I write this having just 
signed my lease for the next 
school year, petrified at the 
prospect of having to cook for 
myself EVERY DAY. Call it 
lazy, characteristic of the weird 
millennial-Gen Z hybrid I am 
— I don’t care, I am the leftover 
queen! 
When 
you’re 
raised 
by someone with a knack for 
cooking sans the recipes, you 
can’t help but feel like a fool 
every time you enter the kitchen 
(thanks Mom!). It’s more funny 
than it is tragic — from making 
playlists to slicing onions with 
goggles on, I don’t think any 
other activity better draws out 
my creativity. However, I will 
say that goggle situation was a 
one-time thing. The true dream 
team is the union between my 
cooking and music.
Music is the key spice to all of 
my recipes. I’m not particularly 
adroit nor attentive in the 
kitchen, so I’m certain my music 
has 
saved 
countless 
baked 
goods. That being said, my 
music taste for the moment can 
get contextual. If I’m cooking 
at my parents’ home over the 
holidays, I’m inclined to listen 
to Arabic music. It transports 
me back to a Ramadan, my mom 
pulling rotisserie chicken out of 
the oven with the cold wafting 
in from outside the way it did 
10 years ago. Arabic music also 
has a distinct character and 
range to it, the energies shifting 
from your characteristic love 
song to unadulterated, unironic 
patriotism. There was also a 
point in the mid to late ’00s 
where every Lebanese song 
sounded like it came out of a 

tropey spy movie — this is 
my most ideal taste. It almost 
elevates the task of rolling grape 
leaves when Fares Karam is 
blaring in the background over 
a goblet drum.
More often, I have taken to 
baking with my friend in her 
apartment on Fridays. I consider 
myself more of spoon licker in 
these situations, occasionally 
cracking the eggs or adding 
a dash of cinnamon. But I 
promise this bond is symbiotic. 
These moments are when I feel 
most like a DJ, cranking out my 
very niche taste in rap music as 
Makenzie works her magic with 
the oven — we are now both 
very enamored with Noname’s 
Room25 
and 
snickerdoodles. 
Numerous 
Kendrick 
Lamar 
appearances also make their 
way into this jam session as well 
— I aggressively advocate for his 
G.O.A.T status. The idea behind 
this is for Makenzie to teach me 
to bake as we exchange music 
tastes, but it usually ends with 
us lip syncing to 3OH!3’s “Don’t 
Trust Me” and realizing what’s 
in the oven.
I flounder in the summer 
when it is necessary that I cook 
on a daily basis. I have my fair 
share of microwave magic, but 
I’ll also occasionally turn to 
sandwiches when I’m feeling 
particularly 
innovative. 
The 
sweet spot is breakfast foods — 
it can’t get worse than a burnt 
first pancake. This is where my 
cooking music takes a turn for 
the mundane and unexpected. 
I’ll 
find 
myself 
restrained 
enough to listen to full length 
albums or explore new artists 
I 
otherwise 
wouldn’t 
feel 
inclined to. It makes for some 
uncanny associations I can 
never seem to rip apart. I refuse 
to separate the scent of burnt 
pizza with Tyler the Creator’s 

Flower Boy.
I wouldn’t say I have any 
interest in or hopes of becoming 
a master cook, though I don’t 
believe that has diminished 
from 
my 
experiences 
with 
cooking. Beyond the hilarity 
I attribute to my innumerable 
defeats in the kitchen, some of 
my best ideas for playlists and 
opportunities to share music 
root themselves here.

— Diana Yassin

I used to hate cooking, which, 
in my Persian family where 
the menu for dinner parties 
was planned weeks in advance 
and execution was an all-day 
affair, was near blasphemy. But 
I couldn’t deny it — I grew up 
watching my various aunts, older 
cousins and two grandmothers 
bustle around different kitchen 
backdrops cooking everything 
from Zereshkt Polo (barberry 
rice) to Bademjan (eggplant 
and tomato stew) yet I could 
never bring myself to recreate 
these recipes back home. Part 
of it was intimidation — Iranian 
dishes are notoriously difficult 
to make, and, since most recipes 
are passed down between family 
members, it’s hard to find the 
best agreed upon recipe online. 
Diving into a recipe that calls 
for an array of herbs, different 
types of beans and lamb without 
really understanding how to 
best cook the beans, sauté the 
herbs and prepare the lamb is 
a hassle at best and terrifying 
at worst. However, most of 
my 
hesitation 
came 
from 
the knowledge that I would 
never be able to recreate the 
atmosphere I saw surrounding 
cooking in Iran. There, the 
kitchen would be packed with 
different 
family 
members, 
each preparing or helping to 

DIANA YASSIN
Daily Arts Writer

Our reflections on soundtracking in the kitchen

B-SIDE SECONDARY

‘Julie and Julia’ and the long legacy of food movies

After every movie, without 
fail, I will watch the credits. 
This originally started because 
I 
was 
waiting 
for 
those 
surprise Marvel endings, but 
now it’s more about looking 
for random people in the cast 
like the interns and the other 
background people who helped 
bring the movie to life. Looking 
back, though, one key cast 
member is always missing: the 
food. Maybe this is because 
food isn’t a person or, more 
likely, it’s because the movie 
credits the prop or set designer 
under which the responsibility 
of food falls. The thing is, 
food is always in movies and 
always makes an appearance. 
It’s an A-list star that gets 
less attention than the intern 
making coffee runs
“Julie 
and 
Julia” 
is 
a 
movie that emphasizes the 
role of food in our lives in 
an extreme way, yet never 
actually 
acknowledges 
its 
part in building the movie. It 
starts with Julie Powell (Amy 
Adams, “Enchanted”) deciding 
to cook all 542 recipes in Julia 
Child’s (Meryl Streep, “The 
Post”) “Mastering the Art of 
French Cooking.” Not only 
does the food serve as a catalyst 

in Julie’s life, but it’s also the 
thread that holds the whole 
film together. Without it, there 
is 
no 
connection 
between 
Julie and Julia, and there is 
no movie. “Julie and Julia” 
also carries the distinct air of 
a romantic comedy, but both 
characters have already found 
their “one.” So what gives? It 
could be the fact that “Julie and 
Julia” is a Nora Ephron movie, 
but I think it’s because we are 
still watching two characters 
fall in love — just with food 
instead of a person.
Another part of food that 
“Julie 
and 
Julia” 
captures 
beautifully 
is 
its 
dynamic 
relationship 
with 
someone. 
Turning something as simple 
as a piece of beef into beef 
bourguignon or killing a live 
lobster is an intimate process 
that brings Julie closer to food 
and, subsequently, the audience. 
Together, we go through the 
same emotional turmoil when 
the stew is ruined, or a freshly 
murdered lobster is slathered 
in butter for our enjoyment. 
Not only that, but food is also 
used as a tool of empowerment 
for Julia. As a woman in 1950s 
Paris trying to break into the 
cooking world, a mostly male-
dominated profession, she has 
her work ahead of her, but food 
doesn’t 
discriminate. 
Food, 

instead, is Julia’s key to a life 
that is more than just being a 
diplomat’s housewife. 
Julia Child and food also 
have a unique relationship: 
Before 
her, 
food 
wasn’t 
recognized as widely in the 
media as it is today. There were 
no “cooking shows” or Food 
Network. So, while we may owe 
our enjoyment of media to food, 
food owes its own media legacy 
to Julia Child.
It could be argued that the 
way food gets used is up to the 
directors and producers, but 
that is true for all actors. In the 
same way that an actor’s talent 
can get lost in a director’s 
vision, so too can the essence 
of food. We can see in reality 
television 
shows 
like 
“The 
Kardashians” that food isn’t so 
much of an art as it is a spark for 
drama. Heated arguments are 
made over Waldorf salads while 
family announcements occur at 
a backyard dinner. One of the 
more iconic dramatizations of 
food is a drink thrown in anger, 
frustration or even just plain 
fun.
Other 
times, 
food’s 
role 
as 
a 
character 
(like 
in 
“Julie and Julia”) isn’t as 
important as its place in a 
character’s personality. Take 
“Gilmore Girls,” for instance. 
Lorelai 
(Lauren 
Graham, 

FILM NOTEBOOK

prepare a dish. Cooking was 
an 
extravagant 
affair, 
the 
clamour of different voices 
climbing over each other and 
multiple appliances clanking 
against pots and pans serving 
as a constant soundtrack to the 
whole endeavor. There was no 
appeal in coming back to my 
silent kitchen and attempting 
to make these meals if I knew 
the most important part of the 
meal — the company — would be 
missing.
I 
cannot 
tell 
you 
what 
changed this past summer, 
what shift in mindset caused 
me to wholeheartedly start to 
love cooking. Perhaps it was my 
resolve to leave Persian recipes 
behind for the time being and 
turn to more friendly dishes. 
Perhaps it was my discovery 
that music could just as easily 
replace the chatter and the 
clamour I had grown up with. 
Or perhaps it was a little bit 
of both that caused me to 
dedicate the empty stretches of 
late afternoon that oftentimes 
come during summer months 
to 
learning 
and 
mastering 
recipes I stumbled upon online. 
Most importantly, the songs 
that accompanied my cooking 
helped make the food more 
intimately mine, tumbling out 
of my speakers and providing 
me the company I needed to 
enjoy my time alone in the 
kitchen.
The 
first 
recipe 
I 
truly 
mastered, the one that was most 
integral in changing how I felt 
about cooking, was the French 
dish ratatouille. When I first 
started learning, it was deep in 
the middle of this past summer, 
and both Playboi Carti’s Die 
Lit and Parquet Courts’s Wide 
Awake 
had 
just 
dropped. 
Ratatouille 
is 
essentially 
a 
summer vegetable medley — 

a mix of eggplant, zucchini, 
tomato 
and 
onion. 
I 
have 
memories of walking down to 
Lucky’s Market to gather the 
vegetables 
with 
songs 
like 
“Shoota” or “Mardi Gras Beads” 
blaring out of my headphones. 
Unlike most French cooking, 
ratatouille does not have a 
set recipe; rather, it differs 
depending on the cook. The 
only aspect of ratatouille that 
is definitive is the detail that 
makes its flavor so distinctive 
(and worth the long cooking 
time): all the vegetables are 
oven roasted separately, well-
bathed in olive oil and then 
roasted together again in order 
to revive the flavors. It is a dish 
that is simultaneously very easy 
— it’s only roasted vegetables, 
after all — and very difficult: 
These 
roasted 
vegetables 
have to be prepared, chopped 
and seasoned with care in 
order for the best flavors to 
come out. I found that playing 
slower songs — “Nakamarra” 
by Hiatus Kaiyote and “The 
Bird” by Anderson .Paak come 
to mind — when prepping 
the 
ingredients 
helped 
me 
achieve the best results. “A 
bird with a word came to me / 
The sweetness of a honeycomb 
tree,” .Paak croons, and it was 
near impossible to not pause 
whatever I was cutting at the 
moment and take a step back, 
knife held aloft, and assess the 
scene around me in relation to 
the smooth groove of the song. 
Everything was harmonious: 
The underlying bright jazz 
instrumental matched the hue 
of the vegetables spread across 
the cutting board, the late 
afternoon breeze entering my 
sun-drenched apartment was 
as light as .Paak’s voice. It felt 
good to be cooking this dish in 
this moment. It felt right.

The total time to make 
ratatouille 
hovers 
around 
three 
to 
four 
hours. 
The 
majority of this comes from 
the extensive period you have 
to let the vegetables bake in 
the oven. Therefore, for all 
the time you spend actually 
cooking ratatouille, you spend 
even longer waiting for it to be 
done. To distract myself from 
opening the oven every five 
seconds, I usually soundtracked 
this period with songs that 
announced 
themselves 
with 
intensity. 
Vegetables 
stewed 
under sprigs of rosemary and 
thyme. I let Princess Nokia’s “I 
don’t give a fuck” attitude in 
“Flava” rattle the walls of my 
studio. I tried to teach myself 
to dance to The Pharcyde 
“Soul Flower” remix (failing 
miserably). I watched as Young 
Thug’s “Memo” serenaded the 
sunset. And finally it was time 
to eat what I had made.
Kendrick 
Lamar 
and 
De 
La Soul, Frank Ocean and 
Toro Y Moi, Mos Def and 
KAYTRANADA 
... 
most 
of 
the music I usually like to 
listen to in the summer has 
now inexplicably been tied 
to cooking ratatouille in my 
cramped kitchen, excited for 
whatever the rest of the night 
had in store for me with warm 
weather still feeling like it 
would last forever. I still very 
much enjoy cooking now. The 
months have turned icy, but 
ratatouille, 
and 
the 
music 
that for a short period of time 
turned empty space into one 
filled with life and sound, will 
always remind me of why I fell 
in love with the art of cuisine 
in the first place — music and 
food blending together to create 
flavors I never knew existed. 

— Shima Sadaghiyani

WIKIMEDIA COMMONS

WIKIMEDIA COMMONS

“Parenthood”) 
and 
Rory 
(Alexis Bledel, “Handmaid’s 
Tale”) are known for their 
voracious appetites, and much 
of the show’s plot occurs 
either at Luke’s diner over a 
hamburger or Friday night 
dinners 
with 
Emily 
(Kelly 
Bishop, 
“Bunheads) 
and 
Richard (Edward Herrmann, 
“American 
Dad”). 
Food 
is 
present throughout the entire 
show, and not once has anyone 

stopped to consider just how 
critical it is to the success of 
the characters — it makes them 
relatable and quirky and brings 
the audience closer to the 
Gilmore family. 
Whether 
it’s 
the 
main 
sticking point for a movie or 
a defining characteristic for 
a lovable TV personality, the 
best part of food in film and 
television is the fact that there 
is no drama. Food doesn’t, 

and 
will 
never, 
care 
that 
Hollywood has never given it 
any recognition. All it really 
wants is to be there for us 
when family drama comes to a 
head during a holiday romantic 
comedy or a character needs 
some kind of quirky hobby. The 
least we can do is appreciate 
the steam curling up from a 
soup or the satisfying first taste 
of a new dish, both in film and 
in life.

COLUMBIA PICTURES

SHIMA SADAGHIYANI
Daily Music Editor

EMMA CHANG
Daily Arts Writer

6B — Thursday, December 6, 2018
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com