STETSON 2018-2022

u o p S o t a m o T HONORS CREDO SAUTÉED ONIONS AND GARLICY GOODNESS ANSLEY MCCOY

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Dedication T H I S C O O K B O O K I S D E D I C A T E D T O T H O S E W H O H A V E H E L P E D M E F I N D A N D C R E A T E M Y S E L F O V E R T H E P A S T F E W Y E A R S .

T O M Y P A R E N T S , F O R S T A N D I N G B Y M Y S I D E A N D B E L I E V I N G I N M E , N O M A T T E R W H A T T H A N K Y O U . I W O U L D N O T B E T H E P E R S O N I A M T O D A Y W I T H O U T Y O U R G U I D A N C E .

T O N A T H A N , F O R P U S H I N G M E T O S E E T H E P O S I T I V E S I D E I N L I F E - T H A N K Y O U . Y O U ' V E M A D E M E A B E T T E R P E R S O N .

T O M Y P R O F E S S O R S , F O R P U S H I N G M E T O S T E P O U T O F M Y C O M F O R T Z O N E - T H A N K Y O U . Y O U ' V E E A C H M A D E M E A W E L L - R O U N D E D P E R S O N .

T O T H O S E W H O I N F L U E N C E D M Y D E C I S I O N T O C O M E T O S T E T S O N - T H A N K Y O U . Y O U ' V E G I V E N M E A G R E A T E D U C A T I O N A L F O U N D T A T I O N T O S T E P I N T O T H E W O R L D .

A N D , T O T H O S E W H O S U P P O R T S T E T S O N ' S H O N O R S P R O G R A M - T H A N K Y O U . Y O U ' V E G I V E N M E T H E F L E X I B I L I T Y A N D I N D E P E N D E N C E T O D I S C O V E R M Y P A S S I O N S . I W O U L D N O T B E T H E G L O B A L C I T I Z E N I A M T O D A Y W I T H O U T Y O U .

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" My first year of undergrad equates to salt falling out of its shaker."

Introduction S A U T É E D

O N I O N S

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G A R L I C Y

G O O D N E S S

You know that scent that hits you when you first walk into your mom's kitchen - the one comprised of sautéed onions and garlicy goodness? The scent that makes your nose twitch, your mouth salivate, and your belly clench in anticipation? Well, as unusual as it might sound...I associate that scent with my first day at Stetson, back when I was bushy tailed, bright eyed, and full of anticipation. For on my first day at Stetson, I felt like a finished dish. Four and a half years later, and I now realize that I was just in the sautéing stage of cooking. Using this analogy, my first year of undergrad (Fall 2018 - Spring 2019) equates to salt falling out of its shaker. Initially, the addition of salt to sautéing onions and garlicy goodness creates a flavor of sour bitterness, but as the ingredients mix together the flavor turns sweet. This idea parallels my freshman experience to a T. Now, don't get me wrong - I enjoyed my freshman year... I mean, I really enjoyed my freshman year. But, I hadn't quite learned how to balance flavors. I hadn't quite learned how to balance life. You see, I spent hours on assignments that today would take me 30 minutes. I got Bs in classes that today I would get As in. And, I spent time with plastic people who today I would steer clear from. Why? I don't know. I guess I really bought into the idea of the "college experience". And while this superficial lifestyle is for some, it definitely wasn't for me.

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So, sophomore year came (Fall 2019) and brought balance to my life. I learned how to enhance and counteract the flavor of the salt by adding in a scoop of pepper and a dash of red pepper flakes. I learned that accounting and finance weren't for me, so I transferred out of the School of Business and into the College of Arts and Sciences - where I took courses that challenged my perception of the world. Suddenly, I was surrounded by peers who shared the same values as me. I began volunteering at the WORLD Office, where I met students from all over the world. And, with this new balance, I started feeling more like me. However, Spring of 2020 brought a new set of challenges. Two weeks before I was supposed to leave for a semester abroad in Thailand, Covid-19 struck the world and derailed my study abroad plans. In fact, it put me behind a semester, as it was too late to return to Stetson. My strange college experience, combined with the uncertainty of the state of the world, coupled with the turbulence felt within the United States made me feel empty. I felt bland. Bland like canned diced tomatoes lying in a Le Creuset Dutch oven before their flavor begins to meld with the sautéed onions and garlicy goodness.

" My junior year helped me transition from a jumble of tomatoes, onions, and garlicy goodness into the base of a flavorful tomato soup." So, in comes junior year (Fall 2020 - Spring 2021). And with it, heat! My fall semester of junior year is comparable to cranking up the burner under the Le Creuset Dutch oven until its mixture of tomatoes, sautéed onions, and garlicy goodness comes to a boil. A lot changed within the span of a couple months. I started dating my boyfriend, Nathan. My family moved from my childhood home of 20 years to the North Georgia Mountains. And, I changed my college major to a self-designed International Relations major. All of these new things were incredibly nerve-wracking and felt like the heat of a flame. But, as any home chef knows, a boil is needed to create a simmer. And, a simmer is where any dish gets its flavor. My junior year helped me transition from a jumble of tomatoes, onions, and garlicy goodness into the base of a flavorful tomato soup. It's the year in which I gained an identity.

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And, I used this newly gained identity to go out into the world during my senior year (Fall 2021 Spring 2022). For me, the Fall 2021 semester equates to a splash of cream folding into a nicely blended tomato soup. I spent the semester studying in Winterthur, Switzerland and felt the accumulation of my college experience come to fruition. It felt like everything was blending together. I was blending together. If Switzerland added the cream, then my Spring 2022 Semester in Seoul, South Korea added in a bunch of freshly chopped basil. In the way that basil shouldn't be overcooked, my Seoul semester shouldn't be over-lived - in that four and half months in Asia taught me how good it can be to be home. As basil enhances flavor in tomato soup, my Seoul semester enhanced my identity. So, as my bonus semester comes to an end, I feel like a flavorful, blended, creamy tomato soup. I'm at the final stage of cooking. Now, it's time to be ladled and poured - poured into law school, poured into family, and poured into adulthood. I've come a long way since my first day of undergrad. I no longer smell of sautéed onions and garlicy goodness. But, make no mistake - by no means do I claim to be a finished dish. For as my dad says, "you can't have tomato soup without a buttery, crispy, melty grilled cheese sandwich on the side". So now, as I go out into the world, I equate to the sound of popping butter searing on the grill pan right before the chef lays down the jalapeño cheddar bread. You might find it strange that I've compared myself to tomato soup - I mean, it's a simple dish. And, yes, that's true - it is simple, but it's also comforting. It's comforting like watching dark gray clouds encompass the world around you. It's soothing like feeling the embracing warmth of pulling on a thick knitted sweater and wool winter scarf. And, it's calming like tightening the laces on a new pair of leather snow boots. To me, the smell of tomato soup is like folding into dark gray clouds. The first taste of the soup - the one so hot it burns the roof of your mouth - is like feeling the spitting snow drip down your cheek. And the sigh that always follows that first sip of soup equates to the sound of one's tightly laced leather snow boot crunching on the first of winter's fallen snow. Like a gooey grilled cheese sandwich paired with tomato soup, this vivid image pairs with a heartwarming memory. Let's rewind. It's November of 2021. Where? Winterthur, Switzerland. I'm busy looking at the newly hung twinkly lights over our living room sofa when my roommate, Diane, barges into the room. She lets out a deep sigh and plunges onto the couch, next to me. She begins mumbling under her breath about her international finance class and that mumbling quickly transforms into a loud rant about her impending exam in the course. You have to understand Diane. She is a princess. I mean a literal princess or former nobility of some sort. Her family comes from Ghana, but her mom fled to France a couple years before Diane was born. She grew up in a humble apartment in Versailles with stories and relics of her mother's past. As such, Diane can be a bit dramatic and spoiled, and, well, princessish. So, when her rant about her international finance exam began, I knew I needed to shut her up quickly. So, I rubbed my stomach and exclaimed, "I'm hungry!". She answered that she was too.

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So, we both peeled ourselves off the blue L-shaped couch in our living room and wandered into our brightly lit kitchen. We pulled open cupboards and drawers to no avail - we were out of food! We could see dark gray clouds from our kitchen window, and we knew we needed to find something to calm our growling stomachs quickly. We pulled on our thickest sweaters and our coziest scarves. We grabbed our puffy winter jackets, laced up our snow boots, and stepped out of the apartment. As we inhaled the moistness in the air, we walked 10 meters to a small Italian cafe situated under our apartment. The owner, a little old lady, scoured at us and shooed us off in a rapid mixture of German and Italian. She was closing her store due to the impending storm - it was about to snow. As I stepped out from underneath the brick awning of the cute Italian cafe, I felt the first flake of snow brush against my cheek. At this point, Diane and I knew we needed to act quickly if we were going to find a cure for our hunger, so we swiftly agreed to walk to the closest grocery store - situated about a 15-minute walk away on a good day. On our brisk walk, we chatted about the traditions we each have for the first snow of the season. Since she was a little girl, Diane would put on her nicest boots, prettiest jacket, and fanciest designer bag to take pictures in the snow. Her mother and her would meander the streets of Versailles until they both froze enough to crave a piping cup of thick hot chocolate. They'd return to their humble apartment, and her mom would slowly melt high quality French chocolate over the stove. She'd gradually mix milk into the creamy chocolatey base until she molded it into a dreamy pot of hot chocolate. They'd pour it into slender white mugs and top the mixture with a dollop of whipped cream. As she shared her snow-filled, chocolatey memory with me a tear dripped down her cheek. For the first time of our semester abroad, Diane was homesick. I don't know if I opened my mouth to comfort Diane or to relate to her, but I too shared my first snow of the year tradition. I explained that we don't get snow in my home of Georgia very often, maybe once a year if at all. So, when it snows, we make the most of it. I traveled into a memory as I explained to Diane how my dogs and I attempt to make angels in the snow; how my mom and I build a lopsided snowman; and, how my dad and I have a snowball fight that lasts until the once pretty white snow in our yard turns into a gray slush. As I put one foot in front of the other on the way to the Coop - our Swiss grocery store - I couldn't help but ponder over my family's snow-filled festivities. Like Diane, I felt a little homesick.

" As she shared her snow-filled, chocolatey memory with me a tear dripped down her cheek."

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" By the time we exit the store, our world has transformed into a beautiful winter wonderland." Feeling the crunch of fresh snow under my tightly laced boots, I picture wandering into my family's heated home to make a piping hot pot of tomato soup and a plateful of grilled cheese and ham sandwiches. I chop the onions and mince the garlic. My mom gets out the Le Creuset Dutch oven. My dad plucks the basil off the plant situated in the window ledge of our kitchen. My mom tosses the ingredients into the Dutch oven and sautés them until the scent of sautéed onions and garlicy goodness wafts to every corner of our home. She then seasons the mixture with salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes. Once the onions and garlicy goodness have time to absorb the flavors of the spices, she pours in a can of diced tomatoes. While the mixture simmers into a blended creamy tomato soup, we change out of our wet winter clothes into warm flannel pajamas - the matching ones, of course. After what feels like eternity, my mom finishes the soup with a splash of cream and a bunch of basil. While my mom ladles the soup, my dad gently places cheese between two pieces of jalapeno cheddar bread. I set the table while he throws butter into the grill pan. When the butter pops, he places the sandwiches on the pan and grills them. When they're done, he plates them. And, we gather around the table with our dogs curled underneath us, thankful for our cozy shelter inside the winter wonderland. As a collection of snowflakes gather at the crown of my head, I'm brought back to the snow filled street in Winterthur with Diane. I exclaim, "I have an idea". Then, I tell Diane that we should each share our snow-filled traditions with each other. I explain that I can make tomato soup and she can make hot chocolate. She brightens at the idea, and just like that, we are both cured of our homesickness. We practically sprint the last leg of our trek to the supermarket. She gathers the ingredients for her hot chocolate, and I gather mine for my tomato soup. By the time we exit the store, our world has transformed into a beautiful winter wonderland, so we savor our walk back to the apartment. Once we enter our cozy home, we immediately began cooking and the smell of sautéed onions and garlicy goodness overtakes the apartment. Our friend Scherezade, a French Algerian, joins us for our cozy meal.

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And, as I look out the window at the sun setting in distance, as I join my friends in laughter, and as I glance down at the peculiar mix of melty grilled cheese sandwiches, thick hot chocolate, and creamy tomato soup I can't help but praise our simple meal. Because what, other than food, would bring together a French Algerian, a French Ghanaian, and a southern American? In that moment I recognized my desire to bridge people and cultures together as seamlessly as food seems to do. So, as a self-designed International Relations major, I couldn't think of a better form for my credo than a collection of recipes. The stories you will read come from times of transformation and times of comfort. They come from stories of home and stories of adventure. And, they sum up who I am as a person. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy a piping hot cup of creamy tomato soup.

Tomato Soup S A U T É E D

O N I O N S

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G O O D N E S S

Ingredients 3 Tablespoons butter

2 (28 oz cans) of San Marzano

1 medium onion (chopped)

diced tomatoes

1 clove garlic (minced)

1.5 cups chicken broth

Salt and pepper (to taste)

Heavy cream (to taste)

Red pepper flakes (to taste)

Torn basil (to taste)

Preparation Add the oil, butter, and onion to your pot over medium-high heat. Sauté the onion for 5-7 minutes or until lightly browned. Stir in the garlic and and cook until fragrant. Add in a pinch of salt, followed by freshly ground black pepper and a dash of red pepper flakes. Add in the tomatoes and chicken broth. Increase the heat to high and bring the soup to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer for 20-30 minutes, covered, with the lid slightly ajar. The longer it simmers, the more flavorful it will be. Blend the soup (I like to use an immersion blender) until it's smooth (you may want to let it cool a little bit first). Stir in the cream and basil and season with salt & pepper as needed. Ladle into bowls and serve with a grilled cheese or ham sandwich on the side.

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" I've always found it easiest to connect with people when talking about food."

Explanation F O O D

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R O O T S

Food is an integral part of my life, and it sits at the root of it. My parents value cooking and gathering over meals, so it is something I have grown up with. We always made a point to enjoy weeknight meals together. And, on the weekends we would experiment with different spices and flavors. Because my parents ingrained the love of food in me, I’ve always found it easiest to connect with people when talking about food. As I’ve aged, I’ve learned to connect with different cultures through food, from learning to make salmorejo in Salamanca to plowing rice on a water buffalo in Laos, food has always helped me learn about other places and people. For this reason, I thought a compilation of my family’s favorite recipes would be a great way to help explain myself. Each recipe will be accompanied by a story that means a lot to me. Through my credo, you will get to travel the world with me, spend time on my back patio, and get a closer look into my life. I hope that by reading about my favorite recipes and their accompanying stories, you will gain some insight into who I am as a person and who I strive to be. The first story you will read is about watching American football, eating boiled peanuts, and drinking bourbon with my friends and family. It's titled, "The Race to the Fallen Peanut Shell".

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" The simple act of racing my dog to boiled peanut shells is something I've done for a s long as I can remember."

Boiled Peanuts T H E

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It’s December of 2019. I take the boiled peanut shell out of my mouth and toss it into the bucket sitting in the middle of the table. As I wipe the peanut’s juice off of my chin, half of its shell hits the edge of the bucket and bounces off onto the brick floor. I jump out of my chair and race to pick it up before my dog, Claire, can get her beady eyes on it. The simple act of racing my dog to boiled peanut shells is something I’ve done for as long as I can remember. It’s crazy how the things that seem constant in our lives, are the things that change and disappear so quickly. Years earlier, I wrap my little hands around the ice bucket as I pull it down from its nook in the cabinet. I’m careful as I step off the chair - that I’d used as my stepstool - onto the hardwood floors lining our kitchen. I paddle over to our ice maker and begin to scoop ice into the bucket. I leave little droplets of melting ice on the hardwood as I go, too excited to take the time to clean them up even though my dad will be pissed about the water stains later. It’s September in the McCoy Family Household, meaning it’s time for our autumn tradition of boiled peanuts, bourbon, and college football! I grab cups from the cupboard and bowls from the drawer, and carry them around the side of my house - careful not to drop them as I travel down the steps to our covered terrace. I set three place settings, one for my mom, my dad, and myself. I place the ice filled bucket on the counter by the table, and then use my little legs to push myself up onto the tall chair. My two dogs, Buddy and Bandit, sit underneath me as I patiently wait for my parents.

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I sit for 15, 20, 30 minutes and my parents are still not downstairs. I’m beginning to wonder where they are, when I hear my dad frantically calling my name. He sprints down the steps and pauses when he sees me sitting at the high table. “Ansley, what are you doing?” he questions. “I was worried sick about you!” he exclaims! I gush, “waiting on you! I’m ready for boileds and bourbon, Daddy!” Before I know it, he is bent over laughing as a proud smile takes over his face. At the young age of three, I had already mastered the family tradition of boiled peanuts and bourbon.

"At the young age of three, I had already mastered the family tradition of boiled peanuts and bourbon. My dad then runs upstairs to get my mom (and, the bourbon), and they follow the droplet trail through the kitchen, down the stairs, to our boiled peanut table. We laugh together while we nibble on our traditional snack. My mom and dad pairing it with bourbon, while I drown it in a coca-cola. As I wipe a peanut’s juice off my chin and throw its shell into the bucket, it bounces off the side and tumbles to the ground. My dog, Buddy, scuttles over to the shell as my dad jumps out of his chair to wrestle it out of her pointed canines. He then explains the importance of picking up my fallen peanut shells - as they can be dangerous to dogs. Fast-forward five years, to a boiled peanut table full of people, a rival football game, and a race to the fallen peanut shell. It’s the third quarter in a nail-biting football game - The Georgia Bulldogs VS. Georgia Tech. My family is dressed in red, in support of the Dawgs, while the traitors sitting across the table from us are wearing gold, cheering for the Jackets. The cocky smiles my parents and I were wearing fade as Josh Nesbitt, Tech’s quarterback, scores a two point conversion, tying up the game. Before I know it my friend, Mattie, is taunting me, claiming the Yellow Jackets are going to win. So, as any eight year old would do, I bet her my candy stash in favor of the Dawgs. We then empty our cokes and shake on the bet.

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As a Bud Light commercial comes on, Mattie and I jump out of our chairs to refill our coca-colas. My dog, Bandit, lets out a yelp, so I pat his head in apology for landing on his leg. The newest member of the McCoy Family, Claire Dog, crawls over for some loving, and Mattie and I entertain ourselves by playing with my two dogs. Before we know it, Scott Howard’s booming voice is back and the fourth quarter begins. Tech scores a touchdown. Mattie smiles. I drown my sorrow in boiled peanuts. Tech scores again. Mattie triumphantly sips her refilled coke. I frown remembering the bet. The score is now 38-28, and Georgia is going to have to put in some serious work, especially if I want to keep Mattie’s dirty hands off of my butterfingers! As if they read my mind, the Dawgs score. Now it’s 38-35. I smile. Mattie nervously gnaws on a boiled peanut. Georgia Tech then scores again, and I’m starting to lose hope as the score is now 45-35. Georgia will need a touchdown, a two point conversion, and a field goal to win the game. Of course, Mattie smiles.

"Tech intercepted the ball. Georgia lost. The game is over. Mattie got her dirty hands on my butterfingers, afterall." With four minutes left in the game A.J. Green scores a touchdown for the Dawgs, meaning we only need 3 points to tie it up! The ball moves up and down the field, with Georgia trying to push towards Tech’s endzone, and Tech trying to push them back. With 30 seconds left, the stress of the game (and losing my candy stash) gets to me, so I start devouring boiled peanuts. I throw my shell into the bucket, and as I wipe the juice off my chin, my peanut’s shell goes crashing towards the floor, right at Bandit’s feet. I spring out of my chair to retrieve it, and when I look up Mattie is jumping up and down. Tech intercepted the ball. Georgia lost. The game is over. Mattie got her dirty hands on my butterfingers, afterall.

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Ten years later, my parents sit to the left of me, our family friends, the Kings, sit to my right, and my two dogs, Claire and Asi, sit underneath me at our boiled peanut table. Georgia is playing Alabama today, and with a table full of Dawgs fans the night will either end in celebration or in sorrow. The day before, I had flown home from Stetson University in Florida to spend my birthday weekend with my family. My only wish for my nineteenth birthday was for the Dawgs to kick Big Al on his ass! While I wasn’t betting my candy stash this year, this game still meant a lot to me. Afterall, it would be Georgia's first National Championship in my lifetime. As the game begins, we all snack on our boiled peanuts. My friend, Bristol, and I giddelidy smile at each other, as this is the first year we are allowed to wash our peanuts down with bourbon...finally! The game starts quickly with Georgia scoring a touchdown in the first three minutes. The whole table cheers as the Dawgs take the lead. Before I know it, Alabama has tied the game back up. We boo, and drink our bourbon. Georgia scores two more touchdowns in the first half. At halftime, the score is 217 and it looks like my birthday wish is going to come true! During halftime, Bristol and I saunteer inside to play a game of pool. Our dads join in and like the football game, the dad’s team starts off strong. Bristol and I push back until Mr. Chuck sinks four balls back to back, completely inahiliting us. Bristol and I drown our loss in a glass of bourbon, and then we return to the boiled peanut table. When we sit down, I notice the pink blush in Bristol’s cheeks, which helps me remind myself to be mindful of how much bourbon I drink. Scott Howard’s booming voice silences the conversation on the terrace, and we all return our attention to the screen. Alabama is the first to score in the second half, but Georgia quickly counters with a touchdown. My family cheers and the Kings smile. When Alabama scores again and again, Bristol - a UGA student- downs her drink. I eat a handful of boiled peanuts. We’re now in the fourth quarter of the game, and this year I’m mindful about ensuring that my peanut shells make it into the bucket. Afterall, I don’t want a repeat of the race to the fallen peanut shell of ‘08! With one minute left in the game, Alabama scores another touchdown. Georgia went from having a 14 point lead in the first half to trailing by seven in the last minute of the game. As we watch the seconds tick down, we munch on boiled peanuts praying for a miracle. I guess it wasn’t fate for the Dawgs to win that night. Unfortunately my fate for the remainder of the evening, was to take care of a drunk Bristol while hiding the fact that she was drunk from her parents. Needless to say, boiled peanuts are not always fun with bourbon.

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It’s one year later, and we’re back to December of 2019. I pick up the fallen peanut shell before my dog, Claire, gets her beady eyes on it. I rejoin my parents at the boiled peanut table, and we watch Kirby Smart bring the Dawgs to yet another victory. A chill runs through me, so I pull my jacket to my chest and sip on my bourbon to warm me up from the cool December air. If I’d known this would be my last time sitting at our boiled peanut table with my mother to my left, my father to my right, and my two dogs, Claire and Asi, sitting underneath me, I might have taken a mental picture. I would have absorbed the memory the same way my body was absorbing the cool December air. That’s the funny thing about memories, though. We never know when they are going to come and go.

" While places, people, and pets change, traditions can live on forever, even if they don't completely remain the same." The beeping begins before the moving truck comes into view. As my mom points to boxes, my dad and I carry them from the home I grew up in to the truck that will take them to our new house. We get in our cars and follow the truck up I575 to our mountain house nestled in the sky. As the movers unload our precious belongings, they pull out our boiled peanut table which has been smashed by the hilly, winding drive. Seeing the decimated table brings tears to my eyes. This year boiled peanuts will be different for sure. We will find a new table to continue the McCoy Family Tradition. This year my mom will sit to my left, my dad will sit to my right, and my one dog, Asi, will sit beneath my feet. While places, people, and pets change, traditions can live on forever, even if they don’t completely remain the same. This year, when I go to wipe the peanut’s juice off of my chin, its shell will most likely bounce off of the bucket and hit the wooden floor. I’ll hop out of my chair and repeat a race to the fallen peanut shell, yet again.

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Boiled Peanuts T H E

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Ingredients 1 lbs raw peanuts

Salt (to taste)

Water

Preparation Soak the peanuts in water for 24 hours. Once the time is up, drain the water. Add in new water and ¼ container of Morton’s salt. Boil peanuts on medium-high for 6-8 hours, or until they are a texture you enjoy. Check the peanuts every 30 minutes to make sure they are still covered in water. Every hour, taste for salt and add as necessary. Eat while watching College Football. And, make sure to pair them with bourbon. I'd recommend a corn mash bourbon (specifically Woodford Reserve) to create a sweet/salty effect.

This next story combines five Asian recipes. And, it is a story about how I adjusted to life in a new environment. As I've mentioned before, my family moved from my childhood home of 20 years to a house in the North Georgia Mountains. We've lived in the mountains for two years now, and after some adjusting, I absolutely love it! However, it took about a year to turn our house into a home. I challenged myself with a project to use our new kitchen - I wanted to go on a quest to replicate five Asian recipes I'd tried in various countries. Since cooking is comforting to me, I thought this quest would be a great way to acclimate myself to my new environment. Not only did it help me make my new house a home, but also it helped to bring my neighbors together. We had a different group of neighbors over with each dish I made, which really emphasizes my point that food is a bridge - a bridge for cultures and for people. So, along with the recipes from my quest, I’ve included a story that accompanies each recipe. This section is an integral part of my credo because it helped me discover my passion for food. After completing this exercise, I aspire to go into food writing (just as a hobby). This next section is titled, "Not a Dumpling in Sight".

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"All delicious food doesn't just have a great recipe, it has a compelling story."

A Cooking Quest N O T

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D U M P L I N G

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A Change in Homes All delicious food doesn’t just have a great recipe, it has a compelling story. The dishes we discover on an adventure abroad, eat with a loved one at home, or cook with a family friend lead to both great flavor and great memories. Asian dishes have always held a special place in my heart. When my mom and dad had a busy day at work, my dad would stop at our favorite Chinese Restaurant - Hong Kong Star - to pick up an assortment of food. He would show up with a massive brown paper bag bulging with goodies. Oh, it used to excite me so! My parents and I would sit on our living room floor gathered around a glass coffee table to share fried dumplings and spring rolls. I remember my dad would get so mad at me when I let a crumb slip into the crack between the table’s glass top and wood siding - I used to spend hours trying to dig the damned things out with a wet paper towel! When we moved on to the next course - wonton soup, my mom and I would crawl over to the brick hearth sitting across from the coffee table and warm our backs from the raging fire. Our dogs would lay beneath us while I slurped up my soup like a child. Once we finished our soup, my dad and I would sprint to the kitchen and rummage through the massive brown paper bag. Like a child going through her Christmas stocking, I never knew what I might find. Some days we’d have jalapeno chicken, yellow curry, and Mongolian beef; others, there would be beef lo mien, orange chicken, and mu shu pork.

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Whatever my dad chose to bring home, he could never go wrong. We’d gather our entrees as tasting dollops on our plates and retreat back to the heat of the fire. My parents and I would sit for hours and hours enjoying our food from Hong Kong Star. As the years went on, I traveled to many Asian countries and made many Asian friends which furthered my love for all Asian cuisines. My parents and I still enjoyed Hong Kong Star, but we started eating (and loving) Thai, Vietnamese, Korean, and more! I was really lucky growing up because the city I grew up in - Kennesaw, Georgia - had such a wide variety of tasty food. There were multiple Asian restaurants scattered within 15 minutes of my house. For a few years, we even had a Sri Lankan restaurant nearby. Having tasty Asian food was so important to me that it was even listed as a top criterion on my college search list. Therefore, it should come as a great surprise that three months ago, my family decided to move to a community in the North Georgia Mountains…one without so much as a dumpling in sight! Sadly, the closest Asian restaurant is now 45 minutes away. This is problematic because even though my parents and I are big cooks, we elected to eat most of our Asian food out because of how time consuming it can be to make. Therefore, I’ve decided to embark on a quest - if you will - to learn how to make some of my favorite Asian dishes at home. And, like all great food, each dish I’ve decided to make has a compelling story to pair with it.

"Living in the North Georgia Mountains can be inconvenient at worst and adventurous at best."

Living in the North Georgia Mountains can be inconvenient at worst and adventurous at best. The closest grocery store is 15 minutes away from my house - and it can only be reached through winding roads (some are so treacherous that a mirror is needed to see the cars coming down the opposite side and the cliff on the right that could quickly become one’s demise). When you make it to the grocery store - if you make it there at all - you’re lucky to find so much as a box of barilla pasta left on the shelf. Let alone ginger and soy sauce, the makings of most great Asian dishes. Therefore, in my quest, I will make five of my favorite Asian dishes via North Georgia. Meaning, I’ll only use ingredients that I can find in my home and on the occasional brave trip down the mountain to the ravished grocery store below. I plan on pulling from my past travels, from multiple recipes, and from my previous cooking experience to make five of my favorite Asian dishes with only supplies I can find in the mountains.

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Seoul, South Korea: July 21, 2017 K O R E A N

F R I E D

C H I C K E N

The summer before my senior year of high school, my parents and I embarked on a month-long trip to Southeast Asia. We flew from Hartsfield Jackson International Airport in Atlanta, connected in LAX, and landed at Incheon International Airport in South Korea. My parents and I spent a few days in downtown Seoul to learn about Korean culture and get over our jetlag. Prior to our trip, my mom had done lot’s of research on the city and booked us on a couple of food tours - which would introduce us to the city and teach us about Korean culture. On our first tour, our guide took us to many of the Korean sights, including to Gyeongbokgung Palace and to Myeong-dong (which is a shopping and dining street). I was fascinated with the unique mix of modern and ancient architecture. Our tour guide was very well informed and he taught us a lot about South Korea, like that the country has one of the biggest markets for alcohol in the world - which was a fact that really surprised me. Between giving us information and teaching us about the sites, our tour guide took us to some amazing eateries. We ate some delicious jjinppang-mandu (Korean steamed pork buns) and we even got to speak with the man who made them. Our guide also took us to eat Korean BBQ where we learned that once you make your bite, you eat it whole.

"KFC also means Korean Fried Chicken!" Even though our guide took us to many amazing eateries in Seoul, he didn’t get a chance to take us to get KFC. He insisted that we go to get KFC on our own - stating that we would miss a large part of South Korean culture if we didn’t eat it. I’d seen many KFCs with Kernel Sanders painted on the building in Seoul, and I was a little confused about what everyone loved about Kentucky Fried Chicken until our guide explained that KFC also means Korean Fried Chicken. Upon his explanation, I felt a little dumb. Our guide dropped us off at our hotel, said his goodbyes, and gave us directions to the highest rated KFC restaurant in Seoul. Exhausted, my parents and I fell asleep with the plan of getting KFC the following day.

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The next day, we woke up and ate an amazing breakfast full of dumplings and stir fry. I was a little surprised that the Koreans eat anything for breakfast - even soup! Afterwards, we walked around downtown and found our way to the train station, to meet up with our second tour guide of the trip. After struggling with the Korean language and looking at multiple maps, my parents and I finally made our way onto the proper train. We met our tour guide a few minutes later. She took us to a food market, where we saw live fish swimming - waiting to be selected for dinner-, watermelon (that were bigger than my head), and fresh vegetables - strewn across the city floor. Our tour guide taught us about the food market, selected food for our meal, and herded us to her house for a cooking lesson. We were instructed to take our shoes off upon entry into her home. Once we stepped inside, she put us to work. We chopped and chopped and chopped! We made a table-full of amazingly colorful dishes. My parents and I ate while we listened to our guide tell us about her life in South Korea and about her adventures as a chef. The most interesting thing I learned in our cooking lesson is that the Koreans (along with many Asians) use scissors to cut their meat, their noodles, and sometimes even their vegetables. Surprisingly, it’s much easier than using a knife - and, it’s a technique my family and I now use at home. After our delicious meal, our tour guide walked us back towards the train station. On the way, she told us about KFC (Korean Fried Chicken). She reiterated what our tour guide the day before had said, “You can’t say you were in Korea if you haven’t eaten Korean fried chicken!” She said her goodbyes and directed us to the best KFC restaurant in town - which was the same recommendation we received the day before. Prior to arriving in Seoul, my mom had also read about the restaurant both tour guides recommended. So, when we made it back to the hotel, she sent my dad and I on a mission to find it. We decided we were all a little tired, and that it would be best to eat KFC in the comfort of our hotel room. My dad and I were tasked with finding the restaurant, ordering our food to go, and bringing it back to our hotel room overlooking downtown Seoul. I pulled up the restaurant on my Apple Maps and my dad and I began our trek.

"You can't say you were in Korea if you haven't eaten Korean fried chicken!"

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It was still light out when we left our hotel room and we immensely enjoyed the first mile of our walk. It gave my dad and I a chance to catch up and see the sights of Seoul on foot. When it came time for us to turn around the block, things changed - a sea of people swarmed towards us. We moved upstream, trying the best we could to avoid ramming into the locals walking home during rush hour. After we survived the swarm of people, we came to a crosswalk. Fun fact, sometimes crosswalks in South Korea take you underneath the street...and most of the time, they don’t take you where you think they would. My dad and I spent about 30 minutes trying to figure out the crosswalk system. Once we finally got to the street we wanted to be on, the sun had set and the city lights had turned on. My dad and I walked and walked, unable to find the restaurant. We ran into a 7/11 on the corner to ask the locals where to go. A nice store clerk told us to turn to the left, and he informed us that we should see the restaurant soon. We thanked the clerk, exited the store, and turned to the left. After what felt like days, we could faintly make out the words KFC painted on a distant building. As we got closer, we started to make out a figure on the building, and we let out a few choice words when we noticed the figure looked a lot like Kernel Sanders. My dad and I were pissed at my mom, at our tour guides, and at the 7/11 store clerk for sending us on a wild goose chase to eat KFC (Kentucky Fried Chicken) - something we could easily get at home. We were about to turn around to head back to our hotel when we noticed a staircase leading to a restaurant above the KFC. As it turns out, the highly rated Korean Fried Chicken restaurant was right above the Kentucky Fried Chicken, and they “conveniently” had the same name. My dad and I walked up the stairs and joined the swarm of people waiting to order their fried chicken. The line was longer than your typical Chick-fil-a drive through line during soccer mom rush hour - and that’s saying something! You’d think we’d be waiting for hours to get our KFC, but the Koreans have their fried chicken down to a science. My dad and I were in and out of the restaurant in 15 minutes tops. We ordered our chicken, paid, and hailed a taxi cab to take us back to our hotel. We bought a pack of Korean beer at a store right beside our hotel, and took our goodies up to the room. I was worried the chicken would be soggy from the ride home, but it was still crispy and delicious. KFC, to this day, is the best fried chicken I’ve ever put into my mouth. It was crispy, spicy, and delicious. It ended up being worth every step! And as it turns out, it was my favorite food that I ate in South Korea - and with the two food tours we went on, that’s really saying something!

Pro Tip:

Spicy in Korea means SPICY! Like burn your lips, drink some milk, unrelenting pain type of spicy. I’m not talking about Taco Mac death sauce or Mexican chicken tinga tacos type of spicy… because they don’t even compare. So, if you ever have the chance to eat KFC in Korea, please (I beg of you) order the mild version. You can always add spice, but I can assure you that you cannot take it away!

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Korean Fried Chicken Q U E S T :

M I S S I O N

# 1

Ingredients 2 lbs chicken wings

3/4 cups corn starch

1.5 tsp salt

1/2 cup flour

pinch of black pepper

Sesame oil

Water

Grated ginger

Grated garlic

Brown sugar

Soy Sauce

Gochujang Sauce

Preparation When deciding to embark on this quest, Korean Fried Chicken was one of the first foods I wanted to make because it was the best thing I ate on my trip to South Korea. At first glance, it seemed too difficult so I wrote it off. However after further research, I realized that it really isn’t that daunting. I decided to make it for my family and our new neighbors. It tasted amazing! First, I made a mixture of flour, cornstarch, salt, and water, and I put the chicken into the mixture to coat. This process only takes a couple of minutes, but I thought the chicken would taste crispier the longer it sat in the mixture, so I let it sit for a good 30 minutes. First, I made a mixture of flour, cornstarch, salt, and water, and I put the chicken into the mixture to coat. This process only takes a couple of minutes, but I thought the chicken would taste crispier the longer it sat in the mixture, so I let it sit for a good 30 minutes. While the chicken absorbed the mixture, I made my sauce. I poured a two tbsp of toasted sesame oil, a tbsp of grated garlic, and a tbsp of grated ginger into a microwave proof bowl. I microwaved the mixture for 30 seconds (until it was bubbly). Then, I poured in water, soy sauce, brown sugar, and gochujang sauce. I whisked the mixture until it came together.

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Next, I heated the fryer to 350 degrees fahrenheit. I put half of the chicken wings into the hot oil (being careful to not let extra batter drip into the oil) and fried them for seven minutes. I took them out and set them on a cooling rack. Then, I fried the second half of the chicken wings, took them out, and set them on the cooling rack. I put the first batch of wings back into the fryer and fried them for another seven minutes. This double fry gives the chicken an extra crispy finish. Once they were finished cooking, I set them on a rack to cool for two minutes. Once they were cool enough to pick up, I tossed the wings in my Korean hot sauce. And, I repeated the same process with the second half of the wings. While they weren’t as good as the KFC I had in Seoul, my wings were the best I’ve had in a long time. They were very crispy on the outside, but mouth-melting on the inside. They were so good, that my new neighbors even said that my KFC was even better than their Korean sister-in-law’s KFC - which was definitely exciting to hear! It was amazing to see a dish I’d discovered on my travels help bring a North Georgia community closer together. The KFC was for sure a hit, and I’m happy to say that it was the first successful mission on my quest!

Notes The KFC recipe I used called for 2 tbsp of toasted sesame oil to be used in the sauce. Next time, I would either replace the toasted sesame oil with plain sesame oil or butter. The flavor of the toasted sesame seeds overpowered the other elements of the sauce, and I ended up having to add in extra gochujang and soy sauce to balance out the flavor. I would opt for a plain sesame oil for a smooth Asian taste. But, for a KFC via North Georgia, I would opt for butter (which is normally used in American Buffalo sauce). I think melted butter would help thicken up and smooth out the Korean sauce. Next time, I would add a dash of cayenne and black pepper into my chicken’s batter. I think pepper would give the chicken enough flavor to stand on its own without the sauce - which would be good for the wimps who can’t handle spicy food (aka my dad).

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Hoi An, Vietnam: July 25, 2017 B U N

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G I O

TMy family traveled to Vietnam on the same trip we traveled to Seoul. We made our way from the south to the north of the country - spending time in both Saigon and Hanoi. Between our stays in the two cities, we spent a few relaxing days in Hoi An - which is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. During our time in Hoi An, we swam in the East Vietnam Sea, made lanterns and released them, and cooked dinner with a Vietnamese chef. Hoi An had so much to offer, and it was by far my favorite city in Vietnam. Our hotel was situated on a beach touching the East Vietnam Sea. The beach stretched for miles and miles, which was ideal for strolling in the sand. One morning, we woke up and decided to take a Vietnamese coffee on the beach. We walked a couple miles and watched the sky change from black to orange and yellow as the sun rose over the ocean. As the sun got higher, its rays stretched through the mountain peaks and reflected off of the East Vietnam Sea. It was such a magnificent sight to see! After we sipped down our coffee, we decided to head into town to enjoy the day. My mom had booked us on a lantern making tour, where we would make a lantern early in the day and meet at a river to release them later that night. A Vietnamese girl - who was younger than me - taught us how to make the lanterns. She was nice but very adamant about one thing … “Don’t cut string!”. The girl explained that the fragile paper which gives the lantern its color sits around a mechanism of string and wooden sticks. In order to make the lantern, you must carefully stretch the paper around the string (without cutting it). The girl demonstrated how the process worked, handed us each a lantern, and watched as we butchered her craft. I’ve never been particularly artistic. My third grade teacher even took a pair of scissors away from me once when she realized I was destroying her expensive construction paper. So, it should come as no surprise that the first thing I did when building my lantern was accidentally cut the string. My dad laughed and shook his head, my mom glared, and the little Vietnamese girl took my lantern away from me. She ran in a circle around the room exclaiming “Don’t cut string!” “Don’t cut string!” over and over again. She returned with my lantern and a roll of string, where she quickly and nimbly pieced my broken lantern back together. She bent down to my eye level, scrunched up her face, pointed her finger, shook her head, and said once again “Don’t cut string!”. By some miracle, I finished my lantern without cutting another string. We took some pictures and went on our merry way.

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We walked from the lantern shop, down a pedestrian road, to a yellow bed and breakfast situated downtown - where we would be taking a cooking class. I was so embarrassed with my lantern making a mishap that all I wanted to do was eat. When we arrived, scents of pork and ginger filled the air. The most memorable dish we made was Bun Cha Gio - a rice noodle bowl with pork and vegetables. I remember my vermicelli noodles sticking together when I boiled them. The chef had to save my dish, like the little girl had to save my lantern. We let the noodles cool in cold water, while we chopped ginger, garlic, and spicy peppers. We sautéed the three ingredients in a pan, grilled some pork chops, and added in some sauces - probably soy and fish - into the dish. We let the mixture cook until it all came together. We sliced our saucy pork chops and placed them over a bed of cold vermicelli noodles. Next, we topped the dish with vegetables the chef had pickled the day before. We ate the Bun Cha Gio with metal chopsticks. I remember the noodles being hard to eat because the chopsticks were super slippery - each time I picked up a noodle, it slipped back into the bowl. The noodles would land with a plop, splashing the sauce all over the place. Despite being difficult to eat, the Bun Cha Gio was delicious! We savored the tasty food in the courtyard of the hotel, exchanged stories with the chef, and immersed ourselves in Vietnamese culture. It was a great day, despite being told “Don’t cut string!”.

"It was a great day, despite being told 'Don't Cut String!'"

Pro Tip:

Lantern making is a lot harder than it looks, so watch what other people are doing before you try to partake in the fun. If you get ahead of yourself and accidentally cut the string, I promise people will notice. And, if you have a family like mine, they’ll tell the embarrassing story every chance they get. So, I beg of you, if you ever have the chance to make a lantern in Vietnam, please “Don’t cut string!”.

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Bun Cha Gio Q U E S T :

M I S S I O N

# 2

Ingredients 4 thick-cut pork chops

2-3 drops of

4 cloves of garlic

worcestershire

1 tsp cornstarch

3 tbsp apple cider

Salt

vinegar

Pepper

(replacement for rice

½ cup of dark brown sugar

wine vinegar)

½ cup soy sauce

2 tbsp oil

Preparation

When challenging myself to make 5 tasty Asian dishes, Bun Cha Gio was close to the top of my list. I was determined to redeem myself from my time in Hoi An - when I cut the string while lantern making and then glued together the vermicelli noodles while cooking. Bun Cha Gio was probably the most time consuming dish I made. I pulled from multiple recipes and from my past cooking experiences. First, I marinated the pork. Once again, mountain living can be limiting in terms of cooking, so I replaced fish sauce with soy sauce and a couple drops of worcestershire (which gives the dish a umami flavor). I also used a dark brown sugar in place of a lighter one because it is all I could find at our ravished grocery store. I let the pork sit in its marinade for a little over 2 hours, making sure to flip it every 20 minutes in order to coat all of the sides. While the pork marinated I pickled my vegetables.

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I decided to quick pickle cucumber, red onions, garlic, and a red chile. I didn’t have rice wine vinegar, so I used a mixture of apple cider vinegar and white wine vinegar as a replacement. I mixed 1/4 cup of sugar, ¾ cup of water, ¾ cups of apple cider vinegar, ¾ cups of white wine vinegar, and one tsp of salt in a small saucepan. I brought the mixture to a boil and then poured it over my vegetables. I added in white peppercorns and lemon zest to give the pickled vegetables a pop of flavor. I let the vegetables sit at room temperature for about 30 minutes, and then I transferred them to the fridge. Next, I boiled water and cooked my vermicelli noodles for five minutes. Once the noodles were cooked, I placed them into a bowl of cold water (which was supposed to keep them from becoming gummy and sticking together). I replaced the water 3 times, to ensure that it stayed cold enough to keep my noodles at the consistency I was aiming for. I heated a pan with oil and fried a few vermicelli noodles to top the Bun with, and when I tasted one, I realized how good they are fried. I decided to throw a handful of cold cooked noodles into the hot oil and created an accidental dish, which I’m now calling Asian nests. I served them with salt, flash-fried onion, and an assortment of sauces. They were delicious! And, they pair surprisingly well with Woodford Reserve Bourbon - I guess it’s the mixture of salty and sweet.

"They pair surprisingly well with Woodford Reserve Bourbon." After my parents and I enjoyed our Asian nests, I returned to the kitchen to cook the pork. Since the chops were thick, I cooked them until they reached an internal temperature of 150 degrees fahrenheit (about 15-20 minutes). While the pork chops were cooking, I poured the leftover marinade into a saucepan and reduced it to about ¼ cup of liquid. I sliced the pork chops after letting them temper for 10 minutes. I placed the sliced pork chops over the vermicelli noodles, and topped the dish with sliced carrots, pickled vegetables, crunchy vermicelli noodles, and the reduced marinade. I’d have to say that I redeemed myself from my trip to Hoi An, because my Bun Cha Gao was delicious! I didn’t “cut string” this time! Mission Number Two of the quest proved to be successful, so the next time my family wants Vietnamese food I’ll know how to make it! \

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I decided to quick pickle cucumber, red onions, garlic, and a red chile. I didn’t have rice wine vinegar, so I used a mixture of apple cider vinegar and white wine vinegar as a replacement. I mixed 1/4 cup of sugar, ¾ cup of water, ¾ cups of apple cider vinegar, ¾ cups of white wine vinegar, and one tsp of salt in a small saucepan. I brought the mixture to a boil and then poured it over my vegetables. I added in white peppercorns and lemon zest to give the pickled vegetables a pop of flavor. I let the vegetables sit at room temperature for about 30 minutes, and then I transferred them to the fridge. Next, I boiled water and cooked my vermicelli noodles for five minutes. Once the noodles were cooked, I placed them into a bowl of cold water (which was supposed to keep them from becoming gummy and sticking together). I replaced the water 3 times, to ensure that it stayed cold enough to keep my noodles at the consistency I was aiming for. I heated a pan with oil and fried a few vermicelli noodles to top the Bun with, and when I tasted one, I realized how good they are fried. I decided to throw a handful of cold cooked noodles into the hot oil and created an accidental dish, which I’m now calling Asian nests. I served them with salt, flash-fried onion, and an assortment of sauces. They were delicious! And, they pair surprisingly well with Woodford Reserve Bourbon - I guess it’s the mixture of salty and sweet. After my parents and I enjoyed our Asian nests, I returned to the kitchen to cook the pork. Since the chops were thick, I cooked them until they reached an internal temperature of 150 degrees fahrenheit (about 15-20 minutes). While the pork chops were cooking, I poured the leftover marinade into a saucepan and reduced it to about ¼ cup of liquid. I sliced the pork chops after letting them temper for 10 minutes. I placed the sliced pork chops over the vermicelli noodles, and topped the dish with sliced carrots, pickled vegetables, crunchy vermicelli noodles, and the reduced marinade. I’d have to say that I redeemed myself from my trip to Hoi An, because my Bun Cha Gao was delicious! I didn’t “cut string” this time! Mission Number Two of the quest proved to be successful, so the next time my family wants Vietnamese food I’ll know how to make it!

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Notes Bun Cha Gao is a really labor intensive dish because of all the elements that go into it. Next time, I would plan ahead. The dish wouldn’t be that difficult if the vegetables were pickled ahead of time (which would probably give them more flavor anyway) and if the vermicelli noodles were already cooked and refrigerated (they can last up to 5 days). If these things were done ahead of time, Bun Cha Gao could easily be a quick weeknight meal. Next time, I think it would be nice to replace the vermicelli noodles with a thicker noodle, like a ramen noodle. I think that a thicker noodle would stand up to the pork chops a little bit better than the vermicelli noodles did. The dish was very tasty and very authentic, but a changeup in noodles would elevate it in my opinion. Obviously, this would transform Bun Cha Gao to a dish of VietnameseJapanese fusion. But, hey with Asian via North Georgia, there are no rules!

Phuket, Thailand: December 20, 2019 T H A I

B A S I L

F R I E D

R I C E

My family went on a cruise to Southeast Asia this past Christmas Break. We flew into Singapore and got on a ship that would sail to Thailand, Sri Lanka, India, and the UAE. I was super excited about getting to see Thailand because I was supposed to study abroad there in the Spring of 2020. Unfortunately, Covid hit so I didn’t have the opportunity to do so. Thankfully, I still got to see the beautiful island of Phuket. We sailed into Thailand on a foggy morning, where we could just barely make out mountains in the distance. It was really cool to watch them grow bigger as our ship got closer. When we arrived in Phuket, my family met up with a tour guide who would take us on a kayaking and boating excursion. He picked us up from the cruise terminal and walked us through downtown to a tuk tuk poorly parked on the street. We were instructed to get into the wobbly crash machine, and our guide drove us for five nail-biting minutes to a parking lot filled with buses. He shuttled my parents and I into one and we were off. If I’m being honest, Phuket could give North Georgia a run for its money in the area of winding roads. For 45 minutes, we curved around the mountain roads, scraping by cliff drop offs and swerving around cars. The drive was a little sketchy, but it was fun to watch the scenery change as we drove through the countryside - we even got to see a group of school children walking to class.

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By some miracle, we made it to the boat that we were to take our excursion on. We had to walk down a hill to get to a floating dock, and then we had to climb over nine bobbing boats to get to ours. The boat was massive and it held two speed boats and about 20 kayaks that were each paired with a guide. It was the first time I’d been on a kayaking tour where you didn’t get to man the kayak yourself. We sailed through a myriad of tiny islands on the massive boat, and got out at three different places to kayak. Each time, a guide got into the kayak with us. He explained the scenery and told us about his life in Phuket. He was very excited when I told him that I was studying at Mahidol University in the spring, and he even gave me a written list of recommendations of things to do during my time in Thailand. I have to say, while I was apprehensive at first, it was kind of nice to let someone else do all the paddling and it was a bonus to get to talk to a local! My parents and I got to sit back and enjoy the charming scenery. After we went kayaking in three different locations, the boat captain steered us towards a beach. He couldn’t get us close enough to the beach for us to swim to shore, so we each got on these motored boats that were powered by a person holding a long stick (to me, it looked like a human sized immersion blender). The nail-biting tuk tuk ride and the winding bus ride didn’t come close to comparing to the fear I felt on the boat. I just kept picturing the guy manning the massive immersion blender letting it go on accident - it was a sight I couldn’t get out of my head. The beach was nice, but I was happy to return to the comfort of the massive boat. The minute I climbed back on board, a whiff of basil caught my nose. I couldn’t contain my excitement when I saw the yummy smelling food laid out on a table in the center of the boat. The crew had put out two huge platters of Thai basil fried rice (my favorite). They must have known I was coming! The dish looked a little different than what I was accustomed to. It was duller in color than what I used to find at my Thai restaurant at home. Nevertheless, it ended up being delicious! My parents and I scarfed down our yummy food and enjoyed the sail back through the islands. When we reached our docking point, we attached to another boat. I thanked the crew, and then climbed over the boats between us and the dock like a pro. I spent the bus ride back to the ship thinking about my good fortune of getting to study abroad in a country full of such good hearted people (oh, how short-lived that fortune was). The Thai People are an extremely nice and friendly group. They will never tell you if

Pro Tip:

they are upset though, so it is important to make sure that you pay attention to their subtle cues. From my experience, if you go out of your way to be nice to a Thai person, they will go out of their way to be nice to you. If you take the time to ask them about their life and their family, they will do the same. If you travel to Thailand, I beg of you, take the time to get to know the people living in the beautiful country you are visiting.

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Thai Basil Fried Rice Q U E S T :

M I S S I O N

# 3

Ingredients 2 cups jasmati rice

red bell pepper

3 cloves of garlic

green beans

2 thai chilis

salt and pepper

sweet onion

Butter

yellow bell pepper

1 lbs chicken breast

soy sauce (to taste)

Worcestershire (2 drops)

Preparation I’ve always wanted to learn how to make Thai basil fried rice because it is one of my favorite dishes, and this quest was the perfect opportunity to learn how to do so. My rice turned out a little different from the one that I ate in Phuket - it was more colorful and definitely more Americanized (after all this is Thai basil fried rice via North Georgia) - however I thought it tasted just as good! First I cooked two cups of jasmati rice (per package instructions). I read that it is important to let the rice chill before using it for a fried rice, so I put it in the fridge to chill for two hours. While my rice was chilling, I chopped 3 cloves of garlic and two thai chilis. I sliced sweet onion, yellow bell pepper, red bell pepper, and green beans into strips. Next, I salt and peppered my chicken. The recipe I used had a sauce that I was supposed to pour over the rice, chicken, and vegetables at the end of their cooking. The sauce consisted of soy sauce and oyster sauce (which I replaced with soy sauce and a couple drops of worcestershire).

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I melted butter in my saucepan and sautéed the garlic and Thai chilis and then added in the onion and cooked it until it was translucent. Next, I added in the peppers and the green beans. In a separate skillet, I cooked my chicken until it was done. Then, I added it into the vegetables. I tossed in a couple of handfuls of basil. Then, I poured the rice on top of the chicken and veggies and stirred. Finally, I poured in my soy sauce/worcestershire mixture. I cooked the mixture until the rice absorbed the liquid and then I took it off the heat. The consistency wasn’t right, so I added in a couple tablespoons of cold butter and stirred until it melted and was absorbed. The butter served as a glue and helped bring the dish back to the normal consistency of Thai basil fried rice. I poured the rice into bowls and topped each one with basil, lime, and sriracha. Mission Number Three was successful - the rice was very yummy!

Notes

I could not find Thai basil, so I used Italian basil. While not ideal, it still gets the job done (especially when cooking Thai via North Georgia). A drop or two of worcestershire in soy sauce is a great substitute for both oyster sauce and fish sauce, because it still gives the dish that wanted umami flavor. If the rice looks to dry, butter can be used as a glue to help bring it back to consistency.

Colombo, Sri Lanka: December 23, 2020 K O T T U

R O T I

After our excursion in Phuket, Thailand my family spent a couple of days at sea traveling to Colombo, Sri Lanka. I was so excited when we docked because Sri Lanka sounded like such an exotic country to me. I’d heard of it before, but I didn’t know anyone who had traveled there. Being an International Relations major, it’s always cool to travel to a country that isn’t on the beaten path. For some reason, I pictured Colombo as jungles and beaches… I could not have been further off. In reality, Colombo is a growing metropolitan city with a couple run-down beaches on the outskirts of town. About an hour before we were supposed to exit the ship and head into town, I decided to look up Sri Lanka to learn about some cultural practices. What I found instead was that there were seven bombings 8 months prior, where Islamic terrorists targeted tourists and Christians. Reading about the Easter bombings made me apprehensive about traveling in Sri Lanka, especially so close to Christmas. My mom had booked a private tour that was supposed to take us to a couple hotels where we would learn how to cook Sri Lankan food with some big name Sri Lankan chefs. Excited for the tour, I swallowed up my fears, got dressed for our excursion, and followed my parents off the ship into the muggy Sri Lankan air.

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Snipers with machine guns sat circled around the port - making me fearful for my safety. My parents and I went through customs and security. Then, we got on a bus that drove us out of the cruise terminal. The second we got off the bus, we were bombarded with beggars and men trying to get us to join their tours. They wouldn’t leave us alone, no matter how many times we said “no thank you.” Finally, we spotted a guy holding a handheld sign with the name of our tour company written on it. We shoved through the swarm of people as we made our way over to him. Once we said our hellos, he ushered us into his car and we were off to see - what was supposed to be - some Sri Lankan hotels.

"Snipers with machine guns sat circled around the port." The ride itself made me sick to my stomach because (as my dad would say) driving in Sri Lanka is a contact sport. Drivers impressively turned a two lane road into a four lane one, which was a little scary to see. As we passed hotel after hotel, my parents and I became a little apprehensive. Our tour guide didn’t speak a lick of English (past hello), so we couldn’t exactly ask him where we were going. We drove past a church that was bombed and a couple minutes later we entered a sketchy alleyway. I reached into my purse and pulled out a pen - the only “weapon” I had - in case I needed to defend myself. We drove down the alley for a solid ten minutes, driving past boarded up buildings and barb wire after barb wire. When our guide abruptly slammed on his breaks, I thought “This is it...I’ve had a good life”. The driver ushered us out of the car, and when a young woman and her toddler came to greet us, my parents and I let out a sigh of relief. It turns out, there was some confusion with our tour due to the language barrier. We wouldn’t be cooking with top notch Sri Lankan chefs, rather we’d be spending the afternoon cooking with a Sri Lankan family. The young woman invited us inside where she offered us some chai tea. She then showed us to the rooftop - which is where the family does all of their cooking. The house didn’t have running water, so we had to use a bucket in the bathroom which was a squatty potty - to wash our hands.

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The grandma of the house started cooking up a storm, but my parents and I were obviously a little concerned. The lack of running water and seeing the raw chicken and eggs we were about to eat sitting out in the Sri Lankan heat, gave me pause. Nevertheless, I decided to embrace the experience and eat whatever was put in front of me (even if it would hurt my stomach in the days to come). We started our day with hoppers and tea. The grandma sprinkled a spicy coconut mixture over the top of our breakfast - it was amazing! She showed us how to make the coconut mixture, and I even got to grate the coconut! Next, the family made a rice cake shaped in the form of a tube. They used a special machine to make this unique Sri Lankan dish. Once the rice log was made, the grandma poured a chicken curry over the top. It was delicious! The last dish we ate was a Sri Lankan special called Kottu Roti. The grandma cooked garlic and ginger in olive oil. Then, she added in a variety of vegetables from leeks to peppers. She created a well within the vegetables and poured in an egg, which she scrambled and mixed throughout the dish. Next, she poured in some pre-made chicken curry. Finally, she added in a handful of roti and stirred. It was really cool to see the dish come together - the addition of the roti was very surprising to me. Kottu Roti reminded me of stir fry, but with roti in place of noodles. It is such an unusual dish, but it is by far one of the best things I’ve ever eaten (even with the fear of botulism). Even though our tour wasn’t what we expected, I wouldn’t have changed it for the world. We were the first Americans the Sri Lankan family had ever met, and that in and of itself was pretty cool. They kept wanting to take pictures with us, excited to tell the world about their new American friends. Even though our day in Sri Lanka had a rocky start, it turned out to be a really fun and educational day.

"Kottu Roti reminded me of stir fry, but with roti in place of noodles." Make sure you eat lots of antacids before eating in Sri Lanka. The Sri Lankans like

Pro Tip:

their food spicy, not quite Korean spicy, but still hot. I think taking antacids before eating in Sri Lanka would have also saved my stomach some pain for a couple days. Eating food cooked with different water definitely did a number on me - but, the food was still worth every bite.

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Kottu Roti Q U E S T :

M I S S I O N

# 4

Ingredients roti (home-made or store-bought)

cinnamon

ginger

cumin

garlic

salt and pepper

olive oil

ground coriander

dried jalapeño

can of tomato paste

cinnamon

can of coconut milk

shredded chicken

sweet onion

yellow pepper

leek

red pepper

two eggs

carrots

Preparation

Since I liked kottu roti so much when I tried it in Sri Lanka, I decided it would be fun to try and make it as a part of my quest. First, I made homemade roti. I mixed 2 cups of flour with 1 tsp of salt and then poured 2 tbsp of melted butter into the mixture. I stirred until the mixture turned crumbly. Then, I added in ⅔ cups of water and stirred until the roti formed a dough. I covered it with a cheese cloth and put it into the fridge to rest for 45 minutes. While the roti was resting, I made a quick homemade curry sauce. I minced ginger and garlic and sauteed it in olive oil. Then, I added in dried jalapenos, cinnamon, cumin, salt, pepper and ground coriander. I added in half a can of tomato paste and half a can of coconut into the spices. I stirred until the mixture came together. I gradually poured a ¼ of the remaining coconut milk into the sauce, and stirred until it thickened. I took the sauce off the heat and let it sit at room temperature. After I made my curry sauce, I sauteed chicken (coated in salt and pepper) in a pan. Once it was done cooking, I shredded it using two forks. I set it aside for later use.

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I took the roti dough out of the fridge and flattened it into 10 thin dough sheets. I fried each sheet in a light coating of olive oil, and then I set them on a rack to cool. Once all the roti was cool, I used scissors to cut it into strips. I set the roti strips aside and began chopping my vegetables. I minced a tbsp of garlic and a tbsp of ginger. Then, I sliced a leek, a red pepper, a yellow pepper, and a sweet onion. I added a couple tbsp of olive oil to a skillet and put in my garlic and ginger. Once they became fragrant, I poured in all of my vegetables and cooked them until they were tender. I made a well in the center of my vegetables and poured two whisked eggs into the center of the skillet. I scrambled them and quickly incorporated them into the dish. Next, I added in a handful of carrots, my shredded chicken, and my homemade curry sauce. I stirred until all the liquid was absorbed. Finally I tossed in the roti and sprinkled salt and curry sauce over the top. While kottu roti definitely isn’t the prettiest dish, it is by far one of the tasty-ist! Mission Number Four turned out great! And, this time eating kottu roti, my family didn’t have to worry about getting botulism or being blown up by terrorists.

Notes

Roti is extremely difficult to roll out with a rolling pin or by hand. I found the easiest method is to spray two sheets of wax paper with pam and to put a glob of roti dough in-between them. I just squished and smeared out the dough until it was as thin as I wanted it to be.

Chinese "Sister": Covid-19 B L A C K

P E P P E R

B E E F

In high school, I was a day student at a boarding school. Thanks to boarding school, I have friends from all over the world and one of my good friends, Sophie, is from China. Sophie is two years younger than me, so she was a second semester senior in high school when covid-19 hit. The boarding school shut down and kicked all of their students off campus without enough of a warning. Sophie didn’t have anywhere to stay for ten days until her flight home to China, so she asked to come stay with my family. I picked her up from the boarding school in late March and we had a blast catching up for a few days. We played cards and went on hikes - it was a ton of fun! Unfortunately, the conditions of covid started to worsen to the point where Sophie’s flight was canceled indefinitely. She couldn’t get home!

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My parents had agreed to let her stay with us for 10 days, but she ended up staying with our family for 6 weeks because she had nowhere else to go. Over those six weeks we joked that Sophie became my “adopted Chinese sister”. A couple weeks into Sophie’s stay, my parents decided it would be best for the whole family to travel down to Sarasota, Florida. There we were able to go to the beach, paddle board, and spend time outdoors. We had great fun during the day and at night we would cook some really extravagant meals. Sophie even partook in the fun, cooking us homemade dumplings, black pepper beef, and egg foo young! My favorite thing that Sophie made was her black pepper beef. It was so spicy (from an ungodly amount of ginger) that my nose started dripping after my first bite. It was really cool to exchange recipes with Sophie and to teach her how to make American dishes. I definitely learned a lot about Asian cooking from her as well. Be careful when drinking with someone from China - they can hold their liquor! Beer,

Pro Tip:

wine, whiskey...it doesn't matter - they will drink it. They will drink a lot of in. In all seriousness, my Chinese friends are some of the most down to earth people I've ever met. I think there is a negative generalization about Chinese citizens in the US, which is a shame because they are a fun and kind group of people!

Black Pepper Beef Q U E S T :

M I S S I O N

# 5

Ingredients 1 lbs flank steak

soy sauce

onion powder

egg white

garlic powder

garlic (to taste)

cayanne pepper

ginger (to taste)

salt

green peppers

tons of pepper

onion

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Preparation Sophie kindly sent me the recipe to her black pepper beef, which I followed to a T. I sliced a couple pounds of flank steak into thin strips and placed them in a gallon bag. I added in a pinch of onion powder, garlic powder, cayenne pepper, salt, and lots of black pepper to the beef. I poured in a good helping of soy sauce, and I coated the mixture with egg white. I massaged the beef for five minutes and then put it in the fridge. While the beef was marinating, I chopped my vegetables for the stir fry. I minced garlic and lot’s of ginger. Next, I sliced two green peppers into thin slices. Once my vegetables were cut, I cooked two cups of jasmati rice (per package instructions).

I removed the steak from the fridge and let it temper on the counter while I heated olive oil in a pan and sauteed garlic and ginger. I added in the beef and cooked until it was brown. I removed it from the pan and cooked the peppers until they were soft. I re-added in the beef and cooked until it was done. I ground a large heaping of black pepper over the dish. Then, I added in a splash of soy sauce and let it reduce. I served the beef and peppers over rice. It was very tasty, but I’ll have to say that I don’t think it was as good as Sophie’s black pepper beef because it wasn’t as tender. Mission Number Five was still a success, but I think it was my least favorite dish that I made.

Notes If I had massaged the beef for more than five minutes, the protein in the egg white would have made it more tender. The next time I make this dish, I will be sure to take the time to massage it for at least 10 minutes.

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"The simple act of challenging myself in the kitchen transcends the need for proper.'"

A Cooking Quest N O T

A

D U M P L I N G

I N

S I G H T

Result Asian food, while time consuming and labor intensive, is not overly difficult to cook. On my quest, I’ve realized that with meal prep it is possible to make many of my favorite Asian dishes on the fly. Because lots of Asian dishes have a compelling story in my life, I think it is worth the time it takes to cook them. Even without Hong Kong Star, I want my family to enjoy weeknight Asian on our new living room floor by the raging fire. I crave Asian food weekly, especially now that I've spent four and a half months in South Korea. I love the explosion of flavor that accompanies slurping up a bowl of ramen. I love the sensation of a soup dumpling bursting on first bite. And, I adore the smell of the kitchen when cooking Asian cuisine. I know the ways I cook KFC or Thai basil fried rice are far from proper and authentic. But the simple act of challenging myself in the kitchen transcends the need for "proper". So, in the spirit of changing dishes to fit one's needs and abilities the next (and last) story in my credo is about food and how various dishes can change flavor and identity from culture to household to individual. It's titled, "Game of Telephone - But Make it Food".

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Paella G A M E

O F

T E L E P H O N E

-

B U T

M A K E

I T

F O O D

The smell of chorizo wafts through the air as I re-enter our kitchen. Cutting boards, knives, garlic skin, pepper seeds and onion scraps sit in front of me - scattered across our two-tiered wooden island. To my left, my mom carries the paella - that took the better part of two hours to prepare - to our candlelight dining room table. To my right, my dad pours rum, dumps sugar, and squeezes oranges and lemons into a pitcher of red wine. He adds some ice to the pitcher and gives it a couple of stirs. Next, he reaches for three glasses - pouring a glass of sangria for my mom, himself, and me. He tops my glass with an extra maraschino cherry, and I smile gratefully. I excitedly sip my ice-cold sangria and smell the chorizo - ecstatic because I get to experience authentic Spanish paella and sangria in seven short days!

"I excitedly sip my icecold sangria and smell the chorizo - ecstatic because I get to experience authentic Spanish paella and sangria in 7 short days!" A week later, I open my oval window - letting a stream of light into the plane. The woman to my right stirs as the flight attendant bumps the food and beverage cart against her seat. He apologizes to the woman and then offers me a cup of yogurt, a banana, and a baguette which I politely decline - I’m too excited to eat! As the mountains get larger and the buildings get bigger, the pilot announces that we’re beginning our descent into Malaga. Before I know it, the wheels are scraping against the runway and the passengers are clapping for a successful landing. My parents and I grab our suitcases from the overhead bins and exit the plane, making our way to the customs line. We breeze through customs as it turns out there are perks of being the first flight of the day! We make our way to baggage claim, and I scout out our driver holding a piece of paper with “McCoy” on it. We bypass the luggage carousels and exit into the warm, dry Spanish air. Our driver herds us towards his Mercedes van and we're off to Nerja!

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We exit the airport and merge onto a winding road. The driver turns around to explain that our journey will take about an hour. Before I know it, our car veers left and then right, barely missing the moped zooming towards us! “Joder” the driver exclaims! My dad lets out a sigh. A nervous sweat drips down my leg. I cross my fingers and pray to God hoping to see more than a couple minutes of the Spanish countryside. Miraculously, about an hour later I hear the roaring ocean through the car window - a sign that we are close to our terminus. We climb cliff after cliff until a massive parador appears before our eyes. I feel the salty air on my skin as I step out of the car and give my regards to the driver. I shake out my legs and follow my parents towards reception. A very handsome Spanish man greets us, charming us with his smile and welcoming us to his home. He leads us to our room overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. As he says his goodbyes, my parents and I take in our magnificent room overlooking a beautiful view. We retreat to our bedrooms to sleep off the jetlag, planning to wake for la comida - a large mid-day meal. I taste chorizo on the tip of my tongue when I awake from my four-hour nap, and I know it’s almost time for paella and sangria. I jump out of bed and race towards our balcony. I scout out the best restaurant by looking at the people mulling around below me. I run inside and shake my parents awake. Next, I hop in the shower - rinsing off the grime from the plane. I dry off and reach for my 22inch suitcase, selecting my outfit for the afternoon. I pair a white maxi skirt with a baby blue crop top, brown sandals, and black pearl earrings. I swipe on some mascara and lip gloss, grab my parents, and we head for the door. We ride the elevator down to the ocean level and go to explore! Seagulls buzz past us as we mosey down the ocean avenue. To our left a group of local teenagers hoot and holler - excited because they’ve just completed their final exams. On our right, a British couple follows a Spanish family into a white stucco building. As they open the door, we get a whiff of tortillas, croquetas, and pimientos de padron galore! My family decides to wander inside - our previous travels teaching us to eat in the restaurants flocked by locals. I grip the metal doorknob and push with all my might - the restaurant we enter becomes such a sight. Waiters carry large trays of paella, platters of jamon Ibérico, and glass bowls of salmorejo from the kitchen to the tables. Families around us sip on their drinks and snack on their food. There’s not a phone in sight, as they savor each other's stories and engulf themselves in la comida - “this is my kind of place”, I think. I smile delightfully contemplating my good fortune of getting to spend the next two months in this beautiful country. The hostess interrupts my silent celebration as she leads us to an outdoor table, partially shielded from the sun. I run my fingers over the white cotton tablecloth as I select a seat with the best view of the Mediterranean.

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My parents and I browse over our menus as we wait for our waiter to return. He brings us a bowl of bread, aceita de oliva, and takes our orders. A sandpiper scuttles under our table looking for crumbs of bread. I toss him one and receive a glare from a surely Spanish man. We place our order and soon the waiter returns with our drinks - tintos de verano- and a platter of aceitunas, pimientos de padron, and croquetas. I grab an olive and it melts in my mouth. Then, I take a sip of my tinto de verano, a mix of gaseosa and red wine. Surprisingly, tinto de verano is more popular than sangria in Spain - it’s not quite as good, but it’s efficient to make. Next, I grab a pimiento de padron and my taste buds pop from the flavor. Finally, I taste a croqueta and wash the abomination down with a sip of tinto de verano- they’re much mushier than the ones I’ve grown up eating in Sarasota, Florida. I’m not a fan, so I avoid that section of the platter, sticking with the olives and peppers. We throw down on a platter of jamon Ibérico, and then we savor a course of sanmorejo - a refreshing Spanish soup, similar to gazpacho. My family then orders a tortilla Española, which I avoid - saving room for the main course,

"I chew and chew suddenly realizing that what I thought was chicken is actually squid!'"

the paella!

It takes two waiters to carry the paella from the kitchen to our table. They place a large scoop on each of our plates, tell us “buen provecho,” and retreat back to the kitchen. When I look down, I see a soupy mixture dripping along my plate. “They cooked this wrong,” I think - the paella I’ve grown up eating absorbs all the liquid. I go to take a bite and pause as a I see a mussel sitting on my plate “paella is not supposed to have seafood other thank shrimp”, I think. Hating seafood, I avoid the mussel as I scoop out a bite of rice and chicken onto my fork. I chew and chew - suddenly realizing that what I thought was chicken is actually squid! I chew some more. My parents laugh. Defeated, I finally reach for a napkin and spit out the nasty squid. For the remainder of our meal, I stick to eating the yellow rice - and, even that tastes weird. We drown our runny, seafood paella down with an espresso for dessert and return to our parador for a good night’s rest. As I dose off to sleep, I dream of the future adventures I’ll have in Spain. My parents and I will spend the next month touring Andalucía, and I’ll travel to Salamanca - where I’ll take a month-long course in the cooking and culture of Spain.

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Four weeks later, my roommate, Meli, and I jump out of bed, worried we’ll be late for class. We throw on our shoes, grab our backpacks, and race for the door. Javier, our instructor, and our seven classmates laugh and shake their heads, knowing we’d be late. We all venture out into the hot, muggy Spanish air. There is an excited buzz in the air as we walk for fifteen minutes to our classroom - an industrial kitchen. My peers are excited because today, we’re making paella. I’ve eaten Paella countless times since my Nerja experience, and unfortunately, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m not a fan. I’m excited to see how the Spanish dish differs from the one I know and love. Javier pushes open the metal doors, and we enter together. We grab our chef’s bag, listen to quick instructions, and get to chopping. Javier has us sauté the garlic, peppers, and onions. Next, we add in our sofrito - a saffron water mixture. We throw in some squid, chicken, and chorizo. Javier hands me a carton of broth with caldo de pescado labeled on the front. “Pescado...that means fish. No wonder the paella tastes so bad in Spain - they use fish broth!” I think! I compile myself and pour in the nastysmelling broth. I add in some tomatoes. And, season with salt and pepper. I follow my peers out into the courtyard and while we wait for our paella to be done, we play games like, el continental, spades, and more. The smell of saffron and chorizo wafts through the air as I re-enter the industrial kitchen. Cutting boards, knives, garlic skin, pepper seeds and onion scraps sit in front of me - scattered across the metal island. To my left, Javier carries the paella - that took the better part of two hours to prepare - to the mess-style dining hall. To my right Meli pours gaseosa into a pitcher of red wine. She adds some ice to the pitcher and gives it a couple of stirs. Next, she reaches for ten glasses - pouring a glass of tinto de verano for my instructors, peers, and me. I grudgingly sip my tinto de verano and smell the fish - disappointed because the authentic Spanish paella and sangria I experienced is not what I expected! Over the years, I’ve discovered that the dishes we think are authentic are actually far from it. The pork dumplings we love in the states are sometimes stuffed with shrimp in South Korea. The heavy, cheesy enchiladas many Americans love cannot be found in a traditional Mexican home. And, the delicious, moist paella I’ve grown up with does not reflect the soupy, fishy Spanish mixture I’ve found abroad. Like a jumbled-up game of telephone, dishes change and adapt from country to country. These changes have been accelerated due to globalization. For me, it shouldn't matter if a dish is "authentic" or "proper". The only thing that matters is that the dish sparks conversation and builds connections. So, when I make paella at home, I will continue to cook it the way I always have. For I have such respect for a dish that originated in Spain, changed in Cuba, and transformed at the hand of my mother in Kennesaw, Georgia.

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Paella G A M E

O F

T E L E P H O N E :

B U T

M A K E

I T

F O O D

Ingredients 2 medium onions, chopped

4 cups boiling water

2 medium red peppers, chopped

4-5oz chorizo sausage

2 medium green peppers, chopped

1 tbsp. Salt

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 tsp. Pepper

2-8 oz package yellow rice

1 pound boneless

8 oz tomato sauce

chicken chunks

1 pound shrimp, peeled and

Oregano

deveined

10 oz package baby peas (thawed)

Preparation Drizzle a large non-stick skillet with olive oil. Over medium heat, sauté onion, peppers and garlic until tender, but not brown. In a large saucepan combine yellow rice, tomato sauce, salt, pepper, and chorizo. Add sauteed vegetables and boiling water. Bring to a boil. Pour into a 9x13 dish sprayed with Pam. Sprinkle chicken with oregano, salt and pepper; place on top of rice. Cover and bake at 375° for 40 minutes. Uncover. Arrange shrimp and peas on top of the dish. Bake uncovered for 15 minutes. Enjoy!

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Grilled Cheese A

N E W

T I M E

F O R

T R A N S F O R M A T I O N

As you can see, the past few years really have been like a slow simmered bowl of my mother's tomato soup. I've grown and transformed into a person I'm proud of! But like I said before, I'm not a finished dish. I hope you've enjoyed reading about my various adventures with food and with life! During my career at Stetson, I have grown closer with friends and family, and I've built connections with people from all over the world! I truly believe that food played a large part in that journey. So, as I enter the "Grilled Cheese" phase of my life, I hope to connect people and places in the same way food has done for me. Thanks for reading!

Ingredients Parmesan cheese

butter

Jalapeño cheddar bread

black pepper

red pepper flakes

Preparation Grate parmesan cheese, add black pepper, and red pepper flakes. Place the mixture in between two slices of bread. Place butter in a grill pan until it starts to sizzle and pop. Add the sandwich on top of the butter. Cook on both sides until browned and crispy. Serve with a warm creamy bowl of tomato basil soup. Enjoy!