Food For Thought

If theres one thing I dislike more than anything from a class, then I would tell you its the lack of active involvement.

Since freshman year, I have always found it frustrating that the majority of my classes felt disconnected; I couldn’t see the connection between what was being lectured vs its real world application. Sure, I’d get “real” projects or world events, but never once did I feel that I actually contributed something. 

I call it passive learning—experiencing—because more than half the time I’d forget what was being taught to me in xyz class. It wasn’t due to my lack of enthusiasm nor bad memory, but they were the same as any other class. Its led to me leaving some classes as a “passing moment”. This is partly why I ended up majoring in Visual Arts; along with a bunch of other reasons. 

When I think about it, maybe its a fault in how I approached those classes or my lack of research. Regardless of which it is, through WSCAH and this class’ intimate, small space, I’ve been able to engage with my community, grow perceptively, and gain an understanding on what happens right in front of us. Our class could have been a lecture, but it wasn’t; it required your involvement and that’s something I greatly appreciate. 

Thank you.  

It didn’t occur to me that one of WSCAH’s many locations for service was a sanctuary.

I was helping out in the grains section of the truck and had a volunteer from the church come help me with the proteins; it was then where it was explained to me that the church served as a sanctuary for refugees. As one of the families moved towards the produce section, the volunteer told me that the families we were serving were people seeking a form of asylum due to their situations back in Latin America; they came from a variety of nations with different stories. For them, the Church offered shelter–safety–where they could not be touched or sent away back to their home countries. It was also explained to me that within the Church, there are children and elderly living below; it made sense since they are suppose to be hidden. At least, that is what I gathered from the volunteer’s hushed explanations to me; I assumed it was meant to be a secret.

The Church organizers and WSCAH volunteers mentioned that the refugee families would often get extra servings of food and necessities; this is due to the fact that they are limited in resources when taking into consideration their status in the United States. I’m not quite sure how education works for children–its something I regret not asking–but the families that approached me were grateful and overjoyed with food.

In this I wonder, in what ways does WSCAH help refugee populations? Aside from giving a little extra food, what else is offered?

Wherever I go—at any time it may be—theres a little patter that trails behind me. 

TAK-tak-TAK. 

My dog knows no boundaries when food is in question; it doesn’t matter if its food she hates. In her mind, all food is good food; for eating, of course. I’ve considered it part of my daily routine; then again, I’m guilty of offering her a small portion of my servings. Sometimes I wonder: why do I give her food? Maybe its the evil puppy eyes; who can say no? Or perhaps its the guilt I feel for being able to eat all this food while she gets dry kibble balls. Then again, I cook food for her sometimes; its not all that bad! 

When I come to think of it, theres a unique food culture surrounding dogs: dog cafes, dog bakeries, dog birthday parties; its a doggy world galore! Not too long ago, a dog cafe opened up in my neighborhood and it’s packed with people snd their dogs; and let me not forget the occasional cat visitor. I find it pretty fascinating; how much dogs affect our social lives. 

I remember a lady lecturing me on the street for not giving my dog my dinner as her dinner every night; and that came out of a simple “hi, how are you?”. Sometimes the dog fever seems like a cult; you didn’t hear that from me. 

It’s all been a balancing act. Throughout my freshman year at college, I had to adjust to life in the dorms, all the new people that surrounded me, exploring my new city, finding alternative ways to study and properly manage my time. Despite some minor setbacks, I was thriving amidst it all. I was more content with my intellectual, social, and spiritual progress than I had ever been in my life. When I finally returned home for winter break, I was flooded with the very general and inevitable questions –  “Tell me about college. How do you like it?” Every time I replied to this question, I found myself raving about how much I really loved school. It felt kind of weird, but also good. 

That being said, alas, nothing is perfect. I struggled to find or consistently stay involved in productive extracurricular activities. When I was telling people about my experience at Fordham, I felt like this was the area of my experience where I always fell short. In fairness, I was pretty overwhelmed by the sizable adjustment to college in New York. Even so, I did genuinely want to be involved on campus. So when one of my friends told me about this service-learning class, while I was studying abroad in London over the summer, I eagerly signed up. Food for Thought was a class that involved service as a required component provided me with the structure I needed. 

As it turns out, sophomore fall was one of the hardest semesters at Fordham. It was not only challenging academically, but emotionally. I struggled to show up to most of my commitments on time and prepared. My head was always in another place, I was sorting through everything in my mind constantly, focusing often seemed impossible. Yet, when I showed up to WSCAH or our class meetings I felt grounded. I was engaged and I felt like I was doing something productive outside of myself. At WSCAH, all I had to do is show up and be present and kind. In class, I enjoyed the time we spent reflecting on our life experiences, time at WSCAH, and readings. Both environments, although very different, were cozy and welcoming. In a sense, they have made New York feel like a true home for me. This small class and the community at WSCAH was exactly what I needed in the midst of my otherwise chaotic semester.

The zing of my morning alarm awoke from my sleep. I lay there in the cozy warmth of my bed paralyzed by the thought of removing the covers and moving through the chill of my drafty apartment. To make matters worse, I picked up my phone to silence the alarm and braved the weather report. It was a mere thirty degrees with a wind chill of sixteen. Yeah, it was official, I really didn’t want to leave my bed. As a last ditch effort I texted Caycee, the WSCAH volunteer coordinator, to ask if we were still serving the food off of the food truck. “Yes!” I forced myself out from under the hug of my comforter, as Caycee’s reply lit up my phone. I dressed from the bottom up, finishing with my olive down parka before I entered the kitchen. I sipped my iced coffee, inhaled a few bites of the leftover apple crisp on the stove, brushed my teeth, chugged some water, and ran out the door at 9:28am. The air was crisp, but comfortingly stagnant outside my apartment building. When I arrived in the WSCAH Truck in Harlem, a line had already began to form. Caycee sent me inside the truck (where it was about ten degrees warmer) to bag the donated bread alongside another volunteer. When I walked onto the truck, the women I began to bag the bread with was communicating in Spanish with another volunteer.  So, I quickly assumed she didn’t speak english. Nevertheless, when we were nearly finished with the task, I finally turned to this small hispanic woman standing next to me and asked “why are you volunteering with WSCAH today?” She replied simply, in broken english, “sometimes you just need to help.” We continued talking, I found out she was also living in the Bronx and had begun volunteering when she found out about this program through her church. On a day so cold I could not feel my toes or fingers, the people I served and served with brought a smile to my face. Sometimes you just need to help. Even when its cold and feels hard, you show up. 

I think it often goes under the radar, but it becomes harder for individuals in this country to find proper employment as they age. The Food Truck format of WSCAH was, in part, catalyzed to nourish New York’s food insecure elderly population.  Their primary location is located on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. For members living in surrounding boroughs, this location challenges their access and opportunity to nourish themselves. As I checked members in this past week, even though I was aware of this reality, I was surprised by the stark correlation between food insecurity and the aging population. I was subtly observing the birth year of WSCAH members when I noticed that one of them shared a birthday with my father. My own father is sixty-five years old and happily retired. Yet, here I was, repeatedly checking his food insecure peers in. It reminded me of the unemployment struggle that I’ve witnessed by Aunt and Uncle of a similar age go through.

Back home, my uncle was a self employed carpenter for nearly twenty-five years, but then he got hurt. Unable to continue his life-long profession, he sought work as construction manager. After a few months of searching, he was hired for this position and for the first time in his life was able to enjoy a paid week off of work. Nevertheless, he was soon unemployed again. Except this time, for the past year, he has not been able to find adequate employment. Despite his constant pain from injury, he has retreated back to working as a self-employed carpenter to make ends meet. As he approaches retirement age, his life’s work has not permitted him with the security and ease to do so. When I see the people in line for WSCAH, I am reminded of this struggle. Many of these people are capable of employment, but likely denied the opportunity due to their age. 

Wednesday, 10:38am. I woke up heavily congested and in a panic as I thrust myself out of bed to check the time on my phone. As I realized I had missed my shift at the WSCAH food truck in Harlem, a further panic ensued. I began to write Caycee an email apologizing, but ended up calling her instead. The minute she picked up the phone my voice cracked, barely able to get out my name, I began apologizing for my mistake. On the other end, Caycee quickly responded “it okay, don’t worry about it. I completely understand! Just make sure you sign up for another shift, so you can fulfill your class requirement.” After I hung up the phone, thanks to Caycee response, I was able to take a deep breath and forgive myself.

Everyone wants to feel heard and seen. I believe it is inherent in human nature to seek connection and reciprocation from the people that surround you in this world. The West Side Campaign Against Hunger achieves this by emphasizing dignity in all aspects of their mission. Dignity is synonymous with respect, it describes a feeling of worthiness. As I found out, at WSCAH, no one is denied of this feeling- even the volunteers. Regardless of status, everyone is heard, seen, and provided for. We live in a society often cloaked in entitlement, competition, and miscommunication. In New York, with homeless people sleeping outside of Fortune-500 companies, these issues thrive. In the race for wealth, humanity has become objectified.

Friday, 2:47pm. “Control oil and you control nations. Control food and you control people.” In her presentation on the Black Panther movement in Harlem, Dr. Susanne Cope quoted former Secretary of State Henry Kissinger. I believe the Black Panther movement and WSCAH works to combat this reality. A reality in which marginalized populations are further stripped of their dignity in their desperation for nutrition. 

“Hola, firma y fecha de nacimiento.” This week I worked the check-in at the Food Truck on 179th Street. And I’m not going to lie, when I arrived on site I was very tired and painfully cold in the shade of the church. Yet when the truck finally pulled up to the corner, filled with food, an elated feeling filled my body. Only about a month into my study of Spanish, there was only few words we could exchange, but the warmth I exchanged with the customers acted as a substitute. Throughout the two or so hours I spent checking in families and individuals, I was shocked by the contentment I felt. Maybe it was a product of the experiences I had from serving during pre-orientation freshman year or maybe it was the conversations we’ve had in class surrounding the idea of equality and dignity, but this experience felt different. When I was younger I used to volunteer with my family and members of my church at my local soup kitchen. As a little kid, my participation in this felt like some heroic act. I would leave the soup kitchen feeling like some sort of humanitarian. It wasn’t that I had no exposure to socioeconomic diversity. In fact, I grew up working in my father’s laundromats in an array of neighborhood filled with all sorts of customers. My hometown wasn’t so posh either, I saw homeless people regularly and was aware of the struggles of many of my classmates. Fast forward seven or so years, and I found myself at this table checking people in to supplement their food insecurity. Unlike my childhood experiences, I felt no convoluted sense of superiority over these people. Everyone I encountered was friendly, resourceful, and purposeful. We all shared the same objective and I felt content. I enjoyed listening to the many hispanic people that surrounded me, interpreting the variety of names that came my way, and the sense of community I felt from the 140+ people I met. In a common culture of superiority complexes, the dignity and equality of this environment refreshed me. The fatigue and coldness I began the morning with vanished.

I definitely did not know what I was getting into this semester when I registered for this class. I kind of figured that I would get to try some different foods, read about German food culture through the years, and hopefully meet some new people that would affect my life. I think I can say with confidence that I accomplished all of those things and a lot more. 

I didn’t know that there was a service part of the class until the day of our first meeting. Back then seems so long ago. There were a lot more people in the class that first day. Learning that the class did have the service component only made me want to take it more. Throughout my youth, I was active in Boy Scouts where I did a lot of volunteer work. The Catholic high school I attended put a large emphasis on service as well. So these past two years that I have lived in the Bronx, I have been wanting to find a way to get back into serving and I found this as my way to do that. 

Looking back on the time I spent giving back to the different communities in New York City, I am very grateful for this class. It not only gave me the chance to help other people but worked towards my German minor! I plan on continuing to be in touch with the people at WSCAH and I hope to volunteer with my free time in the future. It’s easy to move into a city and live there, what I enjoy is finding a place in a community and giving back to it.

Take a beef patty and throw it on the griddle. As it cooks, chop it into pieces. While it’s finishing, butter a roll and put it on the griddle, butter side down. While it toasts, put a couple of slices of cheese on the choose beef. Flip the roll onto the meat and cheese once the cheese is melted. Top with lettuce, tomatoes, ketchup, and mayo. That’s the chopped cheese. Something I hadn’t heard of until I moved to the Bronx. And let me just say: it’s changed my life. 

I think it safe to say I get this sandwich 3-6 times a week. It’s easy and quick to get, you can get it at every deli around here. It’s cheap, ranging from $4 to $6 dollars depending on the deli (and who’s working the register). It’s salty, and cheesy and has that perfect tang of mayo.

When I go to visit my home town or my older brother at his apartment near there in upstate New York, I go out to my favorite places to eat to get the dishes I miss from up there: chicken fingers from Tully’s, a chicken salad sub from Wegmans, a buffalo chicken calzone from Twisted. These are the foods that remind me of where I grew up and they bring me back to a simpler time. The chopped cheese will be on my list of foods to get when I am in the Bronx.