Meatloaf: The real story (Food History) (Portfolio)

When I think of all the hardy meals I have ever eaten, which I do from time to time, the one that sticks out to me as being the most filling is, 9 times out of 10, meatloaf. Not only is it the most filling food I can think of, but for some reason it makes feel happy when I smell it. Being a meat-lover myself, the thought of having so much meat at once makes me salivate. I can remember while growing up shouting joyous strains to the tunes ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat’ and ‘Jingle Bells’, substituting meatloaf at the appropriate times. What is it about this simple dish (beef, egg, and bread crumbs) that had such a profound effect on me as a youth, and that now continues to captivate me today?

In searching for my answers, I happened upon a website created by Steven Colbert that helped me form a small picture of the effect that meatloaf has on me. In one section, Colbert said that ‘real’ Americans eat meatloaf at least five times per week.1 While I find this comment facetious, it does point to the fact that many people think meatloaf is a genuinely ‘American’ meal. This reinforces the thought that I have had my whole life. When I think of meatloaf I think of good old farm living: a traditional meal that has always been a mainstay of rural America. Therefore, because meatloaf reflects rural America, and in fact, the original settlements of America were quite literally rural, one can also assume that anything else ‘rural’ should be equated with being ‘Authentically American’.


In thinking about this, I began to wonder if meatloaf had its roots in some other country. What if meatloaf began with the Sumerians, or the Persians? That would destroy what I thought it meant to be ‘American’! I did not want to give up this picture of my identity, so I hesitated in beginning my research of the origins of the dish. Luckily, I got over it quickly, and this is what I found:

Meatloaf was grouped in a category with meatballs (something I distinctly envision as being Italian) which are referred to as being a ‘diminutive form of meatloaf. The earliest recipes of meatloaf are found in Ancient Roman texts. However, cattle were not even in the top five meats. The top five (starting with number one) were as follows: Peacock, pheasant, rabbit, chicken, suckling pig. Wow! Who would have thought that my American icon ‘meatloaf’ started in Italy? I most certainly did not. The reasons for making the dish served very practical purposes. First, this way of preparing meat made it easier to distribute to more people. Second, it made resources easier to conserve, and finally, the process of grinding the meat made even the toughest meat palatable.2

The process of creating meatloaf involved the grinding of meat and then mixing it with bread products, spices, sauces, and other thickeners. Although the first recipe book containing it was found in Rome, many other ancient cultures endorsed the same process. For example, there was Kofta: “The term for a meatball or small meat patty which may be round, oval, or sausage-shaped and large or small. They can be grilled (broiled), fried or baked, served plain or simmered in a sauce. Dishes of this type are made in North Africa, in Mediterranean countries, through Central Europe, Asia and India. Kofta is the general term and the one commonly used for Indian dishes, but a variety of names are sued...Whatever the name, the mixture is likely to be finely minced (ground) meat, mixed with onions and spices."3

The point I am trying to make here is simple. Meatloaf, in its original form, at least, is most definitely not ‘American’. However, I did find a loophole in this argument. A study done by a private company in Turkey in 2005 found that there are 291 different kinds of Kofta. There are also many variations in the Middle East, Asia, Africa, and in the Americas. This could mean only one thing: with each of these places having their own unique variation (most places have numerous types) of meatloaf, then there must be one that is distinctly American. My next step was to find out the history of the American Meatloaf.

American meatloaf’s roots can be found in the 19th century, originating with the Industrial Revolution. The mechanical meat grinder was created in the 1860s.4 This device was created to grind the meat which was then sold to the American public at a very low cost (An Industrial Revolution Trademark I might add). At first, however, Americans were slow to purchase the meat. They eyed it suspiciously (possibly because of the lack of refrigeration at the time), so it wasn’t taken seriously until the turn of the 20th century when the meat grinders were being sold to individual consumers while the sellers of the grinders were pairing recipes to go with them, in an effort to sell the meat.5 After that, the rest became history. Meatloaf became popular, and actually reached its peak in popularity in the 50’s (This is when most processed foods gained landslide popularity in the US, thanks to the war-time technology that needed to be used for something. How Ironic!).

That means that the same things that drove me to eat Hot Pockets have driven me to eat meatloaf (when I received this epiphany, I cried). I was duped by food conglomerates to eat something I deemed to be pure American, though it didn’t even exist 100 years ago! I have fallen into the trap that Raj Patel mentions (me being made for my food) with something I considered to be home-made!6

I suppose that my surprise was understandable, especially since America was founded on being democratic, as well as bringing in the best of everything from the rest of the world. I must therefore accept that meatloaf was something brought to America because it was totally awesome, and that by entering the “Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave” meatloaf became America (all because advertisers decided it would be a great seller, which it was).

It is up to me to decide, now knowing what I know about my favorite meaty platter, if meatloaf should still be considered a part of my identity and heritage. Whether I like it or not, meatloaf has always been a part of my life. I cannot dismiss it on a whim, and yet this is not what anyone should do. Thoughtful deliberation and skepticism need to be applied here.

There is a lot of thought that should go into the foods we eat. Questions like ‘Where it comes from?’ and ‘Why I eat it?’ should be asked for any of the foods I consume. When I have asked myself these questions, and then come up with satisfactory answers (one-liners like because it tastes good should definitely be looked at a little deeper) is when I will be in control of the things that I eat. As for meatloaf here is what I have to say:

Meatloaf (the beef kind) comes from a cow. That cow gave its life so that someone like me could eat. It was then ground up and packaged, and sent to the local Safeway to be purchased by a consumer. I purchased the meat, took it home, and then seasoned it and stuck it in the oven to roast. There I left it to bake until it resembled what I considered to be perfection. Then I consumed it, bite by meticulous bite, until my hunger was appeased. Why did I eat it the loaf? The aroma, taste, and appearance all fit together to create the ultimate meal, prepared of course, by myself. I know after answering these questions that I was able to say, with clear conscious, at least with regards for meatloaf, my food was made for me.

[1] Wikiality.com

[2] http://www.foodtimeline.org/foodmeats.html#meatloaf

[3] Larousse Gastronomique, completely revised and updated edition [Clarkson Potter:New York] 2001 (p. 656)

[4] http://digital.lib.ucdavis.edu/projects/food/panel6.html

[5] http://www.foodtimeline.org/foodmeats.html#meatloaf

[6] Patel, Raj. “Stuffed and Starved”. Page 253. Portobello Books Ltd. London: 2007

Steak: It's what for dinner Part III (Portfolio)

"...through the way we live, work and play, we don't really choose our food--our food chooses us (Patel, pp. 253)."
-Raj Patel

As I sit here and think about my steak and my accompanying feeling of manliness I have to ask myself why does this make me feel like a man? I mean come on, regardless of whether or not I eat the steak, aren't I still a man? I have facial hair, all the right parts: as far as nature is concerned, I am a man. There must just be something about the steak itself that magnifies the feelings of being a man.

Why then don't I get similar manly feelings when I dawn a bright pink, frilly scarf, or perhaps eat a Caesar Salad, with blue cheese? There can really only be one of two possibilities for an answer to this dilemma:

1. This association with steak and manliness is innate, and comes with birth, or

2. I have learned this association from my experiences.

While I think there could be a tiny possibility that the first answer is, maybe, weakly correlated to my association, I would wager that my association is a learned phenomenon. The next question would then be: Who does the teaching? This is where things get extremely complicated.

Raj Patel says that our food habits, and anything else we do with regards to food, are shaped, not just by our society, but by multi-national food conglomerates (which he backs up with a lot of facts and speculations). As much as I hate to think that I have little to no control over the food I get to eat, I have to admit, Patel makes some very convincing points.

He briefly mentions that there are three basic factors that play into what we end up eating: work and play, the neighborhoods we live in, and the jobs we get--including the time we spend traveling between them (Patel, pp 273). Basically, a certain kind of food is marketed and sold to us depending on who we are (as consumers). This marketing starts at a very young age. Advertisers know that children are easily influenced. Children want what is cool and hip, and advertisers set the standard. Then, the trend of standard setting goes up until the child is old.

During this time, advertisers (these large food companies) strive in every conceivable way to get us to buy their stuff. They know things like that the more we eat the more overweight we get. However, these kinds of things, though fought to be kept a secret from the consumer, are not primary concerns: our money is. The funny thing is, at the same time we are influenced to buy the latest bag of 'super extra nacho spicy Doritos', we get bombarded by companies like Jenny Craig to loose a couple extra pounds around the waist. Get this, Jenny Craig is part of the Nestle Corporation (Patel, pp 280). We as consumers are trapped, just like corn farmers who buy Monsanto products, in a circle. We are given new products in an attempt to make more money, but that actually contribute to some other marketing scheme when we do what the marketers want.

So, what does this have to do with my steak? EVERYTHING! I feel manly when I eat a steak because I have been ingrained with the thought that in order for a white, middle-class male to be himself he needs to eat meat. The perpetrator of this thought is the food industry. I have been hit with ads from the time I could see far enough to focus on a television. From then my first thoughts concerning anything were formed. My thoughts since that time were reinforced until I was convinced that in order to be a man I needed to have a steak! I have literally been made FOR my food, and all this just to make a buck (This whole time I thought my food was made for me!!!)

Grapes in the Winter? What a thought!!! (Portfolio)

Lately, because I have been learning a bit about the global food system, I have been checking my food (the fruit and veggies at least) to see where they originated. The month being March, and us coming off a little bit colder/longer winter, the fruit at my local supermarket seems to (with the exception of apples) need a passport. My bananas came from Ecuador, the grapes from Chile, and my mushrooms came from Canada (though I don't know from which part...). My wife and oldest daughter (with particular regard to the grapes) think this is just great. Why, practically every day of the year we can go to the Safeway down the road and pick up some grapes, they being my Daughter's favorite food (Hot Dogs come in a distant second). I'm not going to lie, having my favorite food at my finger tips whenever I feel like having it is a wonderful feeling, but what is the cost?

Raj Patel, in his debut novel 'Stuffed and Starved', speaks about one particular global exporter of fruit, the United Fruit Company, and what they have done to preserve profit and trade. In a nutshell, to protect profit the UFC pulled out all the stops. They called the then current president of Guatemala a communist because he wanted to buy the unused UFC land and then give it to landless peasants at the ridiculously low prices that the UFC declared the land to be valued on their tax returns.

Then, in 1954 the US President declared a CIA backed invasion of Guatemala (on the anti-Communist ticket) to oust the president. The result was a 40 year struggle and the loss of 200,000 lives--the president of Guatemala was then investigated at the end of the struggle, 150,000 pages of document were scoured, and absolutely no evidence was found to support the accusation...oops (Patel, pgs 100-101). Where is the UFC now you might ask? Go to your local grocery store and you will probably find them, right next to the Del Monte Bananas, under a different name of course: Chiquita Bananas. According to Patel the UFC was able to do this because they conglomeratized: in other words the UFC controlled the means of production, from growing to distribution (and everything in between). Looking at the big picture you can see that all multi-national corporations have this kind of power at their fingertips. This power struggle in Guatemala was just another product of big food companies.

So, before you go and stop buying the bananas, or at least abstaining for a month or so, remember that its not just Chiquita that owns the entire production chain for their product. So do most of the other products you buy in the supermarket. Therefore, simply not buying the Chiquita brand will not do anything for the big picture, if you want to change things. You need a more balanced look: a look from the top down.

The solution could lie in only buying locally, or in other words, supporting regional foods. However, if everyone were to do this, and (hypothetically) these conglomerates were to break up, what would happen next? The laws of supply and demand would change the course of the prices wherever there is food being sold. Prices would go up because these big companies got rid of both their economies of scope and scale. This would most likely produce a spike in prices, and the consumers would have to bear it.

Now I ask you, knowing that you could make prices higher, by making things fairer for people all over the world and standing up for social justice, it buying local foods in their season worth it to you?

Steak: It's what's for dinner Part II (Portfolio)

I couldn't help but revisit my steak eating experience, this time, however, from the cow's perspective. I am not going to lie, a good steak goes a long way to making me feel good. I can think of countless occasions when, over choosing a 'meatless' platter at some restaurant, I chose the steak (I did go to the steakhouse for a reason!). There is something about the juiciness of the meat, as well as the seasonings grilled into it, that just makes my mouth water. However, I must admit that I have found myself having the same satisfaction after eating a double big mac, super-sized. I was definitely missing something.

Each bite I take from my hamburger can almost be equivocated with going up to a cow in the pasture, or better yet, in a CAFO, and taking a bite out of it's hind quarters (I wouldn't recommend it, just picture it) My point is this: each time someone eats meat, there is an animal, somewhere, that had to die.

I have always been sensitive when it comes to animals. I remember on numerous occasions when an animal was hit by a car, like a deer, dog or bird; I would cry. The animal died because I hit it. I had similar feelings when it came to hunting animals. I couldn't bring myself to shoot them, and I just thought it was unethical (for lack of a better word) to kill them. Why then is it so easy to buy packaged meat at the store and eat it, but feel no remorse? The person eating the animal has just as much blame as the person who killed it. But, for some reason there is a disconnect between the animals and the people who eat them.


Michael Pollan, in his book "The Omnivore's Dilemma" said that "...most of us would simply rather not be reminded of exactly what meat is or what it takes to bring it to our plates (pp 305). He argues that the reason we don't know where our meat comes from, and how it gets to our plates, is simple: if the consumer knows, then the producer wont sell as much meat. This is one reason why slaughterhouses are off limits to everyone but the people who work in them. It seems like a good PR strategy to me. The question is, "Is it right, or is it wrong?" or, "It there a real answer to this question?"

It is hard for me to say, exactly. I suppose I could purport that it depends on the situation. However, learning about the process of turning a cow into a steak has definitely opened my eyes. Though I am not going to turn vegetarian or vegan, I am definitely going to think a little bit more about what I eat. I also know that I have eliminated my reservations for hunting. It's not that I have stopped abhorring the fact that I am ending the life of another animal. In fact, I think it goes beyond that. I am killing an animal any time I eat meat; therefore, I would rather know where my meat came from and how it got to my plate, then not have any clue if what I am eating really is what the packaging claims it to be.

Corn for Everyone...Even the Corn (Portfolio)

I can remember hearing, for the longest time, that there is a shortage of corn. I always took this as truth and never thought anything about it. So, when the government decided to put ethanol as a requirement for gasoline, I thought the price of my corn tortillas was going to go through the roof.

I was under the impression that the laws of supply and demand were going to make the prices of all my food go up, because I was aware that there really was corn in everything. What I failed to recognize is that, though there might be corn shortages in other countries (this would be locally grown corn), saying that there is a shortage of corn in the United States is about as far from the truth as the Moon is from the Earth.


The first section in Michael Pollan's book ,"The Omnivore's Dilemma," I received an eye opening education: the only corn shortage we have in America is a shortage of corn farmers. As it turns out, because of advances in agricultural technology there are mountains of corn (like the one pictured above) all over the Midwest (this corn didn't fit in the silo behind it).

There is so much 'extra' corn, if fact, that agribusiness has had to find numerous ways to use the corn. Among the uses are feeding farm animals on CAFOs (Concentrated Animal Feeding Operations) and, by means of state of the art chemistry, coming up with, get this, hundreds of different organic compounds (Pollan, pp 86). I can understand maybe coming up with a few different compounds just for the heck of it, but hundreds is an entirely different story. There has to be a ton of corn! The most common compound is High Fructose Corn Syrup, and it has long been used as a cheaper sweetener than cane sugar. Why, one might ask? Supply and demand: the surplus of corn is so immense that the prices to produce these compounds has naturally decreased until it fell through the floor.

My concern here is simple: why was I told that there was a corn shortage? Someone doesn't want me to know, and they have gone to great length to make sure I don't find out. My solution? I'll just start reading the ingredient lists on my food, and do my part to get out of the corn trap.

Take it to the Bank

I have spent hours of my time in attempting to find food for the needy. Being a part of the Boy Scouts of America, as well as the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, volunteer time is something that just naturally occurred. I always saw myself as doing something for the betterment of society, giving back to people who didn't have anything themselves, or just being plain charitable.

I always had a certain amount of sympathy for the people who needed the food. I never personally knew anyone who did, but I occasionally saw someone, in my rural town of Stanwood, WA, walking in the rain and wind, dressed in what I would call rags, obviously going somewhere, and naturally I pitied them. These people were the ones I pictured on the receiving end of the free food I helped gather. I felt this way until, in a chance of fate, I ended being on the receiving end of the volunteer service.

My first visit to the food bank for myself and my family was, for me, a very embarrassing experience. I was worried that I might see someone I knew, or that, even worse, they would recognize me. However, I consider my feelings felt at the food bank as immaterial when I think of why I needed to go.

Why is it that, even though there is a very large surplus of food in the United States, there are hungry people everywhere? I suppose that when the all powerful dollar is pushed before food justice, there will always be a surplus. That's how capitalism works. A surplus is needed to make money. The answer to my question is quite simple. There is a disconnect between food and people, and this is because of money. Food is no longer seen as a means to feed people, per say, but as a means to make money. Food banks are a product of this line of thinking. I would go so far as to say that food banks exist, not necessarily to feed the hungry, but rather to convince people who have money to buy food that the problem of hunger is being solved.

Janet Poppendieck go a step further and says that "...the food banks realize they need hunger as an issue in order to raise their funds (p 133)." The food banks will not, or cannot, exist without hunger. They are just as capitalist as the rest of America. Money is needed to survive, and food banks have found a way to make money.

Now, food banks aren't all bad, they do feed hungry people; however, they treat hunger, according to Poppendieck, as a disease, and not a symptom. Hunger is treated independently from low wages, poverty, and many other things. Being poor myself, there is definitely a connection between the amount of money I have and the food I eat. There is rent, bills, school, food, clothing, etc, but I don't hear the same fervor coming to stop these equally pressing issues. These are the places I see myself and Poppendieck running together.

But I am at odds with the steps that should be taken. I do not believe that the government can do anything and create the correct system, too many puffy egos are involved. Things need to be done on a large scale, but personal basis. There must be a movement to change the present that comes from the ground up. The government can educate, but legislation would just prove meddlesome. If things are going to change they must be changed willingly. I know I am waxing utopic to an extent, and I don't know if any of the things I suggested are even possible, but I do know what I want to do for myself and for the people that I know.

It Tastes Like Chicken

I don’t know if anyone out there has actually had ‘Chicken in a Biscuit,’ but the little cracker is a stroke of genius. Not only does the thing actually taste remotely similar to ‘chicken,’ but it even looks and smells like ‘chicken’ (not a live chicken, they reek; I mean cooked chicken of course). Can you think of another food that says chicken on so many different levels. I can think of countless occasions when I just needed to have ‘chicken’... so I got a box of chicken in a biscuit, and granted I always thought they were a little bit on the salty side, that was all I needed. My urge satisfied, I was able to continue on with my life.

I am being a little facetious here, but, seriously, why does everything taste like chicken? The food industry has created a huge business in manipulation just to make money. Haden said: “That ‘chicken’ can be the taste of ‘everything else’ is but a reminder of how abstracted, statistical, and synthesizable ‘chicken’ has become: Figuring out what to make chicken taste like is just one aspect of the technical information-gathering needed to produce a growing range of chickenized products (pp. 354).” The processing of food has created a surreal world where there are tastes for everything (though it is not necessarily the actual thing itself) but the industry has tweaked the frame of reference just enough to sell their products. There is no longer an “original taste” but that’s not where the problem lies. The dilemma is in the fact that no one seems to notice: it is as if the food industry pulled a fast one all the consumers.

I want to eat real chicken. I want to know what ‘real’ chicken tastes like; however, this is not likely to happen. Chicken in a Biscuit is not the only thing that was made to taste like chicken. Now, chicken is grown to taste like chicken. They are grown on farms where they are fed hormones and corn, things to make them more meaty, and then the meat itself is injected with chemicals and such to 'improve' the taste. Now, everything tastes like chicken, and there have to be millions of different ‘tastes’ of chicken (chicken included). Which one, if any, is the right one, and will I ever find it?

Steak: It's what's for dinner Part I

Since the beginning of time, March 31, 1984, steak has been the epitome of manliness. Every barbecue that was ever graced with my presence was also graced by at least one steak. The number was, of course, dependent on the number of adult males present for the special occasion. Nonetheless, my Father always managed to get at least one steak on the grill. Up until the age of 16 I was unfortunate enough to get the "kiddie" food: a hot dog. However, I knew that one day my mouth would get to savor the amazing, not to mention succulent, taste of a steak, cooked medium-rare.

I can remember thinking on numerous occasions: "Someday I'll eat a steak just like my dad: when that day comes I will be a man!" In my young mind, nothing epitomized the image of a manliness more than that of a man cutting through a juicy, tender steak. When the day finally came, I considered myself more than prepared, and as I bit into that beautiful piece of meat I instantly realized something: I liked medium-well, not medium-rare...That aside, I knew I had passed the threshold of boyhood; my right of passage was complete, yes, I was finally a man.

The article by Rouse and Hoskins, as well as the discussion in class, spoke on the taboos of food. A taboo was not something that was bad to talk about (for immoral reasons). It more that the things (taboos) were so sacred people avoided conversation about them for the sake of sacredness. It is much like the commandment in the Old Testament stating, "Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vane." I find this point coincidal with my early childhood and my desire to consume steak.

The act of eating a steak, to me, was a sacred rite. It was as if the whole world stood still, and my spirit connected with the steak; we became one, and I became a man. I never really spoke of eating the steak, I just desired to do so.

Obento and My Sack Lunch

Growing up my school lunches were never very 'cool'. I had the usual apple and pb & j, along with the occasional snackpack, but hey, I never really thought twice about it. I can remember my buddy Jason constantly playing with his fruit snacks. He was always able to have the coolest fight scenes, but it was never the same when I tried. My fruit snacks always seemed dull, along with the rest of my food. I guess I was always just taking the sack lunch for granted, and never really thinking about the time my mother spent making it.

However, upon learning of the ritual of the obento, I started to look at my sack lunches a little differently. The mothers in Japan would spend huge amounts of time, not just in preparation for the obento to be eaten, but in thinking of what to give their kids in it the next day, etc... Learning this really made me start to think about my mom, and the time she spent in making my lunch. Sure, she didn't spend a ton of time making it, but still, I could have made my own sandwich and lunch (although if I did, the lunch would have consisted mainly of pudding and pop, with the occasional Cheetos or fruit snacks.

Though I never thought of it this way before, just like those mothers in Japan who showed compassion to their little kids by making them ornate obento every day, my mom was showing me that she loved me every day, though I never noticed it.

What's that smell? That can't be soup! (Portfolio)

Picture the most amazing smell you have ever had the chance to lay nose on. Got it? Great! Now, as you smell this wonderful aroma, take in a slow, deep breath, open your mouth, and then take a bite of it! Oh the bliss! There must be a hundred different ways to describe the exultation, the joy, or the pure satisfaction that come upon this type of indulgence. You might even experience something similar to what Marcel Proust experienced when he bit into a piece of Madeleine dipped in tea: his childhood came back in a flash of vivid picture and images, real enough that one would feign try to touch it. I know I most certainly did, how about you? Why does this explosion of memory occur, and what tie does food have with our past?

It had been nearly 3 years since I last experienced Korea. The two years I spent there were now just a memory, treasured, but nothing more. Since that time my life decided to put the pedal to the metal and hit overdrive for a while. I met the girl of my dreams and we got married. We had our first child, a beautiful little girl, and quickly another one was on the way. I wanted to remember more of my time spent in Korea, and I wanted my family to experience (to some extent) a portion of that time. So, I decided to make my favorite Korean dish. Some would call it fermented bean soup, and to the untrained nose it might not seem like food, but the product of eating it :) To me, it is Dwenjang Chigae. I didn't know why I wanted it so bad, just that I did.

I purchased all the ingredients and then went to work. In went the water, and in went the Dwenjang. As the delightful (my wife would never use this word and this food in the same sentence) aroma split through the air at the speed of sound, I began to fell a tingling sensation in my toes. I was instantly back in Korea, that world opened up for me, once again. It was simply exhilarating. However, I was abruptly pulled out of this dream-like state when a sound pierced the air. "What's that smell!!!! That can't be soup!!!!" were the words that flowed from my wife's mouth. I don't blame her at all; the bit of heaven I was smelling was not at all what she was smelling. To her credit, she ate her bowl (barring the octopus legs). I was so proud. My bowl was simply amazing. The first bite was exactly like the last bite (of my 4th serving), heavenly. I honestly forgot I was in my own dining room. Two different realities, the past and the present, seemed to blur before my face.

Why did this happen, it is just food, right? I'm not so sure. There was definitely more than food going on when I was eating. Even though I was no longer in Korea, the whole of the Korea I experienced was contained in the soup. Upon unlocking the aroma and the taste, that all but forgotten world was remembered. For some reason the chigae became a symbol and an association of my past, specifically in Korea, and it awakened all of my senses to those scenes gone away.

Food is a catalyst. It draws in the whole scene that surrounds it, and that scene gets locked into all the aspects of the food itself (the taste, smell, and appearance). The dish becomes more than just food. The association with food becomes a gateway to the past, whether conscious or subconscious, that can be unlocked whenever you eat or smell it. Food is a powerful tool, and the power is in your hands, not only to remember the past, but to make new, wonderful associations now.

A Christmas Present Worth Giving

This was the third Christmas I have had with my wife, and frankly, I stink at giving Christmas presents. I don't know about the "average Joe" male out there, but I just find it hard to come up with any semblance of a good present throughout the year. To be honest, I have a yearly ritual of freaking out about a week (if I'm lucky) or so before the 25th with what to give my dear wife. When the time comes to open presents on Christmas morning I am praying that I was able to swing through and hit a home run.

My wife, on the other hand, has absolutely no problem with doing this. I have no clue how she remembers my ramblings, or other random hints, that I give her throughout the year. Somehow she does, every time! When it comes Christmas time she is completely ready to go and knows exactly what to do for presents, not only for me, but for our daughters as well.

I decided, after last Christmas, that the next one would be different. I told myself that for the next year I would pick up on every single subtle hint my wife would give, and then immediately write it down. Sadly, this New Year's resolution ended up with all the rest of my resolutions in the past: a memory. Come Christmas time this year (the week or so before) I felt the similar sensations of panic that I had become all to familiar with. Luck was on my side, however. I had an bit of revelation.

Being the poor college student I am, quality restaurant food is difficult to come by. Not that there isn't good food out there, but let's face it, there is a hole in my wallet at the beginning of the month before I spend anything. However, my wife loves to eat at this Thai restaurant on Lake City Way. There is a dish there called Massaman Curry and it literally makes her start to salivate the instant she catches a whiff of the sweet aroma. Needless to say, the stuff is not cheap, but I remembered on numerous occasions hearing longing sighs or other similar sounds indicating she was craving the curry. "What can I do?" was my constant thought. One day, in a rush of thought I decided to make the stuff for her from scratch as her Christmas present.

I went through a local Fred Meyer and raided their spice section, getting spices like ginger and turmeric (some stuff I had never heard of before), fish sauce and anchovy paste, not to mention the staples like chicken and potatoes, as well as some pineapple (the secret ingredient). So, for the Christmas present all of the non-perishable items went into a Christmas bag, and the rest of the stuff went into the fridge--into 3 Fred Meyer bags stuffed into a drawer in a very discreet and inconspicuous, pre-chosen location. I knew that this year things were going to be different!

Come Christmas morning, the feelings of trepidation and fright long since abased, the excitement was swelling to unusual proportions. I had built up the gift, so my wife's expectations were up there. She opened the present and was ecstatic. The best was yet to come. From scratch I created the curry paste, and then went through the long and arduous task of making something that I had never created before (I am not the best cook, but I can swing with the best ones when I have a good recipe).

After the mixing came the simmering, and that was by far the best part. The sweet aroma permeated through our entire 2 bedroom apartment. At first the ginger stuck out, but then, surprisingly, I could smell the fish sauce, something I had never recognized before. Every single ingredient contributed to the overall wonderfulness of the scent, and upon getting a small sniff, I heard small groaning noises coming in from the front room. Turning around, there was my wife, sitting on the couch, salivating. The scene was one that would go down in in my memory forever.

Then we got to taste the mixture, and I'm not going to lie, it was good--really good! I had my doubts, making it from scratch, but the curry was just plain amazing, and the most wonderful part was the fact that it would last us a week, tasting better each day. Of all the things I could have done to say Merry Christmas, or I love you, to my wife, the simple act of creating a meal said more than a million words.