“Unlike the classic chicken breast, however, the cuy goes from farmhouse to fridge to spit to butcher block to plate in a way that is probably more humane, yet also more graphic, and thus more disturbing. Guinea pigs are cute; cuy, as it turns out, is tasty.”
The lemon was precious, as was every morsel of food that entered one’s house. I was raised to shudder at the mere thought of throwing away anything on my plate, encouraged to catch all the stray grains of kasha and watching my dad soak up every last bit of soup in his plate with the bread my mum baked like clockwork every few days.
“At Princeton, sometimes it feels as though carbs are ubiquitous. Sometimes it’s difficult to bring to mind the last time we ingested a fruit or vegetable that wasn’t in the form of ice cream or dried into a chip. This is exactly what made the introduction of açaí bowls to campus so exhilarating.”