Kylee Narasaki
A Tastier Future
        Food is the substance of life, but more than that, it is the substance of our lives. It represents our cultures so we take pride in creating our unique dishes that hundreds of generations of our ancestors crafted. As a dedicated foodie myself, I truly believe food is the best bridger of different people groups. We tend to stick with people who are “like us” and stray away from those with cultural differences. But I’ve also seen how people can bond over the aromas, flavors, and history of food, because no matter our race, ethnicity or nationality, our taste buds don’t lie. It’s connections like this where people appreciate our differences and encourage collaboration that are essential to harmonious intercultural relationships. In the Torrance community, we have a very diverse body of people, giving us the unique opportunity to experience a variety of cultures. It’s these types of differences that breed innovation to help us combat the growing issues of today’s world together. 
        Every year on New Year's Day, my family makes mochi with my grandparents. A soft, stretchy ball of pounded sweet rice that’s eaten in soups and with sugar, it’s a staple in any Japanese family’s house around the winter holidays. Traditionally, it represents good fortune in the new year, but I’ve always seen it as a symbol of my family. My memories surrounding mochi are about working together to fold and shape the glutinous treats with only a thin layer of corn starch protecting our fingers from the heat. We had to be quick when actually touching the mochi, and through a series of 5-6 pinches, we’d be done, either rewarded with a pleased smile from my grandma for its circular shape or a short laugh from my mom who would pick up the blob and reshape it. At the end of the day, my family drove home with Ziploc bags full of mochi. 
        As someone who’s full Japanese, I’d never heard about other ethnic Christmas and New Years traditions. But that changed in the beginning of my freshman year. During an easy run near the end of cross country season, my friend, Megan, jogged alongside me. Since the beginning of the school year, we did our runs together, giving us hours and hours every week to discuss our lives. At some point, we brought up holiday traditions. As our feet pounded into the pavement, I found myself describing how mochi is traditionally made by pounding sweet rice with wooden mallets. In turn, she taught me about her Mexican family’s tradition of making tamales. Her whole family congregated at her aunt’s house to make hundreds of tamales. And from there, we formed a truce. We decided that after our respective dishes were made, we would exchange them. 
 A month later, after the cross country season ended and we both started soccer season, we made our exchange. Mochi with an, red bean, inside and kinako, soybean powder, on the side for tamales de mole, chicken tamales. Together we expanded not just our palate, but also our cultural boundaries. My family also enjoyed the meaty flavors of the mole coupled with the soft, corn masa. 
        For a long time, food has been a way to express hospitality and love. That’s why I believe it could act as a key tool to heal relations between groups of people. We, as the city of Torrance, are not exempt from a racist history or even our own biases, but the simple act of sharing food forces us to recognize the beauty of other cultures. I’ve seen it work on a personal level, so I’m confident we as a community could replicate that. Food is a connection to our past and a pathway to a better future because we can only work together if we appreciate and respect each other. And as we share our recipes, whether it be through a pot-luck or cookbook or something else, we invite collaboration and togetherness to address issues that require all hands on deck, in order to create a kinder world for future generations (and hopefully a tastier one).