During my study abroad to London, I wrote reviews on Tripadvisor that captured my experience of exploring a new culture. I used irony and an exaggerated sense of existentialism to parody the typical abroad student’s “life changing” experience.

An airplane is a vehicle for change, tasked with the duty of transporting its voyager to a different location, as well as, perhaps, a different state of mind. I boarded the United Airlines aircraft en route to London, unprepared for the journey ahead. I found myself feeding my anxieties, empowering a false sense of self – a self that would be defined by how many museums, theaters, countries, and landmarks I checked off my bucket list; a self defined by the tangible things I could gain to move my life forward. However, sometimes it takes moving forward at the speed of 2178 miles an hour to recognize the importance of standing still.

United Airlines helped me reframe my journey ahead in a way no other airline could. When I told Clare, the gentle British flight attendant, that I didn’t want a drink, she intuited that I was denying my feelings of thirst and insisted I have one. With over 200 movies, United notably made sure to include the entirety of a movie series. And to top it off, the flight was empty and I had a whole row to myself! As I sprawled, eating my vanilla ice cream and watching Shrek, I was struck by a sense of relief.

Taking a deep breath, I observed my surroundings – a family of chassidim noting that the kosher meal wasn’t up to their standards, a woman aggressively hitting her iPad, a tween watching a sex scene, an elderly man ignoring the seat belt sign. Yet, there was something so present and liberating about these people – something quintessentially United about their uninhibited ability to live fully in the moment. I exhaled my false sense of self. I wasn’t escaping into the future or the past. I was finally living in the moment. United Airlines unites us together with the prese

The evocative door slam at the closing curtains of Ibsen’s “A Doll’s House” echoes through the ears of culture since its 1879 conception. But, Stef Smith’s version “Nora,” playing at Young Vic theatre, keeps the doors to its feminist narrative wide open, literally taking the doors out of the set. The backdrop for female interiority is interestingly quite exterior. The set naturally blends into the audience encircled on very intimate benches (be prepared to play footsie with your neighbour). In addition to breaking boundaries of space, Smith intentionally breaks boundaries of time with three overlapping Nora’s from 1918, 1968 and 2018 alternating on stage perhaps to establish the timelessness of misogyny. Having three Nora’s with such similar parts and emotions highlights their shortcomings with the weaker link quite obvious; 1918 Nora seemed disingenuine, lacklustre and passive compared to spunky 1968 Nora and gritty 2018 Nora. And having the outcome for all three Nora’s the same completely undermines the beauty of Ibsen’s work that uniquely emphasises the importance of context in determining a character and plot. In Smith’s version, the different contexts didn’t really lend itself to enough distinction between characters to be worthwhile. Perhaps, this is all a thoughtful critique on how female suffering transcends time and context. But, Ibsen’s plots are a bit too intricate to begin with, so multiplying the characters by three is quite confusing. Overall, the three-Nora idea is a bit overstated and the references used to establish different time periods felt forced. Sure, the concept had some thought-provoking suggestions about the timelessness of misogyny. But without doors, how could the show go out with a bang?

Let’s face it- a romantic spark is just anxiety with a stellar marketing team. The Honeymoon Phase is when your heart's on a rollercoaster ride, your brain's on a beach vacation, and your wallet's weeping in the corner. While culture would like you to believe that the early days of a relationship are pure bliss, it is beyond normal to go through the honeymoon phase as a ball of anxiety. You could be falling in love with your soulmate, yet the lack of stability or sense of security is unsettling. Before every date you spend an hour on glam so he thinks you're an on call goddess 24/7. Little does he know you're an on-call goddess five sometimes six days a week for seven hour increments and the rest of the week you're giving more Mia Thermopolis before becoming the princess of Genovia. You can barely focus at work, or in school, as you wait for his next text reply. And God forbid you seem too eager by replying too quickly, or not interested enough by replying too late. There is simply no room for error- your text reply times must embody the perfect amount of interest. And don't get me started on farting. Luckily I mastered the art of holding in farts in sixth grade after a humiliating incident during a 9/11 school assembly. But those less fortunate might be nervous to fart and blow their man away. All this to say, it gets better ladies, just stay strong, keep doing what you're doing and know you're not a freak of nature.

For a Food Management Course, I was tasked with writing a critique of a well known chef. While the 50 person class took this to mean a non-fictional chef, I wrote about the fictional rat chef from the movie Ratatouille. I watched the film closely and ensured the critique was deeply rooted in the movie’s plot.

The culinary world is a rat race, a never-ending tireless pursuit of success. Most humans are incapable of overcoming unforeseen obstacles, being open to criticism, knowing when to push boundaries, and when to maintain the delicate balance between creativity and profitability. In the realm of food, the only thing predictable is the unpredictable. Thus, it’s no surprise that Remy, the adorable yet prickly rodent from Pixar’s “Ratatouille,” achieved culinary esteem, outshining his human coworkers with his originality, passion, and openness. The culinary world is a rat race. So perhaps Remy is the perfect competitor?

Stepping into Remy’s humble Parisian restaurant, I am immediately comforted by the effortless elegance. There’s something delightful about the room’s conventionality. With crisp white tablecloths, an intimate seating arrangement, and deep red wood paneling, the muted design perhaps leaves something to be desired. And with my curly-haired waiter, Linguini, whooshing around on roller skates to deliver food, I start to sense that this ordinary room holds extraordinary culinary treasures. The menu is strikingly traditional, almost pretentiously so, and I fear that any chef attempting to redeem peasant food of the past, such as ratatouille, is a chef lacking his own creative ideas for the future. I also possess a general disdain for any chef trying to market low-value food at high costs. Ratatouille is peasant food, so I’m skeptical when it claims the same exuberant price as wagyu beef. Having said that, when Linguini delivered my plate of ratatouille, I was transported.

Remy elevates dishes to different dimensions, fusing the past, present, and future in unparalleled harmony. It’s almost as if his ostracization from traditional Parisian cuisine has fueled in him a relentless desire to decipher the soul of each dish. You can taste this mastery of Parisian flavors in every bite. But it’s more than that. Remy’s divergent thinking, his sense of when to surprise taste buds, his almost sensual restraint of overpowering flavors, is what propels his dishes into culinary ecstasy. Remy is a true culinary genius.

While Remy’s restaurant deserves its fame, his questionable journey to success had its moral ups and downs. Remy grew up on the outskirts of Paris, where his knack for flavors was put to use, serving as a poison sniffer for his rat clan. During these formative years, Remy would sneak into a human home to read Chef Gusteau’s cookbook, enamored by the artistry and thoughtfulness of French cuisine. Remy’s unwavering passion for cooking and his frequent missions into the kitchen, the heart of a human’s home, almost cost him his clan. On one visit to the kitchen, Remy accidentally woke up the women. The women saw the clan of rats and immediately began shooting in their direction. The rat clan luckily managed to escape, but regardless, Remy understood the risk in interacting with humans and put his clan in tremendous danger. His love for food could have resulted in the destruction of his clan. But, from a young age, Remy was motivated by a relentless fervor that went beyond logic.

With an abundance of resources and an appreciative audience, Remy’s skills flourished. But was Remy’s deception and manipulation warranted? Had the customers at Chef Gusteau’s restaurant known their meal was being cooked by a rat, they would have immediately spit up their food and gone on a juice cleanse of sorts. At the same time, had Remy not developed his skills at Chef Gusteau’s restaurant, or proved his cooking abilities behind a human facade, today’s world would be deprived of his sheer brilliance.

In the future, I would appreciate Remy infusing his rodent roots into his cuisine. His mastery of Parisian cuisine is exceptional, but it almost feels like Remy is denying his rodent upbringing. This isn’t to say I’m ready to eat stale cheese served on a mousetrap. I’m a gourmet, not a scavenger. Rather, I’d hate to see Remy’s unique perspective lost out of fear of what humans want. He has won me over. I trust this little rodent’s palate. Now, I’m prepared to eat whatever he serves me, and I wouldn’t mind if it was infused with his dual perspective as a rodent foodie. It frustrates me when artists get caught up in fame and forget where they came from.

On a more commercial level, I would appreciate seeing Remy's cuisine become accessible to lower-end markets. Eating food cooked by Remy is a truly life-changing experience, and it would be, dare I say, immoral for such a limited, high-end audience to solely benefit from his skills. In the past, Remy has been quick to dismiss the concept of freezer food items. However, I believe Remy possesses the talent to create a line of freezer food that would maintain culinary decorum while appealing to a broader audience.

Remy's cuisine speaks for itself, so the culinary world pardons his rodentness. In an industry rooted in appearances, Remy's rise to success is a reminder to stay open and curious. Don't judge a book by its cover. Never say never. Not everyone can create, but creativity can come from anywhere. Remy embodies every cheesy saying in the book. However, this Pixar-esque personification is deepened by his dangerous determination. Remy's unwavering passion and almost spiritual pursuit of his purpose nearly cost him his clan and drove him to deception and manipulation. Remy's mindset begs the question of whether passion and success truly come before all else. If the culinary industry, or any industry for that matter, is a rat race, then is it better off staying on the sidelines?