rails (Deutsche Bahn is somehow involved with Slovenia’s train system). But it’s still 500 kilometers to the end of the road.

I spent around a total of 30 days in the Balkans, and for about 25 of them I ate burek, sometimes twice a day. Of originally Ottoman extraction, burek is essentially a flaky handheld pastry made with phyllo dough and some kind of savory filling. They come in a variety of shapes and sizes and could easily be mistaken for some of the more familiar “meat-wrapped-in-carbs” foodstuffs enjoyed by Americans on a regular basis: croissants, knishes, pierogis, 3am taquitos from 7-11. In a land of unfamiliar histories and impenetrable Cyrillic script, burek is extremely comforting for the averaged cosseted Westerner.

The first time I had burek was in Sarajevo. In second grade I used to play this weird Risk-like game using our geography workbooks, with this kid named Tommy Schnurr; coincidentally the Yugoslav Wars (i.e. the Siege of Sarajevo, the Srebrenica massacre) were raging at the very moment two dumb schoolkids were blithely moving imaginary armies across the face of war-torn Central Europe to commit imaginary atrocities. Almost two decades later, I suppose you could say I was back among my former stomping grounds. In an effort to hide my gaping ignorance, I had read most of the Wikipedia entries on the subject during the short ride into town from Croatia. But obviously, the first thing I did was duck into a bakery and look for something greasy and salty to fill my maw.

“You should get that,” a man loitering by the counter said, in perfect, Midwestern English.

“What’s that?”

“It’s good. Burek. That one has potato in it,” he replied, pointing at a seemingly arbitrary tray of specimens. “I teach English here. Everyone eats this stuff.”

It’s hard to go wrong with anything involving spiced potatoes, and this one was particularly satisfying in the way that unhealthy, heavily seasoned street food typically is. Eventually I would try feta cheese and spinach (marginally better for you), unidentified ground meat (lamb, I think), apple (a step above McDonald’s apple pies), and even sour cherry burek fillings (actually really good), but I think potato is still my favorite. Different countries, primarily around the Balkans, have their own preferences, but the common theme is that burek is sold everywhere, in a manner that rivals the way that pizza and bacon, egg and cheese sandwiches are sold in New York. At every hour, at any time, perfect for those leisurely walks through twisting alleys and hawker bazaars, in dingy apartments camped around a bottle of homemade rakia, before or during train journeys snaking across the Balkans.

On the train from Sarajevo to Zagreb I had spent my last remaining konvertible marks on train station burek and shots of dark Turkish coffee at the nearby cafe. Old Bosniaks sitting next to open windows and “No Smoking” signs quietly inhaled unfiltered knockoff Camels in between scanning their newspapers and sneaking bemused looks at the random Asian kid with the lime green board shorts. A few meters from my seat, tacked prominently on the wall, was a plaque that read, “Gift from the Swedish Government, 1972.”

Outside the world seemed condensed, untouched. Verdant valleys followed winding rivers and mountain tracks as we plunged into the bush. Every so often the train compartment would descend into darkness as we hit one of the tunnels scattered throughout the Bosnian countryside, the ones that the Serbs used to occupy during the war. No one spoke. The three spinach and cheese bureks I had bought earlier went quickly, only to be washed down by a few helpings of warm Sarajevsko beer.

About a week later, the RailJet I took from Ljubljana to Budapest happened to cross some of the more heat-wavey stretches of Central Europe. Once we emerged from the woodlands, the temperatures spiked. I walked into the aisle and stuck my head out the window for several minutes at a time, canine-style, in a desperate grasp at relief from the sweltering temperatures. Acres of nondescript, yellowed grassland rushed by without much comment, punctuated every so often by an isolated barn or cottage or nameless, sad-looking rail station. Bushes and small trees along the side of the tracks came perilously close to smacking me in the face. Somewhere between Maribor and Nagykanizsa, people started moving around the cars to ward off boredom and prevent heat stroke.

In order of appearance, here were the people I met and would never see again: the British teachers, the Norwegian DJ, the Swedish mother/daughter duo, the shirtless French bros, the Hungarian clown/guy who worked at a non-profit. Down the hall, an unseen twenty-something Belgian girl recounted tales of all-night bar crawls and extended hostel stays to another group of bemused travelers. Peals of laughter echoed through the car. The Norwegian dude and I smirked to each other and killed half a bottle of vodka while eating various store-bought shortbreads.

There was a dining car on board, and we decided to go pay it a visit. Various sandwiches, soft drinks and alcoholic beverages were for sale. I switched to Lasko, a light yet slightly bitter lager, to ease me into Budapest.

“So where are you headed afterwards?” I had forgotten his name already.

“I’m visiting a friend in Budapest, then flying back to Trondheim,” he replied.

“Oh cool,” I nodded. “Back home, huh?”

He shrugged. “It was nice, having this break. I went to see my family in Turkey.”

“You’re Turkish?” He certainly seemed a bit browner than the average Norwegian.

“I was born in Ankara, but moved to Norway when I was very young.”

“Cool. Do you visit Turkey often?”

He frowned. “When I can. I travel a lot for work anyway. But I don’t get the chance to play very often in Turkey.” He swiftly polished off the rest of his sandwich. I checked my watch. 7pm, and the sun still stood strong over the horizon.

“I wish I had a burek right now,” he mused.

“For sure. Would really hit the spot,” I agreed.

“I love that stuff. You know burek came from Turkey originally? Unfortunately they don’t really have it in Norway.” He looked out the window and watched the land recede steadily before him.

When we pulled into Budapest station he gave me his business card, a simple, worn one with a MySpace and cool graphic design. I ran into the clown a few minutes later, and he helped me buy a city metro pass, before hauling his bags up and wandering off into the night.

The Past-a

Kaitlin Schuler  

Mostaccioli. Orecchiette. Cavatelli. Macaroni. Tortellini. All these words rhyme, of course. But more importantly, all are types of pasta noodles, one of the most popular foods around the world today.

Pasta remains a staple to the diet of college students and lazier people of all ages. Boil some water, drop the dried noodles in, and wait only a few minutes before you’ve got soft, delicious shapes to serve with whatever suits you—vegetables, sauces, or (my personal favorite) olive oil. Boxes of any shaped noodles come reasonably priced: a two-pack of Barilla Angel Hair pasta costs $2.56! Macaroni noodles are famous from their use in Kraft Mac and Cheese, or for the on-the-go college kid, Kraft Easy Mac.

Where did this food come from, though? We all know that pasta came from Italy, but that’s about as far as the average person can go into the history of pasta. Let’s take it a little further here, so we can all be better informed about the food that aids us in our laziness and our desire to make a decent meal without too much effort.

Pasta is traditionally associated with Italian food, but it is actually extremely difficult to trace the origins of pasta. It is likely that the Italian version of the noodles were influenced by Asian noodles, commonly thought to have been brought to Italy by Marco Polo in the 13th century. Asian noodles were made with a barley-like substance, however—different from the process the Italians developed.

What we will refer to as pasta is made from unleavened dough consisting of water or eggs and ground durum wheat (see the PBS website below). The durum is what sets pasta apart from other noodles; it helps pasta have a long shelf life when dried and makes it easy to cook with just water—two qualities all stereotypical Americans like to have in their food. The less time it takes to cook, the more time we can spend being productive and changing the world! (Or, watching the last five episodes of House of Cards while thinking about starting your paper due tomorrow…)

In what was his most important contribution to American history, Thomas Jefferson actually helped pasta gain popularity in the United States while he was serving as Minister to France, where he fell in love with macaroni. This could have been any shape of pasta at the time, but he returned with two cases of the pasta and sent for more from a friend in Naples when he ran out.

Pasta was made to be eaten fresh and soon after it was made, but Americans have grown accustomed to eating dried pastas that we’ve imported from Italy. In actuality, many of the pasta companies now have outposts in the United States. Barilla, for example, makes most of the pasta sold in the United States at a plant in Iowa, with a few exceptions of pastas made in and shipped from Italy.

Like most foods when they initially became popular in America, pasta could only be afforded by the upper class until the time of the Civil War. Today, pasta can be dressed up extravagantly with a slew of seasonings and sauces that can include fancy wine and expensive spices. It can also go casual with just cheese or olive oil poured on top. There is a type of pasta out there for every person, even the pickiest of toddlers or the friends with gluten allergies.

Pasta has remained fairly the same throughout history, but Italian immigrants made some changes when they brought the noodles to America. First, meatballs were created because meat was less expensive in America than in Italy. Americans also added large portions and the seasonings of garlic, oregano, and chili pepper flakes to the tradition of pasta.

So, whether you like your noodles plain and simple like me, or covered in meatballs and sauce, we’re brought together by these simple strips and shapes of delicious dough. Next time you eat your Easy Mac for the fifth meal in a row, make sure to remember the history behind it.

References: http://civilwartalk.com/threads/history-of-pasta-in-america.75951/
http://www.barilla.com/faq
http://www.pbs.org/food/the-history-kitchen/uncover--the-history-of-pasta/

Super Bowls, Seahawks, and ¡SALSA!

Zoe Bauer  

If you’re a Broncos fan, salsa dipping and chip munching may have been the highlight of your Sunday evening. But for all viewers, salsa is a necessary component of Super Bowl Sunday. Scooping it is fun, eating it is delicious; what more could you want from a Super Bowl snack?

Yet it’s that question that irritates culinary enthusiasts, who long for the “all American” sports snack to return to its roots as a meticulously prepared, traditional Mexican dish. Here in the States, there aren’t any guidelines for salsa. Even the ordinary tomato-based salsa at the supermarket comes in countless varieties: spicy or mild, sweet or savory, thick or thin, and chunky or finely chopped. Outside the realm of tomato-based salsas, there are also black bean, peach, mango, pineapple, and even olive oil variations of the dip. And, as the variety in salsa ingredients has increased, so has the diversity in salsa’s dipping partners, ranging from the typical corn tortilla chip to celery or even to fried chicken. But despite the impressive creativity of American salsa producers, salsa aficionados should understand the true origins of the dip before plummeting their chips into it.

In its classical form, salsa is a delicacy. It’s used to complement the rich flavor of dense meats, such as veal or chorizo, or to be drizzled over a dish that may lack flavor, like a simple taco or tortilla. The word delicacy is key; salsa is used in moderation. In other words, people raised in Mexico would be shocked at the American tendency to load chips with spoon-full amounts of salsa.

Additionally, Mexican salsas possess a depth of flavor that American-made salsas often fail to mimic. Traditionally, each salsa ingredient is added merely to highlight the brilliant flavor of chili peppers. First, the type of chili is chosen; if fresh, chefs typically choose from serrano, jalapeño, poblano or habanero, and if dried, they have their choice of guajillo, cascabel, ancho, morita or chipotle. Different chilies are often mixed together in one salsa, but fresh chilies are almost never combined with dried ones. Then, additional ingredients are selected to emphasize certain aspects of the chilies that were chosen. Whether it has a salty, sweet or acidic vibe, the finished product includes a minimal amount of ingredients and gives off an intense amount of heat.

The depth of the salsa’s flavor is developed in its preparation. Ingredients can be soaked in spices or oils before the dish is put together, or the entire blend can be stored for multiple days before serving so that each element has time to influence the others. Chefs also play with variations of heat usage while making salsa. The sauce can be made completely in raw form (salsa cruda), with no ingredients that have been heated during or after the ingredients are combined, or can be prepared by cooking certain elements, either together or one at a time (salsa cocida). Julia Moskin discusses the difference between raw and cooked salsas in her article “Rediscovering Salsa, the Soul of Mexico in a Bowl”. She describes how raw salsas are “explosive, setting off fireworks of heat and acid in each bite”

So maybe authentic salsa isn’t meant for mindless dunking while rooting for your favorite team—for that we have American made salsas— but for your next “Taco Tuesday,” try incorporating a more authentic salsa into your Mexican-influenced meal. Check the labels for very few ingredients and some of the chilies mentioned above to know that a salsa is authentic; or try making your own! I recommend this recipe; it’s a salsa cocida using jalapeño peppers!

I Don’t Always Drink Beer, But When I Do…

Zoe Bauer  

I can handle its foaminess, its stickiness, and even its smelliness, but the taste of beer is the reason I abstain from drinking it. I strongly dislike beer for its monotonous and bitter flavor, but more than that, I hate that I hate it. It’s tragic to attend the University of Michigan, an institution that undeniably has the best football tailgates in the country, and have to refrain from the social, carefree environment that beer creates for the students.

Beer, more than just an alcoholic beverage, is an activity. Instead of involving grimacing faces and extinguishing chasers, it breeds a “lets all be friends” type of attitude. People play games with beer, watch games while drinking it, talk about beer, talk while drinking it; the combinations are infinite. So, as last semester closed, I imagined begrudgingly the three beer-less football seasons that were still in store for me.

But my spirits were lifted when BuzzFeed introduced me to an entirely new role for this fermented drink. To my excitement, beer can be used as an ingredient in a variety of foods, sweet and savory, to enhance the dishes’ flavor and complexity. The BuzzFeed article presented 10 mouthwatering recipes that take the bitter, monotonous substance and transform it into soup bases, glazes, dips, and batters.

My favorite recipe calls for sautéing shallots and Brussels sprouts in a light beer and smoky bacon glaze to create a delicious and aromatic twist on a relatively bland vegetable.

A more conventional use of beer simply involves adding a bottle or so to a frying batter to create a thick gold coating on fish. Since beer is dense, the batter will encase the fish while keeping moisture in, so the fish won’t become dry or chewy.

After discovering the BuzzFeed article, further research led me to a plethora of beer-based recipes for all occasions. Turns out that including beer (of all kinds) is a simple and delicious solution for anyone trying to amp up a meal at an affordable cost.

But why does it work so well? Beer is becoming a popular flavor enhancer due to its relatively low alcohol content and its subtle flavor compared to cooking wines and liqueurs. The malty additive complements the ingredients it’s paired with, whether it’s adding a richer and deeper flavor to a sauce or glaze, or incorporating a clean, earthy taste to balance an overly sweet dish.

One small word of advice is to follow a recipe closely when it calls for a specific type of beer. Though it may be tempting to use whatever beer is already in the fridge, light and dark flavors often make a large difference in the end result of the dish. If the recipe doesn’t specify, it’s safe to assume that lighter beers work well with chicken, fish and dessert, while darker beers pair nicely with heavier meats like pork or lamb.

Next fall, while others are busy re-racking and keg standing, I’ll be hard at work filling my solo cup in preparation for a game-day dinner of Beer-Can Chicken and Hoppy Hush Puppies. Go Blue!

Doing Spaghetti with Style

Andre Bshara  

While you’re eating a bowl of this stuff, expect to get a little something on you. As you try to keep this food from falling off your fork, it’s almost impossible not to soil your brand new white t-shirt with some sauce. The food that I’m talking about, possibly one of the most entertaining foods to eat, is spaghetti. Spaghetti with meatballs is a go-to meal for many chefs, but you can prepare your spaghetti in so many other ways. Notice that none of these methods make eating spaghetti cleaner. In fact, they create a very chaotic dish.

If you’re in the right mood, getting messy with spaghetti is, strangely, fun. The getting down and dirty portion of your meal should occur during, what I like to call, the “slurpation” process. Quite self-explanatory, slurpation is when you vacuum up pieces of spaghetti one strand at a time. While you do this, the tail end of the pasta hanging from your mouth tends to swing back and forth—the faster you slurp, the more violent the swing. Slurp with caution, if you’re a little girl. I’ve heard of some people going through great measures to avoid getting messy. These measures usually involve putting a napkin on their laps and even cutting up the pasta into smaller, more controllable pieces. Although I can’t bash these people’s livelihoods, I can tell them to loosen up a bit. Have some fun—get some food on your clothes.

Some people put ketchup on their spaghetti, though I don’t understand it. If you want more tomato, add more sauce, which has ingredients to make the spaghetti better. Better yet, get a hot dog and put ketchup on that if you love ketchup so much.

Personally, I like garlic bread with my pasta. And no, I don’t eat it like a high-class woman who is afraid of anything slightly unsanitary. I make a spaghetti-garlic bread sandwich. I usually end up licking sauce off of my hands, just because I don’t want to waste any. By doing this, I use one less napkin, and I get more sauce in my belly, benefiting both nature and my mental state. Get at me.

If you’re feeling pretty crazy, then you may follow in the footsteps of Buddy the Elf from the famous Christmas movie, “Elf.” Make it a savory and sweet experience by adding Pop-Tarts, chocolate syrup, and any variation of candy you can think of to your noodles. If you’re wild enough to try this, then you probably won’t mind eating it with your hands. And while you’re doing that, put on an elf’s suit and some green tights. That’ll make you feel ridiculous.

A New Addiction

Bianka Kristen  

We all know food is addicting. That bag of chocolate pretzels you just can’t stop eating. Those cheesy chips that turn your fingertips orange, but somehow your hand keeps on reaching into the bag. One after the other, you keep eating your delicious food until there’s none left. Afterwards, tears may form but you hold them back, mostly because you’re embarrassed that you finished your entire stash of food by yourself.

Lately, I’ve gained a new addiction: a nice warm cup of Rooibos tea.

Rooibos, which means Red Bush in Afrikaans, is a tea that is native to South Africa with a unique red color. With it’s sweet yet earthy taste, the tea has spread to cultures worldwide.

Though Rooibos has always been sitting in my cupboard, waiting for someone to drink it, I never truly appreciated all that it had to offer until I became sick. One night, when my sore throat was becoming a distraction from my all-important school work, I decided to make myself some of the tea that had been standing in my cupboard all semester. With steam rising from the cup, I squeezed in some honey. It not only soothed my sore throat, but it soothed my spirit, allowing me to relax—at least until my cup was empty.

Though tea in general has a reputation for helping with relaxation, I’ve found that Rooibos does even more. Rooibos has a wholesome quality overall, with health benefits that cannot be missed. As a caffeine-free drink, Rooibos also has many antioxidants, making it one of the “healthier” teas. It has even been known to help with allergies and asthma: perfect for the ever-changing Michigan weather.

To add to it’s list of amazing qualities, Rooibos is the tea of adaptation. One can drink Rooibos with a variety of added ingredients. In South Africa, milk is added to the tea, along with sugar to taste. Honey can be substituted, and many times it is. When drinking Rooibos without milk, sometimes a lemon is put in, to enhance the tea’s natural flavors.

Whichever way you drink Rooibos, you will not be disappointed. Pair it with a cookie or two, and soon it may become the same delicious addiction that it has for me.

Adventures in New York

Karry Lu  

Source: Flickr

Adventures in New York: Eating Tacos for 48 Hours, Plus Some Drinking

Last weekend I had the opportunity to go back home for the fall break. Naturally, my first order of business was to take the first 7 train out of Queens and embark on a two day taco binge. In the interest of science, here are a few tasting notes.

Reyes Deli & Grocery, Gowanus

Wedged between Boerum Hill and Park Slope is Gowanus, which is the area surrounding the eponymous canal that used to be both cargo route and sewage line for the tonier inland neighborhoods that border it. Fortunately, it’s managed to eclipse its shit-ridden past and like so many other previously undesirable areas before it, has kickstarted the gentrification process in earnest (yes, there will be a Whole Foods soon, and yes there will be a bar, restaurant AND commercial vegetable garden on the roof). But in the quiet moments before the inevitable waves of boozy brunches and bars with bocce ball, we can patronize places like Reyes Deli & Grocery on 4th Ave and 14th, which is basically what it sounds like: a deli that serves tacos, tortas and quesadillas, and also a grocery that sells bodega staples, BIMBO-brand Mexican snacks, and Lindens Oatmeal and Chocolate Chip cookies, which I used to eat a lot of when I was nine but haven’t seen in over a decade. It’s another entry in the long, proud lineage of deli-cum-taco-joints that are scattered across New York, and I came in with high expectations, given that some of the best meals of my life have come surrounded by random Catholic paraphernalia and the constant hum of Spanish soap operas.

Tacos are $2.25 each here, so get any and everything. Upon receiving your order a guy next to the cashier, face partially hidden by a rack of Cheetos, will start working on your food on the flattop. In the meantime you can stake a claim to one of the five stools provided, read an article or two in a copy of Mexican Maxim, maybe overhear the cashier and the 13 year old shelf stocker gossip about you in Spanish. Takes about 10 minutes but eventually the tacos will come, served on pliant, supple steamed tortillas and with the standard onion, cilantro and lime wedge. The salsa verde is on point, spicy with sharp tangy bursts of tomatillo goodness, and absolutely mandatory. Carnitas, beef, and cecina (salted beef) are juicy, well-seasoned and generously supplied. Wash it all down with a bottle of neon-orange Jarritos. Everything just works together. This sort of meal is the platonic ideal of “satisfying”, like scratching a deep itch, or completing a particularly difficult problem set. Would’ve liked a bit more variety on the menu (some goat or chicharrones would’ve been sick) but otherwise, no complaints at all.

Recommend if: you just moved to Brooklyn from the Midwest and need to rack up some street cred, you are okay with the idea of spending anywhere from 30 minutes to two hours on public transportation to buy a $7 lunch.

Calexico Cart, Flatiron

I try not to think too hard about “authenticity” in food. Fuzzy concepts like “tradition” and “cooking with love” are really just lazy synonyms for “having lots of practice.” It doesn’t take Pierre from Gascony to make coq au vin or an Italian nonna to crank out the perfect orecchiette, it just takes some work and experience (which explains why half of all professional kitchens are staffed with Mexican immigrants). But I may need to revise that opinion for white people, specifically white people who open up food carts for ethnic cuisine. I get that it’s hip and cool now to sling fancy, spruced up street food out the back of a truck like some tattooed James Dean/James Beard motherfucker, but it wouldn’t hurt to spend a few minutes on Google researching the basics before crumbling some bacon on that shit, charging a 50% premium and calling it a day.

Calexico was started by brothers from California who seemed unmoved by the Mexican food already on offer in New York (and who apparently never ventured west of 9th Ave or into any part of Queens) and eventually started up their own cart/restaurant with locations in Lower Manhattan and (obviously) Brooklyn. While I applaud their perhaps uniquely American entrepreneurial spirit, I remain less than impressed with their (also maybe uniquely American) failure to understand the cuisine they are getting involved in. Tacos, and food in general, are all about maintaining balance: each element (tortilla, meats, onion/cilantro, sauce) complements and accentuates the others in an intricate choreography of flavors, textures, and temperatures. This seems intuitive; indeed, Thomas Keller knows this, McDonalds knows this, and Miguel from Oaxaca knows this. The brothers Calexico do not.

This much was clear from the two tacos I purchased from the new Calexico cart next to Madison Square Park. Perhaps even more alarming was the casual disregard for the laws of physics; turns out that wrapping steaming hot tacos in tin foil causes them to become extremely soggy due to the trapped moisture, a lesson that was borne out when the first taco completely split apart at the seams. Then again, that could’ve also just been a failure to Wikipedia the right way to prepare a tortilla. The structural integrity wasn’t helped much by overloading with too much crap: warmed-over shredded chicken, cheese, pico de gallo, ambiguously-labeled “crack sauce.” I ordered both the pollo tocino and the chipotle pork, but it didn’t matter much in the end because they both tasted like indiscriminate meat product with some tomatoes and lettuce chucked in. At some point I switched to a fork and spoon to finish the job because I lost faith in the second taco to hold up much better, which while not a tragedy like global warming, is still a pretty sad way to go. On my way back past the cart I spotted an increasingly long line forming up. New York, I love you but you’re bringing me down.

Recommend if: you live in Murray Hill and think venturing into Greenpoint counts as edgy, you are bored of Chipotle but still want your server to speak English. But seriously, fuck these guys.

Nightcap: Dutch Kills, Long Island City

One day I’ll know that Queens is officially hip when Lena Dunham films herself smoking crack out in Jackson Heights in front of bemused Indian grocers, but until then, I can always head over to Dutch Kills. Incidentally, I should note that LIC is home to the Queensbridge housing projects, which, according to its Wikipedia entry, produces at least 70% of the city’s rappers (Capone-N-Noreaga representing Queens to the fullest).

The neighborhood is kind of an interesting one: it’s directly across the water from some of the swankier parts of Manhattan and Brooklyn, it’s where the 7 train coming from Flushing intersects with about six other lines and the Long Island Expressway, it’s where yuppie-approved date spots like PS1 and Socrates Sculpture Park sit on the same block as boarded-up warehouses and autobody garages. Around the way at Hunter’s Point, a bomb-ass mural of the Notorious B.I.G. scowls disapprovingly at all that he surveys, the corner where he used to sling rock now sporting a boutique organic pharmacy. Back in the day, I used to wait tables in nearby Astoria, and it is genuinely surprising how fast the luxury condominiums and starry-eyed twenty-something transplants showed up in the area, lured by a breathtaking city view and the promise of $2700 apartments that are actually nice.

Luckily, what’s not yet crossed the East River are the alcohol prices. You can expect to routinely pay upwards of $16 per drink, not including tax and tip, in some of the frillier temples of mixology in Manhattan, but thanks to a combination of cheaper rent and a clientele that can’t yet afford to stand for that nonsense, Dutch Kills manages to offer basically the same quality of booze for $11 a pop, $8 during happy hour, which is basically unheard of anywhere that invests in its own custom ice cubes. The vibe is “industrial speakeasy”, the lighting is dark and blemish-hiding, the bartenders rock the vest and mustache look, and it’s almost always packed with the young and flippant, as these types of places generally are.

I got there early, spent a few minutes hovering awkwardly near the bar eavesdropping on at least three first dates, but the waitress was kind enough to eventually find me a seat. Over the course of four hours my fashionably late lawyer friend (who also just happened to move into the neighborhood) and I held court at a booth, sipping whiskey-based beverages and periodically entertaining our female callers. The drink list isn’t huge, but I wouldn’t hesitate in going off-menu, since the bartenders certainly seem to know their Fernet Branca from their Lillet Blanc. The cocktails themselves are fairly straightforward, and lean towards well-executed variations on the classics, which honestly, I am okay with, because sometimes you just want to unrepentantly drink nothing but Old-Fashioneds (or Old-Fashioneds made with Islay scotch and maple syrup) for the entire evening, and if you are that kind of guy, Dutch Kills is here for you.

Recommended if: you’re a first year associate at a law firm but want to meet some hipsters, you’re dating a first year associate at a law firm but are basically a hipster.

(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.

I Am a Host: Sushi vs. Sashimi

S. Jin Lee  

Over the past summer, I enjoyed my first taste of dormitory emancipation by staying at a sublet during the spring term. Not used to cooking for myself in the dorms, I took up a job as a host-slash-cashier at a local Japanese restaurant. This way, I would have a moderate income to support my “let’s-just-get-takeout-for-every-meal” lifestyle. My job entails greeting and seating dine-in customers and taking to-go orders over the phone, among other tasks. It’s a pretty good job: the pay is decent, the coworkers are friendly, and most importantly, the employee meals are free.

As a first-time restaurant host, I’ve made some observations about our specific Japanese eatery, the food industry in general, and the people they both serve (primarily because during off-peak hours, that’s all I can do). One of the first things I noticed after taking profuse amounts of to-go orders over the phone was that not many customers knew the difference between sushi and sashimi. I initially was taken aback by this; I had thought Japanese food was pervasive enough in American culture for the average US citizen to have some basic understanding of the cuisine. After overcoming my initial (and slightly snobby) judgment, I quickly thought to myself that a simple explanation for the customer will make everything clear.

Boy, was I naïve.

To clarify, “sushi” (more specifically nigiri) is sliced, raw fish atop rice, while “sashimi” is the same style of fish without rice. For people who infrequently eat Japanese food, I would be more than willing to help a customer out with differentiating between the two. Similar to when I dine at Italian restaurants and order pasta, I never remember the difference between penne, rotini, and linguine. In my desperation, I graciously accept help from my server. However, I’m less inclined to help someone who, after learning about the two, is dead-set on ordering five orders of “tuna sashimi with rice.” I could always just punch in what I assume the customer wants, but then I run the risk of getting the order completely wrong and in turn, paying out of my pocket for it. Having experienced this before and receiving an earful from the sushi chefs (turns out that the customer misspoke and actually just wanted tuna sashimi, how about that) I really don’t want to do it again. I still have nightmares of middle-aged, five-foot-five men berating me about raw fish. Therefore, in cases like this, I have to keep pressing the customer for more details, resulting in phone calls that are ten minutes longer than they should be.

Time, in this case, is money.

It’s even worse when this confusion happens on a larger scale. There’s an item on our menu called the Takara Bune, which literally translates to “treasure boat” in English. It’s a hefty platter of sashimi (with an equally hefty price of 180 dollars) that is meant to feed eight “sashimi lovers only,” as amusingly described by our menu. When customers order this, they should know what they’re getting into, as the Bune requires a huge investment on their part. Now, this hasn’t happened to me personally, but I heard a story about a previous server who neglected to ensure that his customers knew what they were ordering. When the customers received the Bune, they noted that they did not receive sushi rice with the raw fish and demanded that the chefs correct the mistake. It’s a reasonable complaint and the fault is on the server, who should have taken the extra time to clarify and verify the customers’ wants. Fortunately, the sushi chefs (begrudgingly) took back the Bune and put sushi rice with the sashimi. The customers were satisfied and the server did not have to take the personal financial hit.

Despite the server’s luck, I still shed a tear for him. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that the chefs blasted him in front of all the employees for his “incompetency.” Like I hinted earlier, when someone messes up an order that big and costly, hell hath no fury like a sushi chef scorned.

Nightly Snacks

Kristen Lan  

Night markets are one of the best places to experience all sorts of Taiwanese foods: ranging from bubble tea (which tastes totally different from the bubble tea in Ann Arbor) to takoyaki. However, before digging into the wide variety of foods, be prepared to be squeezed!

For starters, imagine a typical farmer’s market. Then, change the veggie & fruit stands into stands serving oyster omelets, scallion pancakes, tanghulu, and lots more Asian treats that would take me pages to list down. Next, of course, being a night market, it should start after the late afternoons mostly after sunset (that’s usually around six or seven year round). And finally, “insert” crowds of peoples. They make up 95% of the liveliness in night markets.

The vendors sell all kinds of foods. One notable treat would be stinky tofu due to its distinctive smell. It’s a type of fermented tofu, which, according to its name, gives off a stench. However, the smelliness isn’t all to it, the deep fried stinky tofu is a combination of a crunchiness and softness. Some people cannot stand the smell of this fried treat, but absolutely love the taste of it!

The next snack’s smell will hit you even if you are ten stands away. The names usually vary for it, but I’ll go with a double layer roll sausage. The literal translation of it is “big intestine wrap small intestine,” but no worries; we’re not talking about intestinal organs here. It’s a pork sausage wrapped in a rice sausage “bun.” At a night market, these treats have one of longest lines, and pass the smell of grilled meat even from meters away. A smart “tactic” I would advise is don't eat a whole double layer sausage, but share with a few friends. Therefore, you could try out more treats along the way!

A foreign drink that has been gaining popularity in Taiwanese night markets is the teh tarik. It’s an extraordinary sight to see the vendors “pull” the tea around with their cups before serving. The teh tarik is commonly served in a clean plastic bag with a straw stuck to the opening. You could fasten the plastic bag to your wrist and don’t have to worry of losing your drink.

In Taiwanese night markets, the food choices vary so much that it is hard to introduce all the treats. However, the buzzy crowds in the night market create quite the scene. A trip to the night market will not only be a great chance to experience the culture, but also present a great opportunity to have a wide variety of foods.

Celebrity Demands

Emily Kastl  

We’ve all heard stories about outlandish celebrity demands: floor-to-ceiling white dressing rooms, constant room temperatures of exactly 73 degrees—you get the idea. Pampered celebs are used to all their demands being met, no matter how bizarre, and food appears to be no exception.

An article from The Daily Meal outlines some of the weirdest backstage ration requirements. Undeniable senses of entitlement aside, perhaps it becomes acceptable to request 7 (but absolutely not 9) grains in one’s bread after selling millions of albums or winning multiple Oscars.

Ever wonder what Jennifer Hudson, spokeswoman for Weight Watchers, craves after a show? Answer: baked hot wings.

What does swooner Michael Bublé expect to see upon his arrival to a performance? “One bottle of premium single malt scotch and a local team hockey puck,” of course.

If you’re thinking about having T.I stop by for a performance, get ready to drop some major dough. Be prepared to have nine filet mignons (at exactly 9 oz a piece), Grey Goose, Patrón, and Rémy Martin VSOP on hand. If that sounds like too much preparation, T.I will graciously accept a $1,000 prepaid bar tab instead. What a guy…

Ever the altruist, Katy Perry requests her and her staff are provided with SIGG water bottles at all times in order to minimize their carbon foot prints. Oh, and while you’re out picking up those water bottles, don’t forget to pick up some freeze-dried strawberries!

The late-great Whitney Houston requested “M&Ms, peanut butter cups, Butterfingers, Raisinets, as well as shrimp cocktail, crab legs, sweet and sour chicken or shrimp, spring rolls, and shrimp fried rice” on her Southeast Asia tour. Maybe Ms. Houston was really saving all her love for her after-show munchies!

Love ‘em or hate ‘em, these celebs are apparently creatures of habit who know exactly what they want. If you take anything away from this article, for the love of god, do not—I repeat, DO NOT—try to serve Selena Gomez her turkey sandwiches on Wonder Bread.

Righty—Hungry, Lefty—Full?

Emily Kastl  

Since snacking is a favorite past-time for many, we often find ourselves sitting in front of the TV, hand mindlessly passing from chip bag to mouth. This comforting cycle can sometimes last the duration of an hour-long show and before we know it, our hand is brushing the bottom of the bag desperately searching for any last morsels.

Since we become classically conditioned to snack over time, this question may seem a bit odd: which hand are you using as the primary transporter of your snacks?

An interesting study from the University of Southern California has been receiving some media face time recently due to its remarkable results. According to this study, people who used their non-dominant hand during nosh sessions consumed 30% less calories than those who employed their usual method.

So, what makes this seemingly arbitrary approach so effective? When we throw a kink in an automatic process – like snacking – our brain gets knocked off course and causes us to become aware of our behavior. This can prompt us to feel fuller sooner, resulting in fewer chips consumed.

The actual details of the 3-part study are pretty clever, too; participants sat in a dark movie theater, watched trailers and snacked on popcorn. The purpose of the dark theater was to create an automatic atmosphere, since many of us associate movies with mindless munching.

In part three of the study some participants were directed to snack with their non-dominant hand while in the movie theater. For those who had previously reported frequent movie time popcorn pig outs, the total amount consumed was 30% less than that of part one of the study.

So the next time you eagerly tear open a bag of cheese puffs, resist the urge to dive in with your dominant hand; you might find yourself reaching for the chip clip much sooner.

Paula Deen's Caloric Conundrum

Katie Trucco  

What does fried macaroni and cheese have in common with Krispy-Kreme donut bread pudding? Both contain unfathomable amounts of butter, weeks worth of calories, and they both originated in the kitchen of Paula Deen. She’s the television chef known for her butter-happy recipes and smothering dishes, all served warm with a big southern smile. Watching her prepare her sugary masterpieces is often cringe-worthy as she unwraps stick after stick of butter and drops them ever so gently into her mixing bowls while making a simple shrimp and wild rice casserole.

Just look at that big southern smile.

For years, Paula has made these dishes with impressive ease, and unlike many others in her field, she seems to actually eat and enjoy what she makes. Unfortunately, that has come with a price, as she announced a short time ago that she has been living with Type II Diabetes for the last three years. Her situation has come as no surprise to some, given her wildly unhealthy meals – she has featured deep-fried cheesecake on her show, and has shown viewers how to make a “lasagna sandwich.” After she announced her diagnosis, she claimed that she has altered her eating habits and “has always eaten in moderation.” While it is sad to see someone sacrifice their health and well-being for what they love, many are hoping that this turn in Paula’s eating style will encourage her to promote healthier eating to her fans. Her website now features “Figure Friendly” recipes, and her sons, Bobby and Jamie, are following in their mom’s culinary footsteps and have created some lighter dishes such as sweet and sour turkey meatballs. It is probably safe to say that the three of them will probably be laying off of the butter for quite some time!

Food On the Run

Emily Kastl  

How does the idea of consuming large amounts of food and then running a few miles right after sound—fun? Then you might be interested in taking part in a growing trend that combines food and exercise.

In fact, you don’t have to go any further than Ann Arbor to find an event. Each year on April Fool’s Day a 5k walk/run takes place in Gallup Park. But it isn’t your average 5k—along the way there are two Twinkie stations where runners can stop for a snack. Though it isn’t required to eat anything, those who do automatically get 2 minutes shaved off their final time.

If Twinkies aren’t your thing then you might be more interested in the Doughman Challenge. Featured on an episode of Man v. Food, this is a team event in Durham, North Carolina that involves eating entire meals before completing one leg of the race, which may include biking, swimming, or running. As if that isn’t enough, dessert is waiting for contestants before they can cross the finish line.

I’m not sure where this trend originated, but it seems like a fun pairing of 2 seemingly opposite things: food and physical activity. Maybe it’s a nice way to justify eating a hamburger chased with a donut--you’re just going to run it off…immediately.

To see the full list of races, check out the Food Network