Bon Appètit!
1st Place Stuckey Essay Contest Winner
Kelly M. Bouquet
St. Louis Visitation Academy
It sits there, tantalizing, on the kitchen table. Unable to resist the temptation any longer, I hungrily inhale it, tasting its rich and satisfying flavor. No, I am not speaking of a delectable repast, but of a new novel; in my mind there exist few distinctions between them. Reading has been as much a staple in my life as eating. Each of my days centers on these two crucial acts. Many times I snack without thinking, simply accepting the fact that I eat to survive. In the same way, I take the survival of my intellect for granted, reading textbooks, websites, novels, and notes without pausing to appreciate the significance of my actions. However, when I do take the time to appreciate a gourmet mea1 or a particularly fine novel, I become reacquainted with my enjoyment of food and literature. As my body hungers for calories, so too, my mind craves nourishment.
I discovered the joys of food first, eagerly gobbling the mouthfuls of applesauce and mashed carrots that my parents fed me. Reading aloud bedtime stories, my parents also spoon-fed me my first experiences of literature. I quickly grew independent, learning not only how to feed myself, but also discovering how to read to myself. The pride reverberating in my voice when I finally read aloud The Little Engine that Could mirrored the pride glowing on my face when I finally mastered the use of my own fork and spoon. Like the hungry, hungry caterpillar, I ravenously devoured Dr. Seuss delicacies and gourmet Golden Books for Children. But I know that learning to read was merely an appetizer, an indication of the delicious entrees yet to come. Consuming I’ll Love You Forever, A Day at the Seashore, and first chapter books whetted my appetitie, but never satisfied my endless hunger. When I was in grade school, my parents realized that I did not consider being sent to my room a punishment; I simply spent my time-outs, along with the rest of my free time, traveling with Laura Ingalls Wilder in The Little House on the Prairie or making friends with immigrants and Native Americans in the Dear America series. Though some children stashed candy or food under their beds, I stashed a flashlight and stack of books so I could laugh with the irrepressible Anne Shirley late into the night or voyage with Meg through A Wrinkle in Time. My parents tell me that they would punish me by taking away my dinner or taking away my book: each had the same effect.
As I became older and realized that it was not feasible to achieve my childhood goal of reading every book in the library, I learned to slow down, to savor books, and to taste them as I read. I bit the bitterness in The Diary of Anne Frank and Torn Thread; the tanginess of The Phantom Tollbooth tickled by tongue; I relished the richness of Watership Down and sampled a sugary sweet A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Now that I was beginning to learn to appreciate literature, it was time for me to move on to the main course: the classics.
Every good meal starts with a trip to the grocery store. Savory scents, myriad colors, and produce, dairy, and meat sections offer an assortment of meal ideas. Some shoppers prepare a list; others browse, picking up interesting items along the way. Similar scenarios occur in a library, where the evocative aromas of musty pages and fresh print mingle, countless colors and fonts jump from the shelves, and readers wander down fiction or mystery aisles, selecting with care. Some shoppers cannot resist: they must break into a box of cookies or snacks as soon as they are out of the store. I, too, could not wait to begin: I nibbled books in the car on the way home from the library. Shoppers and readers alike delight in selecting the ingredients of their main course – every good meal should have substance; something hearty with good flavor. And so classics became my sustenance, constituting the bulk of my literary diet and filling me in ways that the appetizers never could. I dug into Pride and Prejudice and The Scarlet Letter; I chewed through Great Expectations and Jane Eyre; I chomped into Wise Blood and The Great Gatsby; and I slowly digested Beloved and Anna Karenina. I was never afraid to try new foods; I eagerly sampled everything from frog legs to fried yucca. This adventuresome spirit applied to books as well; I was willing to try any genre and rarely met a book I disliked. However, I did have to develop a taste for certain types of literature: political satires such as Animal Farm were new to me and demanded a unique perspective. Soon, I valued the new flavors of satire and grotesque and enjoyed the zest they added to my meals. I also encountered stream-of-consciousness in As I Lay Dying. Just like those Brussels sprouts that I didn’t particularly enjoy at first, it was not until later that I came to appreciated the round, green sprouts or Faulkner’s original style. Occasionally, frustrated with academic reading, I had to remember what I’d been taught about those dislike veggies. Although hard to stomach, I knew that tedious textbook reading assignments would benefit me in the long run. Looking back at how I’ve swallowed my way through the substantive classics, I realize how my tastes have matured. I have stepped out of the cozy parlor of Little Women and into the dark, enigmatic landscape of Dostoyevsky; although I may prefer Fettuccine Alfredo and complex writing styles now, it is still fun to go back and revisit my old favorite macaroni & cheese and the March sisters from time to time.
Now, what is a meal without dessert? Every once in a while I delight in a delectable frivolity. There is no harm in indulging in a chocolate mousse pie every now and then; occasionally I satisfy my craving for a decadent romance novel or a light and fluffy work of fiction. I have been known to please my sweet tooth with Chocolat, The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, and The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime. My friends and I have passed around The Lovely Bones and Prep as generously as a bag of chocolates at a sleepover. And reading Harry Potter aloud to the whole family on car trips was as delicious as cutting into a slice of pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving.
Appetizers, dinner and dessert constitute a well-balanced meal, yet each category offers innumerable choices of cuisine. Even the pickiest eater can find an appetizing selection among French, Mexican, Italian, Chinese, Indian, and American foods. Sampling these varying cuisines is much like experimenting with different genres of literature. The lovely presentation of poetry – artistic, unique, concise, and sophisticated reminded me of the polished presentation of a French dish. Surrealism and science fiction were exotic, and presented new ideas from faraway lands. I enjoyed these genres as I did Chinese and Indian food: in small portions and with an open mind. Love stories evoked romantic thoughts and filled the heart as well as hunger… not unlike authentic Italian cooking. Enormous spreads of short stories were like the large quantities of Mexican food that added spice and zest to my diet. And, of course, modern novels are much like American food: both contain a mix of borrowed and combined elements, yet are still pioneered and original.
After learning to eat and appreciate food and after sampling cuisines from around the world, I naturally wanted to learn to cook. The countless invented recipes stuffed into my cookbooks and drawers are strangely similar to the rough drafts of essays and short studies tucked into my folders and notebooks. For me, writing and cooking are all about experimentation – sometimes I add too much garlic or too much parallel structure. No dish or essay ever comes out exactly as I expect it to, and no two creations are alike. Adding my own secret ingredient to a pot or putting my own personal touch in a paragraph is an adventure. I discover new things about myself when I create an original pasta or poem. And, of course, I better appreciate the entrees I eat and the literature I read when I have had the experience of creating my own.
Eating and reading are crucial and enjoyable parts of my life. Through the mediums of food and literature, I have learned to satisfy my hunger, to slow down and savor, to select with care, and to experiment. I have explored my roles as consumer and chef, reader and author. From my very first portions of mashed carrots and three-letter words to now, I have discovered new things about myself and my world in the foods I east and the books I read. But I thin my most important discovery is that literature, like food is best shared: bon appètit!