It’s the last night at 860 Hinman, Apt 711.

It’s more sweet than bitter, though.

The light fixture buzzes, the dirty ceiling fan swirls around as usual.

My palate, quelled from the sparkling rose enjoyed after a Sunday evening shift just downstairs at Campagnola restaurant, also lingers with the taste of lemon tart, both sour and sweetly divine.

One spider, solitarily dangling from its web, rests in the corner of my room. I gaze: a welcomed roommate.

This apartment has been home for the past three years. Within it, passion, lust, anxiety, depression, dance-marathons, and many nights typing away at a keyboard have been passed.

Dreams, awakened. Heart, broken.

Most of all, this space has been both the solitude that has allowed creative endeavors to be cultured, and the space that has poisoned me with the notion of “i-can-go-it-alone”.

The home to return to following solo jaunts around the world, always awaiting me with a familiar smell and comfort. The walls that absorb the sound of my singing, endless hours of rehearsing for an audience that doesn’t exist; not knowing what I’m singing for, but singing anyways..

Tomorrow marks the beginning of a new passage.

Although the feeling of stagnation looms, the cocoon that I will enshroud myself in for the next few months will produce a much clearer path. A nest needing to be built, first and foremost.

Fish don’t even know they’re in water, How do I?

I was in my mother’s coastal Maine cabin- decorated with fine art plucked from the B&B inn from my childhood- lounging on the sofa, slightly overheated from the influenza bug I caught during a food-based research trip to Seoul, Korea. Without much else to do but ride out the illness, I cracked open Best American Food Writing, 2018, and scanned the Forward…

Ruth Reichl begins with a beautifully succinct introduction outlining both the current state and future of food writing in America. First, she defends the discipline itself by elaborating the importance of the subject matter in society against pushback from academics. She finishes the introduction,

“I hope that no university will ever again sneer at a food-focused thesis.” -Ruth Reichl

My blood was boiling.

Just a few months earlier, I was sitting in the office of a tenured professor of Italian literature at Northwestern University, being yelled at for my positionality in regards to a proposed research project in Korea as a continuation of last summer’s research into the company Eataly as a global intermediary for Italian food culture and small producers.

-“..food studies is a shallow discipline through which to view a culture!” she implored. I sat back quietly and let her words wash over me. I was stunned. Firstly, that a professor would deny a student’s academic interest in subject material, and secondly, that one would classify gastronomy in society at large as “shallow”.

At that time, I proposed to continue my Eataly project in Korea. I had also recently applied for a Fulbright to attend the University of Gastronomic Sciences in Bra, Italy, where project had begun the previous summer. During that research, I learned that as a company with ties to the Slow Food Movement grew beyond it’s Italian roots, Eataly stood at the precipice of implications at the intersection of Italian nationalism and globalization, and Eataly’s global expansion led me to want to study the network in another cultural context. I chose Seoul as the next destination based on some interview data and connections that I had made during the summer.

Yet, I needed a tenured professor to be an advisor to secure $1500 of funding from the Undergraduate Research Office at Northwestern. I had a working project, interview subjects, but had no real advisor to bounce ideas off of. In addition to the project itself, I also needed the independent research class that would be bourne out of the project in order to graduate with an Italian minor (transfer student drawbacks). I thought this project would be a perfect fit for my academic path towards a career. I sought out this professor in the Italian department, but was disappointed by the lack of interest.

Her lack of support for the material and insults in relation to my positionality as an American seeking to study Italian food as a seemingly “low brow” and academically shallow pursuit left me angry and helpless, yet with more grit than ever to prove the validity of this discpline in academia and beyond.

This experience led to my not recieving funding for the Seoul segment of the project. Yet, my grit prevailed. Two weeks after the meeting with this professor, I won $2000 in a voice competition in Chicago. The next day, I bought my ticket to Seoul and confirmed my interview logistics.

I was going to Korea, and I had visions of a future filled with Fulbright winnings and success as a researcher, catalyst for small producers to enter into larger markets, and potential future business owner. I was a going to be a global researcher in the US, Asia, and Europe!! I had visions that my research and future successes would prove this professor wrong.

What I didn’t know during my influenza-sparked binge reading of Best American Food Writing, 2018 is that life doesn’t always play out as planned.

Four months later, events would shift. I was a semi-finalist for the Fulbright to attend the University of Gastronomic Sciences with a food-focused proposed project, but lost to a woman interested in providing access for immigrants in the food start-up scene. Although my project was validated through the US Fulbright committee, my ego faltered when I didn’t win.

I was disheartened given my path: I had recently dropped the Italian minor and didn’t have the opportunity to access more funding for the project as a soon-to-be graduate. Right before my final quarter at Northwestern, I decided to enroll in a graduate-level globalization seminar in the anthro department. I continued to engulf my self in the subject matter, but lost my steam as my life in the music school became more demanding…

Now, I sit in a La Colombe coffeeshop in Lincoln Park, Chicago, pondering the next steps in my career and life. My passions for the intersection of food, research and globalization sparks within me a desire to re-apply for the Fulbright. I want more than anything to have the opporutnity to attend the University of Gastronomic Sciences and become a member of the world of those with enough curiosity, passion, and grit to ignore the voices that say food studies is shallow.

Until then, this blog will become a mini market research platform where I will research various topics in food and society.

With the words of M.F.K Fischer, “First we eat, then we do everything else.”  

Cheers.

Finally crawling my way out of the dark hole that is the first-month-after-graduating, seemingly endless cycles of resume churning madness.

Back to something a little more lighthearted… What about the oatmeal crawl?

My good friend Yana and I have been eating our way through Chicago’s breakfast joints, picking apart each restaurant’s representation of experience through their innovations on a classic, mostly forgotten about dish.

First stop? Why not hit the ground running with Stephanie Izard’s Little Goat Diner. This celebrity chef- most known for her James Beard awards, Top Chef fan favorite status and slew of restaurants associated with goats, the West Loop, and Boka Group- has a high bar to maintain with her take on oatmeal. The results?

Think: GOAT-Meal

Inedible oat-mush with essence of goat. Oat crumble, blueberries, creme-fraische. Thick paste that one would expect to be savory, but instead tastes like soured goat milk mixed in with good old-fashioned oatmeal and left to cook for too long.

This oatmeal screams, “Celebrity Chef needing to stay relevant innovates a simple dish, but comes out completely inedible”.

1/5.

Next stop! Little Puerto Rico, where we get a history lesson, a Jibarito, and some damn good coconut oatmeal.

Nellie’s Puerto Rican Cafe on West Division is famous for their ‘avena de coco’ made with creamy coconut milk and topped with cinnamon. Yana and I struck up a conversation with the server, asking “why coconut?” He explained to us that the coconut is a comfort food integrated into many aspects of Puerto Rican cuisine and life, typically bringing forth feelings of comfort, nostalgia, and love from generational passing of family dishes in their homeland. Although not native to Puerto Rico, the cultivation of coconut has grown rapidly over the past few centuries, and the enjoyment of the ‘avena de coco’ at Nellie’s gives a glimpse into a multilayered experience of place and story through food.

4/5 oatmeal experience.

Oh, and the plaintain sandwich, “Jibarito”, is killer.

One week later, Yana and I found ourselves eating at one of my favorite Chicago diners, Cafe Marie Jeanne in Humboldt Park. This French dinette features high quality, well excecuted comfort food ranging from Monte Cristos to poutine, and delicasies like calf brains to steelhead roe toast. At Cafe Marie Jeanne, you can enjoy caviar alongside cheddar grits and not feel pretentous for ordering it or embarassed that you had to Google a few items on the menu.

The oatmeal is the best yet.

Nutty, crunchy, hearty, all good things that oatmeal should be (in my opinion). Slightly sweetened, garnished with maple roasted pecans, I was in heaven. Quality and execution, 5/5.

Also, spruce up your breakfast sandwich by getting a cheddar and habanero biscuit and topping it with bloodsausage or (if you feel like splurging), caviar.

Cafe Marie Jeanne never disappoints.

Next up? Dove’s Luncheonette off of the Damen stop in Wicker Park.

I always find it fun to hop into a breakfast place that also doubles as a Mezcal Bar. Mezcalita with your oatmeal, anyone? Oatmeal features sliced pears, crisped oat topping and dried prunes with a delicate drizzle of maple syrup to finish. The slightly creamy texture of the oats is perfectly complimented by the crunch of the topping. The colorful plateware and mini-doily is a nice touch.

Although I was disappointed that there seemed to be no “why” to the dish, no Mexican flair or storyline to the ingredients, the oatmeal was quality. What’s quality without a good story, though?

3/5

This brings us to today. Did I mention that I’ve been in a funk since graduation? What better emergence from the depths than a trip to Manny’s Deli in the southwest loop? Although recently renovated, the space still holds the charm of a Jewish New York style deli with edible comforts to match. Grab a lunch tray, saunter past the Matzo balls, challah french toast, and bagel and lox towards the cafeteria-style case with pies and fresh sliced fruit towards a destiny of satisfaction. This place has character.

I don’t even care that the oatmeal is sticky, made with water, and bland. I don’t care that the raisins and brown sugar come in plastic cups on the side. I don’t care that the bagel and lox is a DIY project. Look around! The place has soul, history, and a clientele to match.

5/5 oatmeal experience. 2/5 oatmeal.

MORE TO COME! I’m promising you this, but mostly myself.