From kindergarten to high school, I have always attributed my popularity status to the lunches my mom made me everyday. Forget about those Lunchables, Gushers or Fruit Roll-ups – whether I was eating carefully crafted sandwich wraps, extravagant salads or homemade banana bread, I always had the best meal at the table. Everyone wanted a bite, everyone snagged a piece and everyone sat and stared as I cleaned my plate, or rather emptied my lunch bag. If there was a senior superlative for “consumes the best food,” this girl right here would have been the reigning champ. But needless to say, those glory days are over.
I grew up in a family of people who know how to cook. Nan makes her famous eggplant parmigiana, Grandma cooks hearty soups, Dad’s lasagna is unbelievable and nothing beats Mom’s homemade tomato sauce. Cooking had always seemed second nature, a language that I am more than fluent in – so when I came to college wouldn’t you think I would carry those skills and traditions along with me? What a joke.
As I roll out of bed at six in the morning, the last thing I care about is what I will be eating seven hours from then. I pull on my clothes, grab my jacket and steal a Pop Tart as I head out the door to co-op. Drivers swerve angrily into opposite lanes as I speed down Interstate 90 in the hopes of having enough time to buy a Dunkaccino before my work day begins. I count down the minutes until my lunch hour so I can stand in line for a mediocre burnt panini and a bag of pretzels. Then stumble my way to the fridge when I get home to scarf down a dinner of chips and salsa.
If I’m lucky, I’ll find the time to get a burrito at Boloco or soup and salad at Panera Bread – those are treats. But in general, I’m pretty sure I ate more well-rounded meals when I went to the dining hall each night as a freshman – at least then I would have some vegetables every now and again.
“I made cream of cauliflower soup last night,” says my co-worker, Stephanie, as she lays out her silverware from home and heats up her homemade organic leftovers. The night before she roasted beets and parsnips, sometimes she even makes crème brûlée from scratch with her friends.
I sit there in silence, unable to brag about the four quesadillas I ate for dinner with a side of hummus and Weight Watchers ice cream.
“I know of this delicious chicken stew recipe,” my other co-worker, Rebecca, remarks.
If co-op has taught me anything so far, besides the rules of Chicago-style writing and how to address a military official, I have learned that just because you’re a 20-something-year-old college student, it doesn’t mean that you can’t cook yourself a proper meal.
I work in an office full of “foodies,” which is great because not only are they people I can relate to, but the excitement in the office revolves around the next pot-luck. We end our weekly office meetings reminiscing over cooking endeavors of fabulous Scandinavian desserts or asking what happened on the last night’s episode of “The Taste.” I actually knew I had the job when my supervisor asked me about a cake I had blogged about on a summer dialogue, after inquiring about who my favorite writer was.
I became inspired. That week at the grocery store instead of reaching for the usual junk food that filled my kitchen cupboards, I headed down the produce and gourmet aisles, picking up leafy greens and fresh meats, seasonings and aged cheese – then spent my whole weekend snowed in and cooking.
One night I made linguine with fresh peas, sautéed mushrooms and fried pancetta in a red sauce. Another night I grilled turkey burgers topped with fresh arugula, baby bean sprouts, feta cheese and peach and mango jam. Giada De Laurentiis had nothing on me, Ina Garten was jealous and Paula Dean was probably wishing I added more butter. Mom would be proud. I marched into work the next week able to take part in our lunchtime discussions as I ate my leftover masterpieces and my co-workers drooled over my adventurous recipes. And once again, I was the popular kid at lunch.
-Christina Bivona can be reached at [email protected].
