1. 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)
Food: something that we eat every single day because we have always been taught to. But there is more to food than just eating. The comfort and satisfaction that one gets from enjoying different foods is pleasurably inscrutable. To my family, food is an important part of our culture and way of life. I am from Nepal, and unlike for most people around me, our way of eating is different. Especially when I came to Woodstock School, my friends would talk about these dishes and cuisines that were completely foreign to me. I tried to learn as much I could, but of course, home food always meant something more to me.
It was the middle of holidays when my patriotic father, who loves taking us out to new restaurants and wants us to “discover the beauty of our beloved nation,” suggested that we go outside to eat that Friday afternoon. I was all for it; I had been bored out of my bones all day and a dinner out sounded really good. My mother was up for it too, but hearing the description from my father, she was a little doubtful: he claimed that although the restaurant was a typical Nepali one, where they served typical Nepali food, the time, the visit, and the money was all worth it.
When my parents, my sister, and I arrived, at the entrance, there was a woman standing by the door, draped in bright red and green national attire, her hands, with mehendi painted on them, joined together to welcome us into the restaurant. We met our waiter for the evening shortly after, and he showed us to our seats in the balcony. From the balcony, you could see two big tables down below and the foreigners who were happily feasting away. The red and gold curtains that covered the walls and windows looked magnificent in the soft, yellow light. Just in front of the two long tables sat a small, wooden stage. On the corner of the stage sat a party of men, also dressed in the Nepali national clothes, holding traditional musical instruments: the bansuri (flute), the madal and the damaru (kinds of hand drums), and the Nepali Sarangi (a string instrument).
My brother had not accompanied us to dinner, so the four seats were perfect. We made ourselves comfortable while the waiter bought us the menu. As I skimmed through it, I saw that they had listed all the meals and dishes that we regularly ate at home. I followed the little dots leading up to the price, and that is when I got a small shock: Rs. 1500 for a Thali. (Let me enlighten you here for a minute. A thali is chicken or mutton, rice, yellow dal, spinach, two or three types of vegetables, and two different kinds of acchar or pickle all served together on a big thal, a big brass plate that usually is 40cm in diameter.) I should repeat to you that this is what we eat almost every day at home. When I pointed this out to my mother sitting beside me, her eyes widened scarily, reflecting off the light from the candle lit on the table. She looked at my father and made a disgusted face.
“I came here thinking that you were going to show your children something new, but this is what you want us to spend money on: something that we eat every day?” my mom asked furiously, shaking her head.
My father looked a little upset, but he added, “Look, it not just for the food. Every night they have a cultural dance here. And I just wanted the kids to see this because nowadays they seem so engrossed in their own worlds that they are not paying attention to the little details around them.”
My mom stared at him for a little longer, sighed, and went back to reading the menu. I snickered at my father who had a smile playing at his lips, and threw a quick wink at me.
When the waiter arrived to take our order, we did end up ordering four thalis. As we waited, the waiter served my parents with raksi, which is a traditional Tibetan and Nepali alcoholic drink. My father, happy to have his way, drank. And I mean drank.
As we ate to our hearts content (because it is like a buffet where you can eat as much as you like), the host on stage announced that it was time for the performances. We all turned towards the stage, and the performances began: one after the other, a couple or two would come up, and sing and dance to Nepali folk songs (and some of them, I am proud to say, I could easily sing along with). Under the stage lights, they looked magnificent and beautiful, gracefully swinging to the music made by the various instruments on stange. I watched happily, feeling lucky to be there that night.
As we returned home in the car, I thought about what an evening it had been. It helped me realize what an excellent culture I come from and how much I have to be proud of. Although the food was something I was extremely familiar with, the atmosphere, together with performances, gave me a new sense of patriotism as well as a realization: there was too much in my motherland that I still had to discover.
