A pretty special post - my School of New York Times article
Hello everyone...I just turned 18, and as my first post as an official adult, I wanted to post something special. I decided to post the article I wrote while in my New York Times summer program. It's not the usual style of this blog, but let me know if you prefer this style!
One of the worst dishes I’ve ever tasted still managed to create one of the best meals I’ve ever experienced. Lockdown was not easy in our house. The day it was announced, my mother immediately assumed command, delegating herself our supreme leader. She appointed my father as the minister for agriculture and cleanliness, and herself once more as the minister of food and infrastructure. Not wanting to become a part of the system, I took the role of the vocal opposition and perpetual commenter, our resident reporter. The stage was set for an interesting few months.
In the first two weeks, the house ran like clockwork. There wasn’t really much to comment about, so I temporarily assumed the role of labourer, helping out in finishing the basic tasks I “Could be trusted with doing well” - tasks like vacuuming the sofa or peeling and chopping vegetables (No using the stove or oven though). Sometimes, she would be pleased by her family’s work and would revert from a dictator to just good old mom instead. As we got into the lockdown, though, the quality of work had begun to reduce. Our agriculture and cleanliness department seemed to be functioning inefficiently: dying plants, fingerprint-stained glass, unwashed clothes. All of a sudden, mom was gone, and the supreme dictator was back, seemingly perpetually.
I loved coming to the kitchen, because that was the one space where mom was just herself. Even on bad days, when her face matched the red of the tomatoes, she’d shoot me a smile or give me a peck on the cheek, like she was glad I was there. One day, she decided to make some pesto pasta. I helped her slice the vegetables, and watched as they softened in the heat of the pan. As we hit them with spice after spice, I already knew that today was going to be a good dinner. I think she may have been upset that day, but when it was just the two of us, something about cooking together just seemed to make us forget about everything else.
I chopped up some freshly washed basil and garlic and grated some parmesan for her to use in that evening’s pasta. Then, I watched as the minister entered the kitchen and the dictator shot him a look. She pointed him to the blender, which he promptly turned on. After a few seconds, I remember seeing him slowly pull out the thick, dark green pesto and pour it into the saucepan.
At this point, I went back to my little nuclear bunker, a bedroom all the way across the hall. When I was sure it was safe, I went back to lay the table, and smelling the food, sat down to eat. As my father brought out the steaming hot bowls of pasta, I could already smell the freshness of the basil and those little hints of roasted pine nuts. I was eager to dig into the thick, dark green pesto I’d seen earlier, but as he placed it down, I saw that the pasta was submerged in a light green, watery soup. I shot the dictator a puzzled look, and mom began laughing.
It turns out that my father, being resourceful, insisted on getting every last bit of pesto. He ran the blender with a cupful of water, pulling off the last bits. Then, he decided to mix it with the rest of the pesto in the saucepan. It was just my mother’s misfortune that she was not watching actively enough to stop him from ruining it. Even then, the pesto was strong enough that the ‘soup’ tasted great, it just lost something in texture. Also, those delicious vegetables with just a tiny bit of lemon zest really helped rescue the dish. And yet, despite dad almost ruining a dish, it was the happiest evening we’d had. That meal sparked the first real dinner conversation I’d had in weeks. It was one of those amazing evenings that punctuated the monotony of the lockdown, letting us momentarily forget our roles and just sit together as a family. There’s something about that dish that just told me that his heart was in the right place, and it became my most memorable dinner from lockdown…not because of the food but in spite of it.
One of the worst dishes I’ve ever tasted still managed to create one of the best meals I’ve ever experienced. Lockdown was not easy in our house. The day it was announced, my mother immediately assumed command, delegating herself our supreme leader. She appointed my father as the minister for agriculture and cleanliness, and herself once more as the minister of food and infrastructure. Not wanting to become a part of the system, I took the role of the vocal opposition and perpetual commenter, our resident reporter. The stage was set for an interesting few months.
In the first two weeks, the house ran like clockwork. There wasn’t really much to comment about, so I temporarily assumed the role of labourer, helping out in finishing the basic tasks I “Could be trusted with doing well” - tasks like vacuuming the sofa or peeling and chopping vegetables (No using the stove or oven though). Sometimes, she would be pleased by her family’s work and would revert from a dictator to just good old mom instead. As we got into the lockdown, though, the quality of work had begun to reduce. Our agriculture and cleanliness department seemed to be functioning inefficiently: dying plants, fingerprint-stained glass, unwashed clothes. All of a sudden, mom was gone, and the supreme dictator was back, seemingly perpetually.
I loved coming to the kitchen, because that was the one space where mom was just herself. Even on bad days, when her face matched the red of the tomatoes, she’d shoot me a smile or give me a peck on the cheek, like she was glad I was there. One day, she decided to make some pesto pasta. I helped her slice the vegetables, and watched as they softened in the heat of the pan. As we hit them with spice after spice, I already knew that today was going to be a good dinner. I think she may have been upset that day, but when it was just the two of us, something about cooking together just seemed to make us forget about everything else.
I chopped up some freshly washed basil and garlic and grated some parmesan for her to use in that evening’s pasta. Then, I watched as the minister entered the kitchen and the dictator shot him a look. She pointed him to the blender, which he promptly turned on. After a few seconds, I remember seeing him slowly pull out the thick, dark green pesto and pour it into the saucepan.
At this point, I went back to my little nuclear bunker, a bedroom all the way across the hall. When I was sure it was safe, I went back to lay the table, and smelling the food, sat down to eat. As my father brought out the steaming hot bowls of pasta, I could already smell the freshness of the basil and those little hints of roasted pine nuts. I was eager to dig into the thick, dark green pesto I’d seen earlier, but as he placed it down, I saw that the pasta was submerged in a light green, watery soup. I shot the dictator a puzzled look, and mom began laughing.
It turns out that my father, being resourceful, insisted on getting every last bit of pesto. He ran the blender with a cupful of water, pulling off the last bits. Then, he decided to mix it with the rest of the pesto in the saucepan. It was just my mother’s misfortune that she was not watching actively enough to stop him from ruining it. Even then, the pesto was strong enough that the ‘soup’ tasted great, it just lost something in texture. Also, those delicious vegetables with just a tiny bit of lemon zest really helped rescue the dish. And yet, despite dad almost ruining a dish, it was the happiest evening we’d had. That meal sparked the first real dinner conversation I’d had in weeks. It was one of those amazing evenings that punctuated the monotony of the lockdown, letting us momentarily forget our roles and just sit together as a family. There’s something about that dish that just told me that his heart was in the right place, and it became my most memorable dinner from lockdown…not because of the food but in spite of it.
Lovely! Keep with this style!
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