Nearly a year ago, Natalia Castillo invited Norah Rami, Hannah Sung, and me to her two–person apartment on Sansom and 40th streets. Natalia had been tasked to lead a poetry discussion, record it, and show it to Al Filreas’ ModPo class. She had chosen the poem “Just Walking Around” by John Ashbury—it’s beautiful, simple, and so bittersweet.
She was nearing the end of her time as Street editor–in–chief just as the three of us were about to take the reins. Our four lives had become deeply intertwined throughout that semester, and seemingly just as quickly, the four of us are now spread across the globe. When I think of my best memories of my life here at Penn, I cannot help but think of the meals I have shared with friends—the time we racked up quite the bill ordering nearly every dish at Nom Wah, a Valentine’s Day dinner with friends at Malooga, the day I arrived 40 minutes late to a Strexec meeting because I was getting Cleo’s Bagels, the two days spent cooking and baking an elaborate dinner only to have to eat on our living room floor because we didn’t have enough chairs.
I traveled ten days through Europe with Hannah, and our biggest expense came from trying as many restaurants, bakeries, and coffee shops as we could. When I visited Norah’s home in Texas, we spent hours wandering around the fanciest grocery store I have ever seen, and I gorged myself on her family’s home–cooking.
As Natalia recited aloud Ashbury’s words, I couldn’t help but cry. On more than one occasion, I’ve been recognized as that girl in the ModPo video with tears glistening in her eyes. “You always seem to be traveling in a circle,” she read. “And now that the end is near, the segments of the trip swing open like an orange. / There is light in there, and mystery and food.”
Food, I believe, is a love language all of its own. What is more loving than my mom cooking me chicken–less noodle soup when I’m feeling down, than a friend swiping me into a dining hall knowing I’ve been too busy and stressed to properly feed myself, than bonding with my fellow Kelly Writers House co–workers joking that we’re on the “Writer’s House dining plan"?
Across the city, there is a deep care for food that is found in every corner. Every year, Street works our hardest to find the people who love to eat just as much as we do, who put such care into their craft that we can’t help but write illustrious reviews of their work. The Dining Guide, in many ways, is our love letter to the culinary scene in Philly, and I encourage each and every one of you to explore the abundance of fantastic food that this place has to offer. Perhaps, along the way, we will bump into each other.
Ashbury’s poem ends as such: “Come see it. Come not for me but it. / But if I am still there, grant that we may see each other.”
Now, let’s eat.
