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Ariana Ringstrom

on 1 May 2014

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Transcript of FOOD

October 31
November 28
Present Day
September 04
December 24
Food for the Fall & Will Power for the Winter
The Lackmann Industry
I think about food fondly. We have an honest relationship with one another. Coming to Hofstra, however, I feel as if I've been deceived. Sbarro's pizza, that
Italian cooking that I've grown a love-hate relationship with ever since I ate one of their spinach mozzarella strombolis on an empty stomach. The Student Center in general now sickens me so I avoid that place like the plague. An unwelcomed friend to my stomach that is used to the cooking styles of my mom and the equally unappetizing meals complimentary of Lyman Hall High School.

Student Center, it's nothing personal. I think it'd be best if we parted ways for now. I'll always remember your poorly cooked Chinese food noodles and the seafood lasagna after we depart from each other. I will have one regret however, I'll strongly miss your chocolate peanut butter smoothies. Leaving you comes at a price that I'll be willing to pay. I really do hope you'll understand.
Much Love, Ariana

Halloween: A Capitalist Love Story
The economical happiness of all candy companies known as one holiday: Halloween. That's right ladies and gentlemen, the most quintessential candy holiday of the entire year. The holiday that begins stocking store shelves TWO MONTHS before the holiday even arrives. Aisles upon aisles of chocolates, sour gummies and candy corn monopolize half of the stores across America...maybe even worldwide. Americans purchase about 600 million pounds of candy during the weeks surrounding Halloween. That's about $1.9 billion in candy sold each year, with $1.2 billion being chocolate. Halloween even surpasses the amount of candy consumption with holidays such as Christmas, Easter and Valentine's Day following close behind. Imagine millions of mini Snickers and Reese Peanut Butter Cups filling the hopeful bags of small 8-year olds as they run from house to house in a sugar-crazed frenzy. With all of this candy comes a spike in the dental field, but that's another topic for another project...

10 Steps for Making Kicka** Stuffing
1. Wake up extra early on Thanksgiving morning...7AM sounds just about right
2. Await the arrival of your Italian grandfather to help prepare the stuffing...if you lack an Italian grandfather, anyone else will suffice, I suppose
3. Gather materials and the huge bird you seasoned the night before
4. Avoid eating all of the celery pieces and raisins before mixing them into the stuffing
4. DO NOT eat the pieces of sausage - they're raw
5. Don't let your younger sister eat them either
5. Add in the celery, sausage, raisins, pine nuts and dried bread cubes
6. Fold the ingredients over each other to ensure maximum mixture
7. Add butter to soften the pile of deliciousness you have just created
8. Stuff the stuffing into the backside of the turkey in all its nooks and crannies
9. Put the bird in the oven and await the aroma that will soon fill your kitchen
10. Enjoy the sheer awesomeness that is your homemade stuffing!
Gli Odori della Vigilia di Natale
The smell of Christmas Eve in an Italian household is quite like nothing else.
Wine, wine and more bottles of wine fill the table, almost surpassing the amount of guests sitting at the table,
stains already filling in the cracks between the dinner plates on the white linen.
The warm bread and butter mixed together on my tongue momentarily stifle my hunger.
We're served shrimp cocktail first,
a combination of horseradish, ketchup and shrimp.
The only kind of seafood combination my dad will eat.
Salad comes next.
Then pasta with homemade tomato sauce,
the smell of the zuppe di pesci fills the small dining room.
Scallops, clams, lobster, mussels, shrimp, and calamari all mixed into a sauce that is incredibly incredible.
And the stuffed shrimp,
three cooking pans worth of the little critters.
I eat,
we eat,
and we eat a lot.
Dessert follows.
My uncle trys to slip some Sambuca into my espresso during dessert.
He succeeds.
The burning smell in my nose I feel as it trickles unappetizingly down my throat, burning my throat simultaneously.
I numb the taste with a cannoli.
Faith restored.

Regret With A Side of Mashed Potatoes
It's Christmas Day. And you've been staring at that chocolate cream pie for the past ten minutes. Already full from the exorbitant amount of food you consumed during dinner, your best judgement tells you to do anything but consume another serving of food. Do you dare take a bite? You tell yourself you'll only take one bite, but one bite can soon turn into ten bites. Your New Years diet starts in a matter of days, so what's the worst that this one indulgence can do to you? The New Year will be here soon and then you'll be able to start your diet. But for now, that resolution is put in the back of your mind.

And you're weak.
You're weak,
oh so weak.

You take bite after bite. The cream pie filling in the tiny gaps of your already full stomach. The mini chocolate chips cake your teeth and leave a bitter aftertaste on your pallet. You're left filled up with only sharp regret and an even sharper pain in your stomach.

Merry Christmas.

Six Easy Ways To Avoid Drinking Too Much on New Years Eve
1. Know your limits and the consequences you may face by having one too many shots of vodka - you may find yourself asleep in your backyard's bushes, tagged in embarrassing Facebook photos the morning after
2. Eat a bunch of food beforehand to avoid drinking on an empty stomach - like a 12 pack box of Taco Bell burritos..mmmmm nutrition at its finest
3. Drink slowly, this isn't a contest....unless you're playing a drinking game
4. Have that one moral-compass-of-a-friend to be your sober buddy and look out for you before and after the clock strikes twelve
5. Drink fancy drinks that look like alcohol so you won't feel left out of the social circle
6. OR it's simple: Don't drink, because let's face it, you're probably not even 21 yet :)
A Portrait of My Body: Walking Like A Child
I am a girl who hops. When I walk down the street, I’ve been told that my head moves up and down on my body like a bobble-head. Words and ideas move around, up and down as my body mimics the movements of my inner musings. My mom has told me that I hop while I walk. If I had a glass of water on my head it would surely fall off in a matter of seconds. A part of me thinks I’m just hopping to the inner melodic beat of my body’s symphony. I’ve been cursed with the art of hopping. Like I’m constantly walking on a trampoline. My torso cannot even attempt to be normal it seems. Maybe it wants to play hopscotch with me. Bouncing up and down wishing to hop along on the chalk-numbered squares. I walk like a child. Adults do not hop.

I keep thinking into the future when my metabolism will finally grow stagnant. All of the late night snacks I have consumed will be only a delicious memory as my mind fills with numb wishes that the cookie I’m about to eat at one in the morning won’t travel to my thighs in about fifteen years. How I wish that if we believed we could be young forever it would be physically true as well. My body will eventually no longer wish to forgive me for all of my late-night cravings. Goodbye, you delicious Girl Scout cookies.

Here is a gossip column about my body: My fingernails never seem to grow long – they always split in two jagged pieces just as I’m content with their length. I have a permanent wine stain on my right wrist since birth – a birthmark that I always forget is there. But there it is. Peering up at me behind all of my bracelets. A sloppy stain on my pale skin. My fingers look bloated on some days, like typing with them for long periods of time makes them swell with exhaustion. I’m never content with them. So I paint their nails with polish to make the best of a bad situation. My hair is a curly mess and leaves an equally messy trail like a dog that marks its territory wherever it pleases. I have a habit of clenching my teeth when I sleep so I wake up with a sore jaw. Like I’ve been biting down on the last bit of the day’s hindrances. I also have a habit of scratching my face incessantly in the morning as if I’m trying to claw at the new face I have beneath yesterday’s old skin. Out with the old, in with the new.
December 31
December 25
By: Ariana Ringstrom
Works Cited


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