Food From Home

       When I think about food, I think about home. Not home as in my house where I live with my mom, but home as in Southeastern Michigan, where you can get an authentic Mexican meal on Monday, go to the local market and get the necessities to make a good barbecue dinner on Tuesday, and still have plenty of different ethnic options for the rest of the week. Living so close to Detroit where “Mexican town” is, and Hamtramck where many Polish shops and restaurants are, along with many classic American restaurants serving hotdogs and hamburgers, there are many places that I think of when I think about food and home.

At least once a week, I call “home” to my mom, my dad, my aunt, or one of my grandparents. Being over one thousand miles away from any of my family members or best friends, who chose to stay in Michigan for school to save money, I take as many chances to talk to them as I can. I find myself being extremely homesick lately, but it is not the place that I miss, but more the people and the food. I have had countless dreams and cravings for so many dishes from back home that my grandparents make for me, and for meals from local eateries that have food so delicious and memorable they cannot be recreated in any way that meet my high standards. 

One of the first meals I intend to chow down on when my plane lands at the Metro Detroit Airport in June is a local non-chain establishment called Bill’s Hot Dog Stand. It is a small building placed on a slightly larger parking lot where customers will pull in with their vehicles and wait for their waiter to come take their order. When the order is ready, the waiter will bring it out to the car, where one can choose to eat there, with a tray placed on the window, or take it home and devour every mouthwatering hotdog and gulp down the homemade root beer. Bill’s is the place my friends and I go during the summer for a quick, cheap and delicious meal that will satisfy anyone’s craving.

The first memory I have of Bill’s is when I was very young. Being native to Ypsilanti, Michigan (where the stand is located), it was a place my grandma and I went to often. As a young child, I could not appreciate how great the food was, I just remember being asked where I wanted to go for dinner and shouting, “Bill’s hot dogs!” However, now that I am older and a little over one thousand miles away from home and Bill’s, I have a much deeper appreciation for the food that I cannot get anywhere else but back home. After being away from home for a summer in high school, I remember arriving at the airport, my mom and boyfriend waiting for me at baggage claim, and my aunt in the car with four hotdogs and a large cup of root beer, made fresh every day, from Bill’s. There was nothing extravagant about the meal, something I had eaten so many times before in the past, but for some reason, this round of Bill’s was the best I had ever had. The hotdogs and buns themselves were still warm from the chili and liquid cheese on them, and the root beer was sweeter than ever, but never too sweet. The vanilla in the drink was potent, but never overpowering, and it pairs perfectly with the food at the stand. I remember my excitement when I saw the plain white paper bag waiting for me in the backseat, filled with the dogs, and thanking my mom for buying it for me, as days earlier I expressed how much I missed home and Bill’s. 

Not only was the food exceptionally delicious, but it brought back so many memories for me. Eating the hot dogs and drinking the root beer, I thought of all the times I had gone to Bill’s with my grandma, my mom, and my aunt. I thought of how comforting it was to just sit and talk about a little bit of everything with each of them, or even just sit there listening to the radio enjoying the weather and the food. I remember bringing new friends there for the first time and watching their reaction as they took their first bite, and going there with friends I’ve had for years just to unwind and forget about school and the drama in our teenage lives, and enjoy good food with good people. I think of Bill’s when I think of home because, when I am home, Bill’s is where I make many memories and have many great times with my friends. The good food and simplistic atmosphere make me feel comfortable and at ease, in no rush to leave the parking lot and get back into the hectic swing of things. It is a place where I can have random and completely hilarious conversations with friends, or deep and meaningful conversations with my family members. Bill’s can almost be considered a place to go for a therapeutic recovery, along with an establishment that serves food to you. 

Every time I eat a hot dog at a restaurant, or a place known to be famous for their hot dogs, I always find myself comparing them to Bill’s, and none have sufficed so far. While it upsets me that the owners decided not to become a chain years ago, it gives me something to talk about with friends who are not from the same place as me, and provides me with many stories to tell my out-of-state friends, and many memories that I feel are more special than if they were created at a Wendy’s. The small town location of Bill’s, along with the comfortable atmosphere and borderline therapeutic food, make the memories I have created something very special to me, and completely unforgettable. When I think of Bill’s, I will forever think of the those who I have created so many great memories with, and I think of the place I come from. I think of my home.

Observations of Classmates' Blog Posts

     After reading some of my classmates’ blogs, I noticed some similarities between the descriptions of the last meal they ate. I noticed that a couple of my classmates ate at one of the dining halls on campus, either in Halls, Nelson or Nagel, and reviews on the food seemed to be a general consensus across the board. Many of the reviews were not spectacular or extraordinary of any sort. The descriptions of many of the meals were less than adequate or described as the normal flavors and what is expected from Sodexo when it comes to meals. 

Post 2

After reading the articles by Ahn and Nicholson, both seem to have a personal and cultural significance that they attach to food. For Ahn, he recalls how food reminds him of his Korean culture, and how he was, when he was younger, ashamed of his culture and the food that his mother would cook in the house, stating that it made the house smell of garlic, and even how the leftovers would make an entry like that of a flatulent guest at a wedding. He also ties food in with remembering his parents, and how his mother was quiet and patient with him expressing his embarrassment of his culture, but his father wanted Ahn to embrace being Korean, along with the American culture and many others. Ahn also recalls having two fridges in the household, the one in the kitchen for American food, and the one in the garage for Korean food. He makes his connections on a more cultural level in his piece, speaking mainly of how he relates food to his culture, and how he will teach his son of the Korean culture through language and food. 

On the other hand, Nicholson has more of a personal significance he attaches to food, recalling his mother and the food she served when he was a boy and the food she served after his father passed away, until the day she died. He recalls her eating mainly white food, especially milk and other creamy liquids. He remembers his father never wanting to eat chicken, rice, or pasta, and his mother cooking it for herself almost immediately after her husband died. Nicholson remembers the food his mother served to be very plain with little to no seasonings, for fear that the seasonings would alter the whiteness of the dish she was preparing. He uses food, especially the cheese sandwich with a glass of whole fat milk that he describes at the beginning of his article, to recall memories of his parents, but more specifically his mother, who he was eating the described meal for in the beginning of his piece. 

These readings somewhat remind me of my own connections to food, in that when I see a certain meal or dish, I tend to refer to my childhood and my family members preparing meals for the family. I can relate to both authors’ significance of food in similar ways as well. I grew up very poor and sometimes paying the bills was more important than putting a spectacular meal on the table, so my mother and I would often have peanut butter sandwiches, or plain pasta with a little bit of butter and cheese on them, and if we were lucky, we had some canned tomatoes and leftover ground beef that we could brown and add to the pasta to kick things up a notch. While my mother didn’t enjoy eating such plain food like Nicholson’s mother, I can relate to eating plain food that brings back memories of my mother. I can also relate to Ahn in a somewhat similar way. My family makes many German and Polish dishes, and the aroma would fill the house with the smell of mainly kraut. However, unlike Ahn, I embraced my German and Polish culture, and was very proud not only of where my family comes from, but also the food they cook. Who doesn’t love pirogues?

My Most Recent Meal

     After two short classes that felt like they dragged on forever, I made my way from STURM to Centennial Halls, eager to put my things in my room, make a routine pit stop to the restroom, and get lunch as soon as the dining hall opened its doors at eleven. I waited for my floormate and close friend to come to my room, as we eat lunch together almost every day as our bonding time, and we made our way down to the first floor with our coats and backpacks for our next classes. Our IDs were swiped, we picked a table (usually the same one every time), put our things down and headed to the buffet area.

     I was not expecting anything to look appealing or delicious when I looked at it. Meatless Mondays do not usually yield great vegetarian options for avid meat lovers such as myself, and the pizza is usually hit or miss with Sodexo. I walked into the buffet area expecting to roam around, looking for something appetizing, find nothing and grab a bowl of Lucky Charms or Honey Nut Cheerios. However, when I walked by the grill, I noticed cheese enchiladas sitting in a pan. I decided to scoop up two, along with a spoonful of rice to have as my meal. I added a dollop of sour cream, got some strawberry yogurt and some juice, and made my way back to the table. I ate my meal with my friend, talking about how our classes have been so far, if we like our professors, anyone we know, and what we did over Spring break. The enchiladas and rice were alright. They were cooked fully, had some flavor to them and weren't soggy or anything that would make me think the food had been sitting out for too long. But I would not say they were spectacular, there wasn't anything special about them that I really enjoyed. Most dining hall food hardly ever strikes me as remarkable, though their ravioli and ziti are pretty good.