My past several months on Princeton’s campus have been defined by chocolate. During the week leading up to Dean’s Date I may have personally made the C-Store run out of chocolate covered peanuts.
“The multi-media nature of the work invites viewers to do more than just reflect on what they see: to engage with it through their own experimentation.”
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.”
“But you put me here in America— in rich, white, suburban America, where the people are bland and the food even more so. You put me here in this diner, and I hate you for it.”
