I Still Feel You When It Rains

Thunder crackles. The windows illuminate with light. In my bed I lie restless, kept awake by the sense that something is not right. I look down at the floor by the foot of my bed where he used to lay.

I don’t remember our first dog much, other than that we were playing outside with him in the backyard when his legs stopped working and he collapsed at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the deck. The next morning, my mom told me that he went to heaven.

My four-year-old mind conjured up the image of a yellow lab pixelating into dust as it rose up to the sky.

Weeks later, we drove out to a dog breeder just outside of Fremont. Surrounded by a sea of fluffy heads running in endless circles around us, one puppy sauntered up and laid down on my mom’s feet.

“We didn’t choose Puddy. He chose us,” she said.

From the moment my mom stepped out of the car, welcoming home the tiny ball of white fur entangled in her arms, my heart belonged to him.

I would say that my heart broke the day that Puddy left us, but that would have been easier. The reality is my heart had chipped years ago when his death first became a possibility, and that chip slowly spread into a crack as I watched him grow older. When that final day came, my heart was bound to shatter.

Puddy got sick four years ago. He had a tumor the size of a small soccer ball in his spleen. The veterinarian said it could have killed him any day. When my parents broke the news, I sat on the cold kitchen floor holding his paw and stroking his velvety ears.

If the tumor was cancerous, there was nothing we could do to save him. Removing it wouldn’t prevent it from spreading to his other organs. Our veterinarian couldn’t tell if the tumor was cancerous or not, but said that if we wanted a diagnosis, we could take him to Kansas State University

The thought of losing him was unbearable. I begged my parents to take him on the trip.

I was at school when my dad drove him down to Manhattan. The tumor turned out to be benign. My entire body flooded with relief. The second I got home from school, I waited by our front door for Puddy’s return. The tumor would be removed and doing so bought me a little more time.

“His nervous system wasn’t the same after the surgery,” my dad said.

While he had narrowly avoided cancer, Puddy wasn’t immune to the other challenges of growing old. Over the course of the next two years, I watched as he slowly lost mobility. He started to struggle with standing up and climbing stairs. Then, he began dragging his back feet, causing sores to appear on his knuckles.

My dad said that almost every picture from our childhood had Puddy somewhere in the background. He followed us girls wherever we went. He even walked us down the street to our elementary school every morning. Sometimes, he’d find his way to the schoolyard during recess. My parents trailed behind, scolding him for running away. They laugh about it now.

I knew deep in my subconscious that he was deteriorating, but when I looked into his eyes, I could still see that sweet little puppy that I’d spot outside the fence from the playground. I refused to give up on him, and I wouldn’t let my family do so either.

The spring before he passed, my dad took him to the vet for a checkup. I waited at home thinking they were gone for longer than his usual visits. I was filled with dread as a single thought entered my head. What if he doesn’t come home with Puddy? I burst into tears when I heard the front door open and the clicking of his paws on the hardwood floor. Seeing my distress, my dad reassured me that he would never make that decision without my consent.

On that day, I let just a sliver of myself admit that my time with Puddy was almost over. Every time I left the room, I began to feel terrified of how or if I would find him when I returned.

Weeks later, I graduated from high school. Over the course of that year, I had said goodbye to my life as I had known it. During a time filled with so many endings, I desperately clung on to the constants.

Puddy was my best friend for 14 years. He grew up alongside me. He raised me.

He left us on July 1, 2023. We made the decision to put him down just two days before. It had been a long decline and we could all tell that he was suffering. It was only a matter of days before his condition crossed the line, and I couldn’t bear to see him be in pain anymore.

The morning before the appointment, my sister and I sat on the deck with Puddy. There was nothing he loved more than being outside besides, maybe, us. The universe must have known that it was going to be a difficult day because the sunless sky was filled with clouds and the summer winds were still. When it was time, my sister and I watched in the driveway as our parents hoisted him up into the backseat of my dad’s truck. I burrowed my face in his neck and said my final goodbye.

After they drove away, we sat on the couch, silent and somber. A million years went by before the front door opened and my parents stepped through the threshold. I longed to hear that clicking of paws against the floor, but I could only hear the trudging of my parents human footsteps.

To this day, I wonder if he was ready to leave us. It will always be my greatest fear that we let him go before his time was truly up.

“I don’t think you would have been able to leave for college if Puddy was still with us,” said my sister Ellie. “And, if he had passed away while you were at college, I don’t think you would have been able to come home ever again knowing he wouldn’t be there.”

I would like to think I’m stronger than either of these outcomes, but deep down, I know that she is probably right.

Whenever it stormed, Puddy would come to my room and lay down on the floor at the foot of my bed. I would crawl down to the ground next to him, pillow and blanket in hand, and stroke his back until I heard the soft rumbling of his snores. Only when I knew he was safe, I fell asleep by his side. My parents said he chose my room because he knew I would always protect him.

Every time it rains, I think of Puddy. Even when I’m not at home, the rolls of thunder awaken me and I lean over the side of my bed expecting him to be there.

Home Away From Home

On our preseason move-in day, Jordan, Iliana, and I met up in the cafeteria before going to a team event. It was the most awkward fifteen minutes of my life. We ate the crappy dining hall food and conversed in stifling small talk as the heat arose in my cheeks and I became increasingly uncomfortable.

Little did I know, those people were going to become my best friends.

When I moved away to college, I was terrified. For the first time, I would be living with someone outside of my family and I would have to face all of the changes without my support system directly beside me. I am extremely close with my sisters, and I knew that being so far away from them was going to force me to find friends and create a new support system in Kearney.

Jordan was my freshman year roommate. I knew her a little before arriving on campus. We had played club soccer together for a couple years growing up, but we had never really gotten close. Through social media, we knew that we had both committed to play soccer at the same school, prompting us to reconnect through text and ultimately, we decided to live together in the dorms.

I am so grateful for that decision because I have now found a friendship that last my entire life. The nerves of being freshman and the forced proximity of living together in such a small space made us inseparable. Our first week on campus, we talked and talked, finding so much common ground that to this day I can’t believe that we hadn’t been friends when we played together before.

Jordan is a constant bright light in my life. Whenever I am mad or sad or angry, she always manages to make me laugh or find a positive side to the situation. She is naturally funny and owns it, spreading joy wherever she goes.

Iliana lived in a different residence hall than us, but we saw her everyday at practice and she had a couple classes with Jordan. I was the only one of the three of us with a car, so I would offer to drive her to get groceries or to team events off campus. The three of us started meeting up at the dining hall for meals and going to study hall together.

We bonded most through laughter, sitting in the booths at the dining hall or at a table in the learning commons with smiles on our faces and sometimes tears streaming down our faces as we told each other stories from our childhoods. Our incessant cackling no doubt drew stares, but we couldn’t help ourselves and honestly didn’t care because we enjoyed each other’s company so much.

Iliana brings out the goofiest side of me. She is the queen of “your mom” jokes and her comedic timing is impeccable. She is always the first person to join in on a prank, and she is the most attentive listener to everyone around her.

During the second semester of our freshman year, we started making plans to live together and looked for rentals off campus. Every couple days, we would drive to check out a new place. Finally, we found the rental house that would become our home away from home.

Living with my best friends has truly helped me create a safe space here in Kearney. From our movie nights and Just Dance parties to kicking around mini soccer balls in our basement, our house is our refuge from the chaos of our college lives.

Everyday, I wake up knowing that I get to spend my day with my best friends, ones that will be in my life forever and I’m extremely grateful for that. Their friendship has kept me sane through the craziness of these last two and a half years.

I like to think the three of us are platonic soulmates. There are few people outside of my family that I feel know me absolutely and entirely like Iliana and Jordan do, and I have never once felt belittled or judged in their presence.

We found each other at a time full of unwavering instability and uncertainty, and grounded each other through friendship.

The Beginning of the End

This week, my junior season of college soccer officially came to a close. This season has been a whirlwind. It feels like just yesterday that I was arriving on campus in August, anxious and excited to get our fitness tests over with and start preseason practices.

From the moment I got back to Kearney, soccer has consumed my every action and thought. I’ve constantly been planning when I could complete my assignments in between class, practice and games and strategizing when I could make it to the grocery store so I’d have enough food fuel myself for success.

Those late nights studying and early morning practices have certainly taken a toll on me, mentally and physically, this semester, but the memories I’ve made along the way make the post-practice exhaustion, numbingly tired legs, and stinging turf burn and cleat marks worth every second.

Now that our season is over, I have some time to catch my breath and reflect on these past four months.

This team has had to battle more obstacles than any other team I’ve been apart of. Since the day we arrived back on campus, our team has been plagued by injuries. Of our 29 person roster, there were 20 players who were sidelined due to injury at some point throughout the season, some even suffering multiple. I feel extremely grateful and lucky that I have remained healthy as I’ve watched three of my teammates suffer season-ending knee injuries and several others fighting to return to the field. I also can’t help but wonder what we could’ve accomplished if we had been full strength.

The MIAA conference is the most competitive conference at the Division II level, and there are five teams from our conference that have been ranked in the top 25 nationally at some point during the course of the season. We have competed with every single one of these teams, which isn’t something we have been able to say during my first two years.

The moment that will forever be ingrained in my memory came after the final whistle blew to end our game against the University of Central Missouri. At the beginning of October, we tied UCM, holding them to a 0-0 result when they were ranked #10 in the nation at the time. Last year, we got absolutely and quite embarrassingly obliterated by them, losing 7-1 at home – a result that has weighed heavy in the back of my mind ever since.

When our schedule came out over the summer, I immediately marked this game in my calendar and dreaded its arrival. Going into the game, all I could do was hope that we could keep the scoreline respectable. Those 90 minutes were purely a blur. All I could remember was throwing my body in front of the ball, doing everything I could to keep it out of the back of the net.

When that final whistle blew, I was in complete shock. I looked at my goalkeeper coach thinking did we really just do that? The smile on his face told me yes as he enveloped me in his arms.

The rest of our season was pretty disappointing as we struggled to score goals and get results. But, that game and the pride I felt for and from my coaches and teammates on the bus ride home has kept my head held high.

More than anything, the end of the season signals the beginning of the end. In almost exactly one year, my soccer career will be over. I’m not ready to admit that I will have to say goodbye to something that has been so deeply interconnected with my life and my identity for as long as I can remember.

When I started playing soccer at the age of five, I had no idea how far this sport was going to take me. This game has lead me to some of my happiest days and held my hand through the darkest moments. Truthfully, I am terrified of what my life is going to look like after I take of those cleats for the last time.

But, that’s a conversation for another time.

I still have one more year to play this game with my best friends. I still have so many goals that I want to accomplish with soccer. So until that final whistle blows, I’m going to carry with me all of the memories I’ve made throughout my career and make the most of every day I have left out on that field.

Examining A David Carr Column

David Carr was a journalist, media columnist and author who wrote for several publications, including the New York Times. I read several of his columns this week in preparation for class, but his insightful articles analyzing the media landscape really stood out to me. Not only was he commenting on the culture at the time, but he examined the work of his colleagues in the media.

His piece “Building a Brand With a Blog”, published on May 15, 2006, looked at the origins of The Huffington Post and its creator Arianna Huffington. Before reading this article, I didn’t realize that The Huffington Post has only been around for 20 years. Although I knew that The Huffington Post was left-leaning, I was unaware that it was created to create a platform to counter The Drudge Report, a conservative news and commentary website.

Being in a commentary and blogging class, this headline also caught my attention. I believe it is true that all bloggers, more so all writers, are trying to build a brand through their writing and their voice.

One of my favorite lines in the piece is “It seems that Ms. Huffington, who has taken to social climbing with the finesse of a ballerina and the ferocity of a fullback, has finally found her métier.” This description perfectly describes how The Huffington Post has helped Arianna Huffington rise in the media industry. Carr also implies that it takes both an immense amount of ambition and a deft and skillful approach to make a name for yourself in this industry.

Carr notes that Huffington was criticized by her readers for socializing with Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice at Time’s 100 most influential people party instead of using it as an opportunity to question her about the war in Iraq. Instead of siding with the readers, Carr defends Huffington, noting she has made her way in the world by throwing “rocks from deep inside the glass house.” He argues that it is this socialization that will continue to give her a place in these conversations and confront those who she disagrees with.

In this piece, Carr emphasizes that The Huffington Post has entered the scene at the right time to allow for its success. He states that civility and fairness are no longer prized in political discourse, and that Huffington’s platform is evening the playing field so that it no longer favors the conservatives, who had already been using talk radio and the Web to promote their opinions.

I think it is notable that Carr ties the outlet’s success to cultural factors as well as Huffington’s ingenuity. He quotes Huffington Post contributor, Al Franken, who states the struggles of the republican party at the time and the Bush administration helped promote the liberal-leaning outlet.

Through reading this column, it is clear that Carr is observant and uses these observations to make insightful conjectures about his topics. Carr’s writing is engaging and intelligent, but the aspect of his work that is the most interesting to me is the balance of both reporting and commentary. His use of quotes elevate his columns, making his arguments and observations more powerful.

Has ‘Dancing with the Stars’ spun into a popularity contest?

I have tuned in to Dancing with the Stars every week for as long as I can remember. My earliest memory of the show was sitting in front of the televisino in our living room while watching Rumor Willis, who won the Mirrorball trophy, compete against fellow celebrities Noah Galloway, Willow Shields, Nastia Liukin and Riker Lynch in season 20.

Although I have a long history as a viewer of the Dancing with the Stars style of ballroom dancing, I by no means have any qualifications or authority to judge the show. I have watched the show for long enough to know when a dance is good or bad, and can make a pretty good guess of the range of judges’ scores it will receive, but I know absolutely nothing about the technical aspects of dance.

The show is currently on its 34th season. The show’s elimination method been the same for several seasons now, sending home the contestant with the lowest of the undefined combination of judges scores and viewer votes. The controversy surrounding the method is not new, as viewers have long criticized how celebrities with large fan bases last longer on the show, despite being on the bottom of the leaderboard.

Last year, fan-favorite and season 28 leading man on The Bachelor, Joey Graziadei, took home the mirrorball. While Graziadei showed consistent improvement throughout the season and always lingered in the upper half of the leaderboard, many fans believed Disney star Chandler Kinney, who almost always received highest scores from the judges, or Ilona Maher, who was the most improved dancer of the season, should have won the competition because the show, at its core, is about learning to dance not popularity.

As the show continues to grow in viewership, social media presence has become a necessary advantage for stars and pros alike. The more followers they have, the more votes they’ll get, and the longer they will stay in the competition. This concept is exacerbated by the introduction of social media influencers, such as Charlie D’Amelio and Alix Earle, as contestants on the show because those celebrities already have an immense following on social media.

This has been seen in season 34 through comedian Andy Richter. He has consistently received the lowest scores from the judges since the premier, but because of his fandom, he has yet to be eliminated through the first seven weeks of the competition while higher-scoring, less popular contestants have been sent home.

This development is extremely problematic because it turns the show into a popularity contest, disregarding the actual performances, as well as the journey that many of the celebrities experience as they challenge themselves to learn the art of dance and grow both physically and mentally.

This year, the focus of fans’ criticism seems to have shifted to the judges. Since the season premiered on Sept. 16, my Threads feed has been taken over by this Dancing with the Stars debate.

Carrie Ann Inaba and Bruno Tonioli, along with the late Len Goodman, have sat on the judges panel since the show premiered in 2005. Six-time mirrorball champion and professional dancer, Derek Hough, joined them in season 29, which premiered in 2020. In the current season, all the judges have been criticized for their lack of constructive critiques and inconsistent scoring.

Last week, Whitney Leavitt and pro dancer Mark Ballas received a 37 out of 40, including a perfect 10 from Tonioli, for their halloween themed jazz number despite the fact that she her timing was off during a portion of the dance. During their commentary, the judges seemed to brush aside this mistake and failed to make any critiques of the performance.

While Leavitt did struggle with timing issues, I think that viewers forget that the judges are also evaluating the technical difficulty of the dance as well as the execution. Ballas’s choreography is known for its difficulty and excellence, so even though Leavitt was slightly out of sync, the dance involved a high level of technicality that the choreography of many of the other celebrities didn’t have.

Fans felt Leavitt was over scored and other couples, such as Jordan Chiles and Ezra Sosa, were underscored. The judges were very complementary throughout the night, praising all of the couples for their performances while giving a selectively few notes to help them improve their scores or techniques.

There is a lot of discontent amongst viewers, many of which are advocating for the show to go back to when the judges were harsh on the celebrities and viewer votes mattered less.

As the show has gained popularity, especially amongst a younger audience, the viewer’s votes have increasingly outweighed the judge’s scoring. A change is desperately needed, but how that can be done without disengaging viewers is hard to say.

Halloween Memories

Growing up, Halloween was simply an excuse to eat all the candy I could dream of, often ending in the worst stomach aches of my life. I never really felt or saw the spookiness of the holiday. Instead, I got to dress up in costumes handmade by my mom and grandma. Now that I am far too old to be trick or treating, I’ve been reminiscing on some of my favorite Halloween costumes and memories.

This was one of my favorite Halloween costumes because it was so representative of the relationship between my sisters and I at the time. My twin sister and I were like wild sheep that needed to be corralled and tamed by our older sister. We were always causing trouble and my older sister was the first one to try to get us to behave. My mom had to bribe us with ice cream sandwiches to get us to pose for this picture.

My twin sister and I nearly always had matching or group halloween costumes during our early childhood. My family is originally from Kansas, so the Wizard of Oz has always been one of my sister and I’s favorite stories. Both of these costumes were hand-made by my mom and grandma. My sister and I tirelessly fought over who would get to be Dorothy before i finally caved and decided to be Glinda. I remember tripping over the long skirt of my costume countless times, especially going up and down the stairs.

Being twins, my sister and I were always dividing things between us, including Disney princesses. I got Snow White and she got Cinderella. The shoes for this costume were so uncomfortable that we had barely made it around the block before my dad had to run back to the house and get our Bearclaw boots.

Alex Morgan, one of the most famous female soccer players in the world, was always my biggest idols growing up. I would watch almost every national team game and imitated her pink pre-wrap headband for every game of my own. I really wanted to be her for Halloween the fall after the U.S. Women’s National Team won the 2015 FIFA Women’s World Cup, mostly as an excuse for my parents to buy me her jersey.

Every year, UNK Soccer has a Halloween practice during the week leading up to October 31. This is always my favorite practice of the season because our seniors get to choose the drills and it is fun to see what costumes my teammates show up in. Last year, my friends and I dressed up as characters from Inside Out. It is always tricky to put together a costume that we are still able to play soccer in, and it also started raining during this practice so our face paint was hilariously smudged and streaky by the end of the evening.

Examining Food Commentary Pieces

As we continue to discuss food commentary and criticism in class, I decided to look at articles from each The New York Times’s chief restaurant critics. Tejal Rao and Ligaya Mishan were named co-chief restaurant critics earlier this year, with Rao covering restaurants across the nation and Mishan focusing more on New York City’s restaurant scene.

“At the Tesla Diner, the Future Looks Mid” – Tejal Rao

This article is a critique of Elon Musk’s Tesla Diner in Los Angeles, which was announced in 2018 and opened in July 2025. The restaurant has a futuristic drive-in style, with 80 charging spots reserved for Tesla vehicles and ordering available through an app in their Tesla’s. The diner’s 24-hour service is only available through this method, with the restaurant only being open to non-Tesla drivers and walk-ins from the hours of 6 a.m. to midnight.

The review reports that protestors gather outside the restaurant on weekends and passersby shout at the line in protest of Musk. Rao also makes it clear that despite the controversy surrounding the fast food restaurant’s creator and his business, the diner’s popularity remains unaffected. However, she does note that the restaurant might not be able to keep up with this popularity, with crowds lined up out the door and several menu items being chronically unavailable.

Though the restaurant has experienced a high level of demand by customers, the restaurant’s food lacks distinction. The diner even took its “epic bacon” off the menu after the internet exposed it for its grim comparison to the image on the touch screen menu. In fact, Rao quotes some diners who say they only order the undistinguished burger because all of the other menu items are “bad.”

Rao does a good job of not dwelling on the politics surrounding Musk, something that I imagine would be hard to do when writing about the venture of such a controversial businessman. In the review, she also finds a balance of applauding the restaurant for its popularity while still being critical of its product. Her criticism is respectful and she makes strong observations about the restaurant’s underwhelming atmosphere, both in the dining room and the kitchen. Rao doesn’t say “this sucked,” even though the restaurant’s food and service seem to warrant the remark.

“The Steakhouse Endures as a Meaty Man Cave. But Can It Evolve?” – Ligaya Mishan

This article is both an exploration of Manhattan’s newest steakhouses and a commentary on the national beef industry. The reviews of three New York restaurants is sandwiched between the argument that during a time when beef prices are at a high and cattle breeding is at a low, steakhouses turn the meat into a privilege of the wealthy.

The piece opens with an analysis of the origins of the steakhouse, when in men devoured slabs of meat in basements, back rooms and dungeons. This unsophisticated image is far from the luxurious and ornamented experience that defines the modern restaurant. Mishan describes steakhouses today as a place where “we are being fattened up like the cattle we feast on.”

From here, Mishan goes on to review three new steakhouses in the city, all with different perspective and ethnic ties. Gui Steakhouse serves prime rib and steaks with a Korean flair. La Tête d’Or is a beautiful French steakhouse in Midtown. Cuerno focuses on Mexican carne asada with beef raised on the grasslands of South Dakota.

The reviews, while offering positive insight into the restaurants, are perfect examples of the modern steakhouses that turn beef into a pleasantry reserved for the elite. The structure of this piece is extremely effective: first introducing the evolution of steakhouses before reviewing the restaurants and ending with the problem of this privatized service. This article is a great example of using something digestible like a rood review to discuss cultural issues such as national food insecurity. Mishan does so without disparaging the restaurants being reviewed, but rather noting that the industry as a whole is materialistic rather than subsistent.

Chili: A Perfect Fall Feast and Symbol of Home

When I think of home, the scent of chili powder and simmering onions comes to mind. This past weekend, I was able to return to my hometown for the first time this semester. After the chaos of balancing school and soccer, I have been longing to get a couple days away and spend some quality time with my family.

As I drove home through the evening mist, I couldn’t wait to eat my ultimate comfort meal. Growing up in Lincoln, Nebraska, my Saturdays in the fall were filled with club soccer games and Husker football. Regardless of the activity, there was no greater relief from the crisp autumnal air than a warm bowl of chili.

My mom makes the best chili in the world, at least according to my taste buds. It is the perfect blend of hearty ground beef and sweet tomatoes, with just enough spice to make your nose tickle. Whenever I smell chili powder, I am taken back to my childhood days of sitting in the kitchen accompanying my mom as she made dinner. This weekend, we decided to try a new recipe.

As she chopped the celery and onion, I began to cook the ground beef. When the meat turned from reddish pink to brown, we added in the vegetables and let it simmer on the stove for about 5 minutes. The pungently sweet smell of onion consumed the kitchen as we poured the rest of the ingredients into the crockpot. After adding the meat mixture, we gave the chili a good stir, watching the broth slowly redden from the tomato paste. We put the lid on and set the temperature to low for six hours.

In making this chili, my mom divulged her secret ingredient: Greek oregano. A couple years back, she was gifted a package of dried oregano from her friend whose family lives in Greece. Her friend’s father had picked it in the wild and dried it himself. As she dumped a half teaspoon of oregano leaves into the pot, I got a whiff of the bold, earthy leaves and laughed about my inferior store-bought oregano sitting in my spice cabinet in Kearney.

While the chili stewed in the crockpot, we left the house to run some errands. Upon returning, we instantly smelled the soup’s savory fumes as we stepped through the front door, causing my stomach to grumble pleadingly at me.

The first bite was immediately satisfying – tasting meaty and mild, but lacking the tanginess of our other recipe. Because the chili was made with a beef broth base instead of a tomato juice base, it had a weaker tomato flavor, which I didn’t necessarily hate. Ignoring the Nebraskan tradition of eating cinnamon rolls with our chili, we paired it with cornbread. A thick layer of butter melted on top of the cornbread, making it moist and crumbly.

While eating, my parents and I laughed and conversed, simply enjoying each other’s company. The meal was complete, leaving me with a satisfied stomach and a sense of peace knowing I was home with the people I love.

Ingredients:

• 1 lb ground beef
• 1 medium onion, diced
• 2-4 stalks celery, chopped
• 1 (28 oz) can diced tomatoes
• 1 (15 oz) can kidney beans, rinsed and drained
• 1 (15 oz) can black beans, rinsed and drained
• 1 (8 oz) can tomato paste
• 2 cups beef broth
• 2 tbsp chili powder
• 1 tsp cumin
• 1/2 tsp paprika
• 1/2 tsp dried oregano
• 1/2 tsp garlic powder
• Salt and pepper to taste

Directions:

• In a medium pan, brown the ground beef. When it is no longer pink, add celery and onion and let it simmer for 5 minutes.
• Add beef mixture to a large pot (or crockpot) and add the rest of the ingredients.
• Let the chili cook for 2 hours on medium-low heat on the stovetop or on low for 6-8 hours in the crockpot.
• Serve with your choice of shredded cheese, cracker balls, sliced green onion, sour cream, avocado, or tortilla chips.

Reaction To Tim Carmen Piece

ICE detentions roil D.C.’s already struggling restaurant scene

This article is about how Trump’s immigration crackdown has impacted the restaurant and dining scene in Washington D.C. According to Carmen, more than 20 D.C. chefs, owners, and immigration lawyers suspect about 23 workers to be in ICE detention or deported. Restaurants across the country rely on immigrant labor for work as dishwashers, line cooks, food runners, prep cooks and butchers.

Many of Carmen’s sources in this story spoke on the condition of anonymity, afraid of becoming targets of ICE. This is just a small example of the fear created by the rise in ICE arrests. Carmen reports that workers are avoiding public transportation because federal agents have flooded the Metro stations, an action that is not enough to evade arrest as restaurant employees have been apprehended from Ubers, randomly pulled over in their own vehicles, and stopped while walking on public streets. ICE agents have also been sweeping through D.C. restaurants with requests for I-9 documentation and work eligibility verification for employees.

The result of this crackdown in restaurants is an exacerbated staffing shortage, with other employees and chefs having to assume extra responsibilities. Many owners are honorably trying to keep open the jobs of workers who have been detained and not deported.

The most troubling aspect of these arrests is that they ignore pending asylum cases and green card applications, which immigration officials are suspected of using to surveil and detain these people. These are people who are trying to legally go through the citizenship process and are not trying to reside in the United States without documentation, yet they are being punished and even targeted by immigration officials for this effort.

This article is extremely disheartening as it shows how the D.C. community, not just the immigrant community, has been negatively impacted by ICE raids. Restaurants are heavily reliant on immigrant labor in all areas of the country, and I think it is notable that Carmen explores the effects of ICE detentions this industry. Food is also something that connects us, and showing how restaurants have been effected by the detainments shows privileged and ignorant people a new perspective of how their everyday lives could be changed if this continues. Carmen does well to use his role as a food writer and the genre of food to explore cultural issues and current events through a new lens.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/food/2025/09/10/dc-restaurants-immigrants-ice-arrests/

Examining Jonathan Gold’s Pulitzer Prize Winners for Food Criticism

This week in JMC406, we watched “City of Gold,” a documentary about one of the most well-known food critics in the industry, Jonathan Gold. Gold wrote for several publications and won the Pulitzer Prize for distinguished criticism in 2007 for his LA Weekly restaurant reviews. Here is my analysis of two of his award-winning reviews.

“The devil’s own steak house”

This is a review of The Lodge in Beverly Hills, California. Immediately, Gold’s voice shines in the introduction as he uses a series of questions to list his favorite parts about the restaurant. I also love how Gold takes us through his personal experience with the location, which was a drive in restaurant during his childhood before becoming an “upscale coffee shop” and eventually the steakhouse subject to review. Gold is descriptive and charming, aiming both to entertain and inform.

Gold criticizes The Lodge’s aesthetic, describing it as modeled after the X-Box and Dungeons & Dragons with its fire, wood, leather, and stone elements. He also comments on the restaurants service, calling out its formidable maitre d’ and long wait time even for those with a reservation. I love the reference Topanga hippies because it brings to mind the character from the hit show “Boy Meets World.” She is undoubtedly an free-spirited flower child and a perfect description for the eccentricity The Lodge seems to be going for.

The writer doesn’t criticize the taste or presentation of the food, rather describing it as making him “deliriously, irrationally happy.” From what I read, The Lodge’s food is agreeable and pleasant, but not life-changing by any means. What I found most interesting is that throughout the piece and especially during his commentary of the dishes, Gold subtly condemns the restaurants prices as being a little too high for the underwhelming atmosphere and “blissful enough” food.

“Cool hunting: Sweet heat relief at Bulgarini gelateria”

This is a review of Bulgarini Gelato in Pasadena, California. In the first paragraph, Gold sets the scene of Los Angeles in the summertime: desperation for shade in the 109 degree heat. Through this, Gold tells readers where it is and builds the atmosphere of the gelato cart. He also references other gelato places in LA to create a frame of reference for what to expect from Bulgarini, which Gold speaks most highly of among the named gelaterias.

As for the gelato itself, Gold describes the ideal texture as smooth and weightless – seamlessly sliding down your throat in authentically Italian fashion. While this may be a simple dish to make, Gold says it takes a gift to do it well. Here he uses a variety of metaphors to describe the feeling he gets when eating a worthy gelato, including “pinning a butterfly under a glass” and “displays the majestic iridescence while making you forget that you are looking at a bug.” Gold praises the vivid and fresh flavors of Bulgarini as authentic and pure.

In this review, Gold takes a simple treat like gelato and creates an transformative experience. Not only does he argue Bulgarini provides relief from the summer heat and satisfies one’s tastebuds, but the review is an appreciation for the simple things and a round of applause for gelato as a whole.