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In the weeks following spring break, I’ve been struck, yet again, by constant hankerings for the flavors of home. As I’ve already written in this column, these cravings include the meals my mother and the other phenomenal home cooks in my family dish out to my clamoring cousins and me. However, I also find myself longing for my favorite bites from mom-and-pop businesses all over North Jersey.
Although I’m writing this column a few days before its publication and I’ve learned to remain wary of weather forecasts (just as I don’t trust Roombas, wall-safe tape and people who don’t like anchovies), I can’t contain my excitement at the prospect of a 64-degree day. Even if it will be mostly overcast and rain will arrive in the evening, this Thursday is expected to be relatively warm, and I can’t wait.
Sitting down at a miraculously vacant table in the Levering Café during that 12:50 to 1:30 lunch rush, I prepared my defense.
Something unsettling has spread about the culinary mediaverse in recent weeks.
The moment my bus pulled away from the curb of Newark’s Penn Station — only late by a modest 12 minutes, impressively enough — I felt it. With only half a cup of coffee to assuage its relentless appetite, my stomach began to rumble in longing for the hometown staples I’d savored over Thanksgiving break.
It’s strange to date seriously in college. To emotionally commit yourself to another person — or just to spend so much of your time with them — seems risky, almost inadvisable in such a formative moment in your life. It follows, then, that it’s even stranger to break up.
The last few years have been a time of admirable improvement in the world of cultural awareness around food. More writers of repute, as well as chefs, diners and others, are thinking about how the words they choose can evoke certain sentiments that degrade the foods they’re discussing. However, there’s still plenty of room for growth.
At a school like Hopkins, it can be hard to find quality time to connect with people. Our lifestyle is conducive to shutting in without realizing it, and in those moments, we distance ourselves from friends and worsen their own solitude. This has been especially true as the nearly semester-long midterm season has finally begun to so rudely introduce itself.
As we approach the one year anniversary of the bombshell reports on Harvey Weinstein’s decades-long reign of sexual terror over Hollywood and the global explosion of the #MeToo movement, the press and social media are burgeoning with questions of redemption.