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February on Commonwealth Avenue means spring break is still far off, and we are all still hard at work; but that doesn’t mean we can’t take a breather to appreciate the goings-on just 3,000 miles west on sunnier shores. Award Season has begun, and last night the 51st Grammy Awards did not disappoint — at least where gossip is concerned. Like most Tinseltown soirees, the Grammys were chock full of performances, drama, and of course stylists we’d love to hire — and stylists who should be fired, immediately. Although there were some disastrous dresses, my biggest qualm with the Grammys 2009? I don’t know when the biggest event in the music industry became the likes of a middle school talent show, but every time I looked up at the TV I saw yet another pre-pubescent tween on stage, oddly enough, presenting awards to the likes of Robert Plant of Led Zeppelin — whom they’ve probably never heard of. Putting my own personal problems with Myley Cyrus aside, what follows is a recap if you missed last night’s event.
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It is said that each generation has a defining moment. For some generations, there are many such moments. For our generation, Jan. 20, 2009, is the first historic moment. Whether you are a die-hard Republican in Boca cursing the “Arab-liberal”, or an impassioned student wearing your Obama pins and “Yes We Can” t-shirts, where we stood on Obama’s historic inauguration will be etched in our minds as a moment none of us will be able to forget. For one, you didn’t really have much choice but to watch — even Law & Order wasn’t airing during Obama’s ceremony. Second, the Obama administration marks a shift in our country, our culture and our society for what I believe to be the better. And not because he’s a black man either, but because he is a man that will mold the next era of what is to become of American Nationalism.
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It is that time of year again, when any COM student with friends in other colleges can see one of the glowing benefits to the ‘College of Optional Math’ (COM). As Sargent doctor wannabes and CAS students schlep around books to study for final exams, you will find that COM students are usually carrying little more than a smile, or the occasional tripod. I can only speak for journalism, because that is all I know, but exam week justifies to me all the nonsense projects and video packages that I produce all semester.
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Here’s the thing about BU… it’s small. It literally is a narrow campus, and as such, it is almost impossible to walk from one end of Commonwealth Avenue to the other without some form of awkward interaction. Sometimes someone new and interesting will catch your eye. Sometimes you’ll run into people you miss and haven’t seen in weeks. More often than not, however, in the small school of more than 10 colleges and 16,000 undergraduate students, you will run into the one person you have tried to forget even goes here. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve deleted both of his numbers, PINs and screen-names, there is always Comm. Ave. to muck everything up.
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The Counting Crows once said, “You Don’t Know What You’ve Got ‘Til It’s Gone”. (Editor’s Note: In another era, so did Cinderella.) This week, never were words so true. I am in San Diego, at the University of California, San Diego – land of “the most beautiful weather in the world”, Mystic spray tan and Greek Life extravaganza. At first, I was very much looking forward to leaving Boston — and all my complaints that go along with Beantown. Now, after 72 hours of sunshine, I never thought I would ever say this, and I mean ever: I Miss Home.
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Eerg! Eerg! Eerg! Eerg! — I wake up in a haze. All I can see is the blurred red “8:30″ blinking in my face. I close my eyes tight, and open them to see the blinking red spots burned on the ceiling. Sunday morning, 8:30, – why in god’s name is there an alarm going off within 50 feet of me, nevertheless on my nightstand? How is it when I need an alarm for a 9 a.m. class, it never goes off. However, on this particular Sunday morning (after only getting home hours before) my alarm decides to work. Proof that God does have a chosen people, and despite my being Jewish, I am not in that select group. Thinking this early morning mishap must be a mistake, I pull the plug on the alarm and go back to sleep.
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The College Foodie is a rare find. First, to those asking, ‘What is a foodie?’ A Foodie is one who loves great food. Were not talking Rice-A-Roni, mozzarella sticks and the like. Think more along the lines of tuna tartare, or lobster fra diavolo, or something as simple as perfectly cooked steak. Even as I write this at an hour far too early to be hungry for any of those dishes, I am salivating. If you’re reading this column and you are salivating, too? Guess what: you’re probably a fellow foodie.
So why is the college foodie a rare find? Well for starters, many students prefer to spend their money other ways. For those living on campus? One Word: Micro-fridge. Believe me, I lived with a micro-fridge for just one year, and I am still trying to get over it. And while those may be two real excuses as to why you find yourself miserably eating cup-a-soup day in and day out… I am going to call b.s. on that one. In life, wherever you go, there you are. As such, foodies can flourish even in the face of dining-hall adversity. To get what you want (in this case to eat) takes a little persistence and creativity. Proof? Circa 2004 I found myself in boarding school, upstate New
York. While we had a dining hall, it was so sub-par that I am not convinced it wasn’t secretly promoting anorexia. So what did I do? I gathered the fellow food lovers and forced my friends to join me in starting “The Cooking Club”. We made our own recipes, revamped the entire school’s menu and made everything from MatzoBall soup to Marsala. Let’s just say, no one was complaining, and yes, our aprons do say “I’m a Phatty – Who’s Your Daddy”.
I tell you this story for one reason: we are far better off in Boston and BU than we ever were in middle of nowhere NY, otherwise known as Albany. As such, I will help you get the ball rolling on your own ‘cooking club’ with some recipes that even the frugal foodie, or the domestically challenged (such as myself) can make.
Parmesan Crusted Dijon Chicken Strips aka Wasser Chicken by my roommates :
Ingredients: Thin Sliced Chicken Strips (Or you can buy thin sliced breast and cut the tenders yourself), 1 egg, Dijon mustard, bread crumbs, Parmesan cheese (not the powered kind, get the grated) and olive oil. (Buying all the ingredients listed shouldn’t cost more than $15.)
1. In a bowl, crack the egg and mix it with Dijon mustard. Put as much in as you like, the more mustard, the more Dijon flavor you’ll get.
2. Put the chicken in the bowl with the egg and Dijon.
3. On a plate, combine the bread crumbs and Parmesan cheese.
4. Put olive oil in a pan and begin to heat the pan.
5. Take the egg/Dijon coated chicken, and coat the chicken in the bread crumb/Parmesan mixture.
6. Put the chicken in the pan, flipping it occasionally until all sides are browned and the chicken is cooked through, (usually takes between 5 and 7 minutes)
7. Enjoy!
Really Simple Risotto:
People always say risotto is hard to make… well that’s simply just not true. It does take time however, so
if you’re in a hurry, I’d skip this one. If you have 40 minutes however, you will not be sorry. Ingredients: Arborio Rice, mushrooms/asparagus (whatever vegetables you like really), Parmesan cheese (again the grated), cooking wine or for the 21+ crowd, I always use what I have so either Chardonnay or Champagne, chicken stock and if you want to get extra fancy, White Truffle Oil (which truly can make all the difference).
1. In a high-sided pan, saute your vegetables.
2. Once the veggies are cooked, add one cup of rice (or enough to make a layer at the bottom of the pan) along with a ladle or two of chicken stock and your wine, to make a layer above the rice.
3. Wait for the rice to absorb all the liquid, and repeat until the rice is cooked.
4. Add one cup of Parmesan cheese.
5. If you chose to go for the truffle oil, sprinkle it on sparingly once the cheese has been mixed in.
6. Serve and Enjoy!
Hope this helps! I will try to come up with some micro-fridge friendly meals but for those who want to completely stay out of the kitchen, and still be a frugal foodie? Try Carlo’s Cucina Italiana. Better than any Italian you’ll find in the North End and walking distance from West Campus. Located on Brigton Avenue between Linden Street and Harvard Avenue, it is most definitely a place not to be missed, where 20 bucks will take you far.
If I had to sum up my college experience thus far in one word, I would use “growth”. If I had two words I’d also throw in “change”. My BU experience in three words: growth by change. I remember being a senior in high school — building my future, while all the while trying to savor what’s left of the moment. It’s like straddling two worlds; there’s the world you’re living in and the world you’re planning to live in. It’s a series of choices, of opportunities being presented to you, and it’s a time when change is happening whether you think you’re ready or not.
When I came to Boston University, I was a freshman with no direction. Thankfully, I enrolled in CGS where there was no rush to decide on majors, but to be honest, the most major thing I wanted to decide on at the time was lunch. I had horrible bangs and grandiose plans as to where I’d be in 10 years, i.e. St. Tropez with Beyoncé, and the like – yet, no plan as to how I was getting there. Mistaking my daydreams as drive, I suddenly found that almost everyone else in my classroom had the same drive as I did. Shocked and stunned that everyone else thought they too were next on Elton John’s invite list, the time came for me to make decisions about matters other than lunch. Change set in, and I grew.
As a sophomore and junior, I broke out of the freshman bubble. I was surrounded by upperclassmen who had their professional lives within reach. They were motivated, and driven by things other than caprese salad. My classmates came from different backgrounds and some had to work harder than I did to earn a spot in the classroom. It was then that I realized that hard work was not so cliché, but rather a necessity, and my college goals went from two Coronas short of Girls Gone Wild to two pantsuits away from sharing a wardrobe with Hilary Clinton. I also grew out those ridiculous bangs. Once again, life changed, and I grew.
Now here I am, four years after I started this educational expedition. I’ve held internships at NBC, Glamour Magazine and The Tyra Banks Show. I moved into my first apartment and built a home with friends who’ve become family. Three spring breaks, six finals’ weeks and at least 10 lost Terrier cards later I’ve come full circle, right to where I started. Facing choices, and opportunities, and anticipating change whether I’m ready for it, or not. Which makes me think maybe this cycle is not just for the soon-to-be collegiate or the soon-to-leave collegiate, but rather the constant butterflies in your stomach is simply life.
As much as I’ve learned in four years, such as extra-wide bell-bottoms should be left to Cher, and dark eyed brunettes should never go platinum blond, I can, more importantly, walk away knowing one thing:
The only constant in life, is change. And on the flip side of change, is growth.
In light of the race for the pennant, I am coming out of the closet – I am not a sports fan. To simply say that I’m not a fan truly does not do justice to my distaste for sports that I have been harboring as a Bostonian now for the past three years.
OK there. I said it. Now pick your jaw up off the floor and hold in your ‘gasps’ and let me explain. Upon telling a friend of mine who is like most Bostonians, a sports fan[atic], he looked at me wide-eyed, as if the future of our friendship was tethered to my response, and said, “well surely there is something you like about some sport…. somewhere”. And well,no, there isn’t.
Baseball, despite the player’s brag-worthy backsides, takes a long time and the players spit way too often. The only good thing about soccer is it has a running clock. Football? A bunch of grown men in matching spandex dog piling one another first on the 10, and wait… same thing on the 20 and so on? Check Please. Basketball makes me wish I were taller, wrestling makes me hungry, gymnasts make me anorexic… need I say more?
While some may think that living with this set of beliefs is just a walk in the park – anyone who believes that has never lived in Boston. Jerseys in the classrooms, hats at the GSU, little B’s and odd looking leprechauns literally winking at you around ever corner. Try going to a bar on game night. Your best bet is to stay home. You could walk around stark nude and not turn a single head – unless you have a caricature of Bill Belichick tattooed between your shoulder blades or a “this is for Big Papi” on your left buttocks.
So why am I telling you this? Well for starters, if you’re coming to Boston, are anything like me and would rather sip your soda sans “that went right to him!” shouting, then you’re going to need this:
“Screw the Sox: A Survival Guide for Those Who Care More About Red Pumps”
(Just a little book I came up with)
1. Fake It. I know that sounds hypocritical coming from me, but believe me, there is no conversation more irrational or mind-numbing than being brow beaten for your beliefs. The only thing that can take sports fans’ attention away from sports, is hearing how you too don’t pray 5 times a day to the Green Monster. You may curse the day Paul Peirce was born. Keep it to yourself.
2. Always have an answer. If you choose not to follow rule No. 1, be prepared to hear some of the most ridiculous reasoning for why said fan hasn’t changed their underwear in a week, or how sports brings the nation together, or other outlandish statements. When being confronted, it is necessary to fight fire with fire. I.E. To: “Sports has always saved our country… think back to the Great Depression… without sports, where would we be?” I say: “That was then. Prozac is now”
3. Stick to your guns. At the end of the day, just like what you like and know in your heart of hearts, you can never please a sports fan. Proof? Whether they win or they lose… they riot.
