Pasta al Pesto

52. The subject of food is never far from our minds here in College Admissions. It is a topic of serious conversation this year on campus, too, with the publication of a book called The Hungry Soul: Eating and the Perfecting of our Nature, by Leon Kass, M.D., a Chicago faculty member who teaches in the College. The book takes a philosophical look at what food, eating, and table manners have to tell us about our human estate. Compose an essay about a memorable meal you have eaten. We are especially interested in the details: the occasion, your company at this meal, its physical setting, the kinds of foods you ate, or their preparation. (University of Chicago)

I was 11 years old. I had just flown to another continent, and been on two flights. It was winter. It was cold. It was evening. But I had reached. I was at my aunt’s house for the Christmas holidays.

That journey sticks out in my memory as it was the first time I had travelled alone. I left my departure country early in the morning, and arrived at my destination in the evening (local time). I had gotten very little sleep on the journey, and was exhausted by the time I reached my aunt’s house.

I was also very hungry, as I do not have a particular liking for airplane food and not eaten much on the journey. My aunt had cooked a simple but absolutely delicious meal of Pasta al Pesto to celebrate my arrival.

I had spent time with my cousin, catching up and talking for a bit, as my aunt prepared the meal. The pesto was home-made, and the aroma made my mouth water. We all sat at the dining table, which was laid out for the four of us (my uncle, aunt, cousin, and I). The room was not overwhelmed by bright, glaring lights. Instead it was filled with warm and mellow lights from a few candles and soft light bulbs. The room had a very Christmassy atmosphere.

The food on the table was simple, traditional, and perfect. After the long journey, I could not have wished for a more satisfactory meal. It filled my stomach, and made me feel welcomed. Yet, the setting, the good food, and my family, were not enough to keep exhaustion from me.

My eyes slowly began to shut, and as the pasta disappeared off my plate, my mind began dreaming. I soon went to sleep.

This meal is memorable to me for many reasons. But what I think makes this meal truly memorable was my company. Without my wonderful family who were present, and so graciously welcomed me, it would have just been another Pasta al Pesto. They made this Pasta al Pesto special.   

Word count: 462

Time travel

2. Imagine that you have the opportunity to travel back through time. At what point in history would you like to stop and why? (Swarthmore)

Anytime the word time travel comes up, my mind immediately wanders to “Back to the Future.” To an observer this may seem slightly bizarre, but I have a good reason for this. When I was small, “Back to the Future” and its sequels were one of the movies that my father and I would watch together. It was our thing.

Ironically, for a person who has watched a great number of time traveller movies, I never ever actually developed my own plans for time travel, and which event in history I would preferably stop at. I think as a child I was too distracted by finding Hogwarts and my broomstick to dedicate a great deal of attention to time travel (and wizards clearly still existed in the present so why go back to the past?).

Do not misunderstand me to be a person who does not care for history. I very much do so! History has always intrigued me, the tales of ancient civilizations to the invention of the first computer. Everything has a story, a story that is its own.

The question asked by this prompt is a hard one for me to answer. It is not that I would decline the opportunity to travel back through time; I would be delighted to do so. Yet, to choose one particular event at which to stop is proving extremely difficult to decide.

In my European History class, my mind drifts off to the century being discussed. I imagine the people and their lives. How different some of them are from mine, yet how (at the same time) my life still resembles theirs.

My top five time travel choices are as follows: Florence during the renaissance, the Harappa river valley civilization, Greece under Alexander the Great, Cleopatra’s Egypt, and Europe in the late 1800’s. Even during the composition of this list, my mind is filled with other historical events that intrigue me. 

Out of all these places and historic events, the one I know the least about is the Harappa civilization. The disappearance of this great empire is shrouded in mystery, just as its language and people are. There is so much left to learn about the Harappa inhabitants.

I realize that my appearance in this civilization might cause some confusion, as I do not speak the language nor know very much about its customs. Yet, I hope that I will somehow manage to overcome these difficulties and still be a respectful observer.

Travelling to Harappa would enable me to bring back information about this civilization to the present, and thus hopefully answer some of history’s great mysteries, such as how such an evolved civilization disappeared out of the blue.

If I were to travel to Harappa, I would intend to stay there for at least a month. I believe this period of time would allow me to observe the society to good degree, and gain an understanding of its workings.

If time travel were possible, perhaps a lot of things will change, and a lot of questions of the past will be answered. Whether this will be beneficial to society is another question, and perhaps one that has no specific answer.

Word count: 556 

Those pink socks

4. These items must be included: a new pair of socks, a historical landmark, a spork (the combination of spoon and fork frequently seen among airline flatware), a domesticated animal, and the complete works of William Shakespeare.

In the darkest of dark winter nights, a single candle gave light to the room. The rays of light crept along the bookshelves, reflecting themselves off the objects, before fading away into the darkness. The ancient manuscript’s faded pages were given new life under the candle light; the faces of the creatures came to life and danced along the pages as the light shone down upon them.

In the midst of this apparent shrine to the written works of mankind sat a little girl. Whether the girl could read or not did not matter: the power of the books was overwhelming.  She felt at home in the British Library, a feeling she had only once had before. All that she had to associate with that feeling were blurred memories of sunny days, a country house, and hay fields. It had been a long time since that feeling had taken 

hold of her.

She had no memories of how she found her way to British Library.  All she knew was that since she had woken up yesterday evening, she had been there. The books were her only company.  The size of the room was a mystery to her, as the candle did not illuminate the entire space. She was curious, yet the fear of the unknown kept her from exploring the building.

As she gazed up towards the bookshelves, she saw the same pattern repeated over and over again. She did not realize that it was the name “William Shakespeare”, or that she was looking at his complete works. She stood up and made her way towards one of the books.

She gently placed her hand on its side, and then slipped it out of the shelf.  As she opened it, an image of an animal head on a man greeted her.  It mesmerized her.  The animal was known to her. The old memories of the country house brought up images of this animal as well. She used to play with it, feed it, and it would carry bricks around. It had four legs, a brownish mane ran along its neck, and it had similar brownish hair at the end of its tale. Don. Donk. Donke. DONKEY! The name came back to her.

She was looking at William Shakespeares Midsummer’s Night Dream, but obliviously.  A tinge, a pain, cold brought her back to her present surroundings. Her memories disappeared for a moment, and all she could think of were socks. Hadn’t she bought socks?

“Tring-Tring-Tring.” A sound pierced into the fog of her dream. She became conscious of the blanket that covered her, the bed in which she lay, the familiar surroundings that made up her bedroom.  She slowly opened her eyes to the cold, December morning light that filtered in through the window and illuminated the room. Her feet were sticking out of her blanket, the tinge, the pain, the cold suddenly made sense.

She slowly, sloppily, extended her left-arm and felt the alarm clock. Automatically, as if by some unconscious reaction, her fingers pressed the “off” button. The same fingers then made their way towards her eyes and rubbed them.

She sat up and looked around the room. The dream already began to dwindle into the depths of her mind. Her eyes spotted the pink socks she had bought yesterday; they were right next to the bowl with last night’s dinner and the spork.

Her mother’s voice called out to her from somewhere in the house. She did not need to hear the words to know what was being asked of her: it was time for her to come down for breakfast, the only meal they ate together.

She jumped out of bed, grabbed the socks and put them on. She quickly grabbed the bowl and spork and leapt across the room. Her hands touched the door-knob, and turned it. One foot, then the other made its way into the wide world outside her bedroom. She was gone. 

Word count: 696

Linden trees and conversation

29. Tell us about a conversation you’ve had that changed your perspective or was otherwise meaningful to you. (Stanford)

The green linden trees where in bloom. The delicious scent of Schnitzel wafted out of the kitchen. Grey thunder clouds were gathering in the sky. The scholer was fizzing away. The Biergarten was filled with life.

A regular customer would have walked in, taken a seat at one of the wooden benches, order their regular meal, and not noticed anything particular about the day, except perhaps the ladies sitting on one of the tables. One of them often ate at the Biergarten, but the other three had never been there before.  The four women gave a spectator a glimpse into three generations.

But this all seemed irrelevant to the women at the table, as they were captivated by their own conversation, especially the youngest- me.  We had gone to meet one of my mother’s friends and role-models, I will simply refer to her as W. Despite the age gap between them, they still got along remarkably well. My aunt and I came along as it was a great privilege to meet W.

W had started her own NGO, after retirement, and then went on to wholeheartedly dedicate over 30 years of her life to this project. I have immense respect for her. But the conversation under the linden trees in the Bavarian Biergarten did not have much to do with her NGO. Instead, it was about her life, and childhood.

She grew up in a world very different from mine, in a time when carriages were still sometimes seen on roads, when food was grown in farms, when the map of Europe had just been re-drawn after the Great War, and when India was still the crown Jewel of the British Empire.

The conversation left an impact on me. I realized how little we could truly take for granted in this world.  I personally believe that my country will always be there, and I will always be part of it. In some ways that may be true, but then again, a country is constantly changing. Wars redraw political maps, and nations fight for independence.

Once upon a time, Prussia was an essential part of Germany, yet today a great part of Prussia belongs to other countries. Someone might have once been German, and today they are Polish. They belong to a new nation, and have a new identity.

Sitting in the Biergarten that afternoon, I realized life might change, there may be good times and there may be bad ones, but as long as you have an optimistic attitude and try to be the best person you can, everything might just turn out to be alright.

It is easier to say such things, than actually put the words into action. Being in the presence of person who achieved this, made me realize that it is possible.  As W went on telling her stories, I found myself imagining what it must have been like to live through a World War, and then start-up a new life.  It must have been no easy task, but W never showed any of the burdens that her life had presented her with.

Instead, she helped the people around her, and her NGO was another way through which she was able to go on handing a helping hand to people. The conversation was meaningful to me as it inspired me to live my life in a more purposeful manner. It is easy to be consumed by one’s own troubles, but there is so much one can do with one’s life, therefore one should try to do as much as one can with it.

A spectator may have just seen four women eating lunch under the linden in the Biergarten, yet for me it was much more than an ordinary lunch. It was an inspirational afternoon that influenced my views on life. As the scholer was fizzing away, my perspective on life was being influenced by a remarkable person, W.

Word count: 668

My favorite cake

Cakes mean different things to different people. The word may bring up an image of a chocolate cake in some people’s minds, where as it might make some people think of Chinese moon cakes.  According to the Oxford dictionary, a cake is an item of soft sweet food made from a mixture of flour, fat, eggs, sugar, and other ingredients, baked and sometimes iced or decorated.

According to me, a cake is the same thing. But a cake is not only an object that fills the stomach; it is also something that carries meaning and memories. White icing and stacked cakes conjure up images of weddings, their extravagance, and happy couples. Chocolate cakes bring to my mind Sacha-Torten, birthday parties, and fancy restaurants.

Cakes are a platform for creativity. Pretty much any combination of ingredients can be put into a cake, and in various different ratios. Ok, the combinations of ingredients that can be put into a cake are limited; I am not sure whether chicken or oysters would make a good cake! Then again, they might just.

As much as a cake depends on an individual’s choice of ingredients, an individual’s taste also dictates what cakes that person will like. Some people love strawberry cakes, with lots of cream and sugar, whereas others prefer solid flavors like vanilla, or chocolate. How can one ever decide what the best cake is?

German bakeries or Baeckereien are filled with wonderful arrays of delicious cakes. In summer months, the fruits take a dominant role in what is baked. Zwetschgendatschi, Aprikosen Kuchen, Himber Torten, and Erdbeer Kuchen are just some of the fruit cakes that make summers marvelous. In the winter and autumn, other cakes become dominant. Each season has its own specialty. The sweet scents of delicious baked goods that waft out of Baeckereien and into streets make you feel happy, and make your mouth water.

Personally, I do not think that I have a favorite cake. It all depends on my mood, time of year, and where I am. At certain moments, I get cravings for chocolate cakes, but then at other moments, all I can think of is delicious light summery tarts. Each of these cakes brings different images to my minds.

When I think of apple crumble or apple cake, images of rainy days come to my mind; the reason being that the local apple season coincided with the rainy season. My mother is an excellent baker, if I say so myself. I was lucky enough to be spoilt with delicious cakes as a child. I would sit in the kitchen and watch her break eggs, weigh flour, weigh and melt butter, weigh sugar, and then mix all of the ingredients, step-by-step, into a big bowl.

Then my mother would take out a baking pan, swiftly grease it, and pour the mix in. The next 30 minutes or so (depending on how long it would take for the cake to bake) would be torture. I would occupy myself doing some sort of work while the sweet scent of a delicious cake would make my mouth water. The moment the cake came out of the oven, I would stand there and welcome it into the world.

Then there was another period of waiting. I was told “hot cakes give children stomach aches.” I do not know if that is actually true, but I diligently listened to my mother, and waited for the cake to cool. Sometimes I would nibble are the rim, testing it, and mentally critiquing it.

Once enough time had passed, and the cake was cool, I could finally have a slice! Most of the time, cake was accompanied by tea. I do not remember every single cake my mother baked for me, yet all of the cakes, together, have created warm memories. Some stick out, like the first time I tried an apple cake (which soon became a favorite), or a strawberry tart with a gelatin glaze. The gelatin glaze on top of the sponge cake was red, and filled with strawberries. I found the cake fascinating, the way the gelatin glaze magically balanced on top of the sponge cake and most of all, the strawberries that floated in the sea of red gelatin.

             

          Cake is wonderful, as it means different things to individuals. It can bring up memories, happy or sad, it comes in different tastes and flavors, and, of course, it fills the stomach.

Word count: 739

Redzepi

"I had no idea that I would be cooking. One of my friends started catering school so I thought 'OK I'll start that', and then on the second day of school there was a competition where you will be judged on taste and appearance. And you know when you are at that age, your biggest decision is whether to play soccer that afternoon, but for some reason I took it very seriously." – Rene Redzepi

http://in.reuters.com/article/2010/04/27/us-food-chefs-redzepi-sb-idINTRE63Q3JU20100427

    

  Rene Redzepi is the chef of Noma, which is supposed to be the best restaurant in the world. Located in Denmark, Noma became famous for its unique ingredients. Chef Rene Redzepi only uses Scandinavian products to create amazing dishes.  This gives his cooking and the restaurant an edge, as it is unique, innovative, and apparently delicious!

     

 High School is the one of the times in life when decision need to be made. University is the next big step ahead of a student, but it isn’t an easy one. First of all, students are pressurized to get good grades, and discover their talents.  Secondly, somehow, they are expected to decide what major they would like to take and which university they want to attend. Along with this, they need to balance everything else, and keep calm.

     

As Redzepi said, “[the] biggest decision is whether to play soccer that afternoon” or not. The future is there, looming ahead, yet the present is also important.  It is important for students to find a balance because the future is the future, and the present is now.  Being happy in the present will carry a happy you into the future.

     

Rene Redzepi followed a friend into the cooking profession, but it turned out to be the right decision. Cooking is about creativity, it is an art. Some people say that feelings can be transferred into the food that is made, if a person is happy the food will taste better than when the person is upset. I am not sure if I really agree with that thought, but I do believe that cooking depends on an individual. No two people will make the exact same meal; it will always have a unique touch.

     

What I admire about Redzepi is his attitude towards food. He believes in local produce, even though at times it may limit the food that he can make. He sticks to what he believes in, and works around the difficulties in innovative ways. 

Word count: 406