Process Writing

Since high school, writing has become very hard for me. Perhaps because now my pieces are held to a higher standard, or because the subject matter is more complicated, but I can't whip out papers the night before like I could back then (ah, those were the days). Aside from my memoir, which came pretty easily because I tell most of those stories often—especially my mango story—the other pieces of this class were extremely difficult to even get onto paper, much less revise. Food journalism is not something that I've ever done before, and developing a sense of tastes and textures and spices was a difficult process, and honestly hasn't completely come to me in full. My biggest breakthrough this quarter was the shift from the chronological. It's a hard habit to break, but I think I'm finally coming out of my A to B shell.

Although over the past ten weeks I have changed somewhat as a writer, I have been transformed as an eater. This may be the first class that I've taken that has addressed a social issue that hits so close to home (which is surprising, considering I attend Kalamazoo College). I will carry this information with me for the rest of my life, and continue reading advocacy journalism pieces on the issue.

Part Three of Restaurant Review

After having anticipated, written, and revised my restaurant review I have a few regrets. First and foremost, I wish that I'd had a different waiter, or the money to go multiple times; Although the other servers working while I was there weren't nearly as enthusiastic as Paul had been, I know that Nora and Emily had positive experiences and that was really what I was expecting from Zooroona. Furthermore, I was hoping that my vegetarianism would make little difference at Zooroona, however, it limited my menu options substantially and I don't feel as though my review is truly comprehensive, unless I were writing it for a vegetarian-only audience or something like that.

Our discussions on the words "Latino" and "Hispanic" aided me a lot in understanding some of my other, less outright expectations of the restaurant. While we were there, my friend said to me, "Does it come across as strange to you that most people working here are surprisingly…white?" I had agreed. Hailing from Dearborn, my friend was probably very used to seeing people of Middle Eastern descent in restaurants featuring Middle Eastern cuisine, but for me, also, the group of people working there had seemed strange. Since then, however, I have realized that it's unfair to judge those people and their right to work in a Middle Eastern restaurant when really it's the mindset that matters most. When it came down to it, however, our server still didn't have the sense of hospitality I expected, and his service was still a disappointment.

Restaurant Review-Revised

Zoroona: A Tired Staff Fails to Deliver

The Mandwee brothers, owners of Tiffany's Wine Shoppe opened Zooroona restaurant and lounge a year and a half ago, offering Middle Eastern cuisine and an entryway into the culture of the Middle East and North Africa. Several tables require customers to sit on the floor while they eat, yet Zooroona still caters to the standards of American dining by offering tables and booths. The dining room contains a large metal sculpture of a tree, stretching across nearly half the ceiling, one wall features a mural of dancers in the desert, and from the ceiling hang dozens of lighting fixtures, each one different than the light beside it, beautiful individually but the complexity and number of stained glass panels and sculpted metal frames made the array gaudy. The music was the only element of the restaurant that wasn't intrusive. The décor is overwhelming, a hyperbole of dining in the Middle East meant to satisfy the American desire for extremes and overstimulation.
The warm pita with thick but creamy hummous served in a bowl half-full of olive oil, and the dark brown, hard falafel with a green, soft interior of chickpeas serves as a distraction from the smothering atmosphere. Each plate is garnished with colorful beets and pickles, as good to eat as they are to look at. The abundance of olive oil gives the food a moistness and smoothness without overwhelming flavor or the guilty conscience brought on by grease.
As our waiter recommended, I ordered the Spinach Cheese Pie, but questioned his motives when the plate came out with a square slab of pie on it, obviously a dish prepared in a big pan beforehand and microwaved for individual orders. The pie was just as it seemed to be, full of spinach and cheese, delicious in the way that a slab of melted cheese is delicious, but not much more complex than that. Luckily, its method of preparation by microwave allowed for optimal leftovers, tasting almost exactly as it had in the restaurant. Good news, since the heavy dish would take me days to consume.
When the restaurant first opened, servers, hosts, and the owners all loved to talk about the renovations made to the building, plans for belly dancers and live music on the pseudo-stage near the mural, and the inspirations for starting the restaurant. Guests were invited to relax as they ate, drawing on the emphasis on hospitality. Renowned for their hospitality, the Middle East gives priority to the comfort of their guests. The name "Zooroona: Restaurant and Lounge" demonstrates this value on accommodation and friendliness.
During those first few months of business, one server, Paul, sat down at our table to explain his recent conversion to Islam, although it was a busy Saturday night, and toward the end of our meal Paul showed us how to properly pour the Turkish coffee into the cups—explaining that bubbles should form while pouring and that we shouldn't drink the contents on the bottom of the kettle for fear of drinking grounds. In the beginning, employees were still excited about working under the welcoming ideologies set forth by the Mandwee brothers—Zooroona itself being a word that means "come visit us" in Arabic.
A year and a half later, the excitement is gone. This server, instead of honoring the fashion of courses, did not wait until we had finished our appetizers before bringing entrees. He littered our table with new plates among half-finished old ones, resulting in an uncomfortably crowded table (a phenomenon I haven't experienced since eating at Texas Corral). His hurriedness—either from trying to turn his table before the dinner rush or from inability to time when to enter orders into the kitchen—ruined the experience. He is a tall, somewhat chunky, white man with ray-ban glasses who, although he spoke in polite terms, does not embrace the values of generosity as Paul did, and receives no high marks for hospitality.
The manager, too, stood behind the bar stocking glasses, hardly even observing the poor work of his staff. Takeout may be the best option when dining at Zooroona, because the food is the only good thing about the place.

Secret Ingredients

Anthony Bourdain is an asshole. The fantastic writing found in Bourdain's A Cook's Tour, though incredibly entertaining, could not hide the snobby jerk behind the pen. In Secret Ingredients, however, his article was the only one that I could stand reading. Having worked in a restaurant, Bourdain's article, "Don't Eat Before Reading This" made me laugh out loud, while the other articles came off as snooty and stuck up (although I guess that's what I should have expected reading something published by the New Yorker). The French words were overwhelming and the characters seemed unreal. Who flies to France to eat at a restaurant? No one I know. Yet plenty of people work at restaurants, and even more people eat at them. The audience for most of the reviews in the New Yorker's Secret Ingredients was a group of people with whom I spend little time. And furthermore, who could care about restaurant reviews after reading Omnivore's Dilemma, anyway? It all seems so pointless.

Omnom II

Part two of Michael Pollan's Omnivore's Dilemma explores the alternatives to industrial food, including organic, local, and industrial-organic. It was quite disappointing to discover how little the word "organic" means, and to see how many organic farms have thrown their initial organic spirits to the wind in their movement toward more industrial means and methods. The section itself, compared to part I of Omnivore's Dilemma came as a partial relief. Also refreshing was Michael Pollan's lack of bias, I didn't feel as though he was pushing me toward one agenda or another.

After the initial glimpse of Polyface Farms, and after having heard from my friends how wonderful this part of the book is, I found myself very frustrated in reading the organic section of part II. It all seems so hopeless. Organic seemed great before but now in stores I read the label, "organic" as, "sellout." Whereas organic food used to stand in opposition to its industrial counterpart, the two have somehow collided, arguing that small-time organic can't feed the masses, and we must make concessions. No. If the most sustainable lifestyle cannot feed the massive amount of people in America (and on the planet) then the problem is the sheer number of our population. From a humanitarian perspective, I do believe that all people have the right to live, however, from an environmentalist perspective, the earth and her resources cannot support 7 billion people, and we as humans cannot feed those 7 billion without turning to industrial practices.

Joel Salatin's Polyface Farms, for instance, employs a system as similar to nature as possible while still being efficient (in the way that most businessmen define the word efficient). However, that farm takes up a whole lot of space! Joel Salatin points out that not only does his farm include the acreage covered by his fields and pastures, but also the untouched wooded area around the farm. Considering that the food produced on Salatin's farm can only feed 100 or so people, 7 billion people cannot feed themselves that way.

I also found myself getting very angry with my mother for taking us to the grocery store to buy produce when, living in Michigan, there are several fruit stands and farms nearby that sell local food seven days a week and we could have been eating more delicious, more sustainable food all along. Although I can't make many food decisions while eating from the cafeteria, this summer at home, things are going to change.

Zooroona: A Tired Staff Fails to Deliver

The Mandwee brothers, owners of Tiffany's Wine Shoppe opened Zooroona restaurant and lounge a year and a half ago, offering authentic Middle Eastern cuisine for a reasonable price and an entranceway into the culture of the Middle East and North Africa. Several tables require customers to sit on the floor while they eat, yet standard tables and booths are still available. The dining room contains a large metal sculpture of a tree, stretching across nearly half the ceiling, one wall features a mural of dancers in the desert, and from the ceiling hang dozens of lighting fixtures, each beautiful but gaudy, different from any around it. The music was the only element of the restaurant that wasn't intrusive. Needless to say the décor is overwhelming, a hyperbole of dining in the Middle East meant to satisfy the American desire for extremes and overstimulation.

The food itself was delicious: warm pita with thick but creamy hummous served in a bowl half-full of olive oil, dark brown, hard falafel with a green, soft interior of chickpeas. Each plate was garnished with colorful beets and pickles, as good to eat as they are to look at. The abundance of olive oil gave the food a moistness without overwhelming flavor or the guilty conscious of grease.

As our waiter recommended, I ordered the Spinach Cheese Pie, but questioned his motives when my plate came out with a square slab of pie on it, obviously a dish prepared in a big pan beforehand and microwaved for individual orders. The pie was just as it seemed to be, full of spinach and cheese, delicious in its greasy splendor but only good for three or four bites, and tainted by my wondering how many days ago the pan had been prepared. Its method of preparation by microwave, however, allowed for optimal leftovers, tasting almost exactly as it had in the restaurant. Good news, since the heavy dish would take me days to consume. However, the service at Zooroona was as horrible as the food was delicious. When the restaurant first opened, servers, hosts, and the owners all loved to talk about the renovations made to the building, plans for belly dancers and live music on the pseudo-stage near the mural, and the inspirations for starting the restaurant. Guests were invited to relax as they ate, drawing on the emphasis on hospitality.

Our server, Paul, sat down at our table with us to explain his recent conversion to Islam, although it was a busy Saturday night, and toward the end of our meal Paul showed us how to properly pour the Turkish coffee into the cups—explaining that bubbles should form while pouring and that we shouldn't drink the contents on the bottom of the kettle for fear of drinking grounds. In the beginning, employees were still excited about working under the welcoming ideologies set forth by the Mandwee brothers—Zooroona itself being a word that means "come visit us" in Arabic.
A year and a half later, the excitement is gone. Our server, instead of honoring the fashion of courses, did not wait until we had finished our appetizers before bringing entrees, but littered our table with new plates among half-finished old ones, resulting in an uncomfortably crowded table (a phenomenon I haven't experienced since eating at Texas Corral). His hurriedness—either from trying to turn his table before the dinner rush or from inability to time when to enter orders into the kitchen—ruined the experience. He was a tall, somewhat chunky, white man with ray-ban glasses who, although he spoke in polite terms, clearly treated his job as a job (not an adventure), his coworkers and coworkers (not family), and his customers as customers (not friends).
The manager, too, stood behind the bar stocking glasses, hardly even observing the poor work of his staff. I suggest ordering for takeout, because the food is the only good thing about Zooroona.

The Expectation and Anticipation

While growing up in St. Joseph—a small and overwhelmingly white town—my family ate out mostly at Ponderosa, Pizza Hut, or Big Boy. (Disgusting in retrospect.) If we were hungry for something a little different, we ate Chinese takeout, Greek Gyros or Americanized-Mexican, being that those were the only foreign cuisines in our town of 9,000. Since coming to Kalamazoo I've fallen in love with Indian and Thai food, eating almost exclusively at either Saffron or Thai Cuisine when eating out (if you don't count Taco Bell, that is).
Last fall, when I was new to Kalamazoo, my mother, her boyfriend, her boyfriend's brother, my brother, and I tried to eat at Saffron, but finding it closed, ate at Zooroona instead. At that point they had just opened, and it showed: the metal tree sculpture above us was only half-finished, they were without a liquor license, and the lighting was rather inadequate. The service, however, was incredible. Although they were fairly busy on this Saturday night, both the host and the manager came by during our meal to ask how things were going, and toward the end of our meal our waiter, Paul, sat down with us to explain his conversion to Islam. I don't remember much about the food of the meal aside from the Turkish coffee and Baklava, but I remember them fondly. Paul showed us how to properly pour the coffee into the cups—explaining that bubbles should form while pouring and that we shouldn't drink the contents on the bottom of the kettle for fear of drinking grounds.
Since then, I ate at Shawarma King with a big group of my friends, and although the food was good, the waitress seemed unwilling to take orders for each of us, and encouraged everyone to eat from the buffet. I was unimpressed. After spending this summer working as a busser for Timothy's Restaurant in Union Pier, as a cook for Cravings Catering in Stevensville, and as a barista for Bearclaw Coffee Company in St. Joseph, I am very aware of all of the components of restaurant life and business, the stress of cooking, and the careful art of customer service. Because of this knowledge, I can recognize the immense work that waiters and waitresses put into their jobs, and I tip heavily for a job well done, but I also have become less forgiving for poor service.