Personal Narrative Essay

In Spanish Club, I participated in authentic cooking days, where I learned to cook unique dishes from Spanish speaking countries and their cultural significance. From each cultural activity, I felt as though I was transported to another a world. I experienced a pallet of flavors in my mouth that were not only delicious but also revealed a story about the culture and history of a nation. However, I was not satisfied with keeping all the knowledge

It was early in the morning as Lillian and I got ready for our first day of our perplexing espacade to fulfill my grandfather's request. The artistic golden sun got up like a baby and began painting the eerie, dark and black sky into a bright blue one. The first task we started to do was go visit the cafe built under this aesthetic tower hotel. For both of us, I ordered a “Ful Medames” meal consisting the following: richly flavored beans accompanied by a colorful array of side consisting of smoky grilled flatbreads, creamy tahini sauce with a lemony kick, hard boiled eggs for sustenance, and refreshing chopped tomato and cucumber salads. Honestly, this meal was not so bad as I thought (if you’re wondering why, the most cultural food in this

The castle kitchen counter was laden with a gigantic roasted goose, a perfect golden brown glistening with sauce, and long hot loaves of sourdough bread, plus an industrial-sized pitcher of grape Kool-Aid. For dessert there was blue cake and yellow ice cream. The smell of food made me temporarily forget my

One particular part of the novel that played a huge role in Parisian diet is the olfactory description of Madame Lecoeur’s cheese shop or the “Cheese Symphony”. From the detailed depiction of the cheese shop, the French ate an assortment of cheese that had a rancid

Written by Julia Child, the article “Le Cordon Bleu” opens up a world of cooking to her readers. In order to fulfill her dreams, Child enrolled in a class at le Cordon Bleu, and from then on, Child learned the basics of cuisine with classmates and Chef Bugnard. During class, demonstrations were held by Child’s favorite instructors named Pierre Mangelatte and Claude Thilmont, who both impacted Child as a chef. Meanwhile, Child was growing into a promising cook; but now in the light of her final examination, she had to prepare very diligently. After obtaining an exam, Child started her test: except she had forgotten what the assigned dish was!

To elaborate the tagline of the restaurant “authentic Afghanistan cuisine” says a lot about the cliental, many of the customers entering are unaware of the Afghanistan eating customs and are just fans of the authentic food. This adheres to Sociologist Militant Gordon’s first stage of assimilation known as cultural assimilation where cultural patterns are changed in order to appeal to the host society. This emphasizes a one sided view of assimilation found in the U.S known as Anglo-Conformity where assimilation in the U.S is designed to maintain the dominance of the English langue and its customs (Healy, 2008). Some of the customs left out were having guest sit on cushions, eating communally from the same dish, and eating with one’s hands. Instead the group sat in chairs, used silverware, and ate their own

Once again, Vista’s had remarkably impressed me. Waffles, bacon, French toast, sausage, eggs, like you never seen them before. Admiring all that was there made my stomach ache for it all. The smell of sizzling bacon, and cinnamon French toast, increased my desire to cram as much food as possible into my sixteen year old stomach. What a marvelous beginning to the day.

As the aroma of sweet cinnamon lingered throughout my father’s kitchen, a day filled with endless possibilities awaited. Growing up, every Sunday began with my sisters and I waking up at the crack of dawn and then venturing out to our second home; my fathers house. As a result of it being such a small living space, anything that was made in the kitchen simultaneously consumed the entire house. With that being said, the first scent that marked the beginning of my day, was the smell of breakfast. By breakfast I don’t mean pancakes, waffles, or eggs, but Ego Cinnamon French Toaster Sticks. Although simple, some of the happiest days of my childhood all started with that breakfast. As a result, now whenever I inhale all things similar to French

It was ten minutes until midnight in the Bohemian Paradise of Santa Monica. The streets were buzzing with street performers and tacky tourist, such as myself. My best friend and I sat in a cramped and antique French restaurant ready to devour our food. The room was filled with thick, buttery fumes that made me hungrier by the second. My stomach growled with each tray of food that passed by us but our food was still nowhere to be seen. Finally our waiter came to our table with the food. As she put down the worn out plates, she said “Bon Appetit” in her thick French accent.

Our task was to individually design and prepare two identical servings of an entrée using locally sourced and seasonal produce to showcase the Fleurieu region in one hundred minutes.

After devouring the hors d'oeurves, the main course was set before us. The arrangements of Chinese styled

This book is your invitation to a radically different possibility and the idea of celebrating your deliciousness in the world with beauty, abundance, style, balance, ease and freedom.

Moving inward, steam and the smell of espresso drift from the pot of fresh coffee that has witnessed many breakfasts over the years. Next comes the pale green ceramic platter that holds large stacks of fluffy pancakes slathered in liquid maple sweetness. A delicately woven straw basket contains golden brown toast with oozing butter dripping down each slice like a faucet. Directly in the centre sits the hickory smoked bacon. The quiet sizzle of each crispy piece was music to the family’s ears. This breakfast was a feast for the senses.

It was a Friday night and Wright, who was almost always at his law firm, Oakland and Scot, finally had enough time to cook a nice dinner at his posh little apartment. The aroma from the kitchen filled every room with the loveliest of scents from his inexplicably good cooking. Rose’s brother had many passions, but she didn’t know French cuisine was included on the list until she arrived that evening. He made a beautifully crafted French onion soup, duck confit, a personal favorite he later told her, and for dessert, a challenging, but incredibly delicious chocolate souffle was prepared. Everything was perfect. The two sat down at his round wooden table and dug into the grand supper.

Then when we could take no more and where to cold to enjoy ourselves we retreated to the warmth and inviting log fire of a local café. Where upon arrival we would order a knickerbockerglory for each of us. To which my father said “The first time I had one of these was, the Cresta Restaurant, on holiday in Swanage in 1961”. When they arrived our eyes lit up with excitement and the reflection of the sparkler arising form the ice cream could be seen in our glistening eye’s. There was a large mass of ice- cream. In between, the cream had to jostle for space as the sparkles of glitter, added that glistening touch like snow gleaming in the sun. The pudding placed before me at the OXO Tower was a little less expressive with lemon zest for a garnishing and three perfectly shaped spheres of lemon sorbet with a base of crumbled digestives. The lemons so yellow and the bowl as white as a sheet of paper reminded me of a perfect daisy shining forth from the bland backdrop. The perfect taste and outstanding presentation just reassured me of the chefs excellent artistic style, and culinary skills. The fabulous food brought back memories of visiting Ray MtBlancs restaurant when the food was similar in presentation, yet completely different in taste but no less incredible.