Ash Pickett is a Business Administration Senior and opinion columnist for Mustang News. The opinions expressed in this article do not necessarily reflect those of Mustang Media Group.
The summer after my senior year of high school, I visited Cal Poly for PolyCultural Weekend – Cal Poly’s multicultural, student-led welcome for admitted students. It was my first experience with the school, and I remember on the final night, they served Filipino food.
I was told the closest Filipino restaurant was over an hour away, and it was a headache getting the food to PCW. Unfortunately, it was nowhere near as good as my grandma’s cooking, but I figured Filipino food is usually worse when it’s not home-cooked anyway, so it was nothing out of the norm.
My sophomore year, I was to attend a cultural potluck in SLO. My friend and I wanted to bring this Filipino dessert called turon, which is caramelized banana lumpia. We had to go to four different stores all across town just to find three ingredients: saba bananas, jackfruit, and spring roll wrappers.
When we did find them, they were all quite overpriced. But the joy we got from sharing it with others was incredible. We stood in the kitchen all night frying batches of turon for our grateful friends. I just wish the ingredients weren’t a total pain to buy, because it discouraged me from making turon again.
Living in San Luis Obispo for the past three years, I’ve realized that there’s a certain connection to my culture that I miss out on by not having the food. It almost feels like a piece of my background has been stripped away and replaced by High Street and tri-tip sandwiches.
Sometimes it even feels like a betrayal to my family, as if I’ve moved on to college and forgotten all about them and what makes us a community. When I go back to my hometown for breaks and I can’t remember the names of cultural dishes that I grew up eating, a twinge of guilt brews in my stomach.
When I’m brainstorming what to buy at the grocery store, my mind goes straight to avocado toast, chicken, vegetables and salads. I feel very lucky to have access to that food, but I can’t help but feel as though I’m neglecting my favorite cuisines in favor of convenience. It feels like I’m forgetting my roots.
For many cultures, food is a crucial part of bringing people together and is associated with heartfelt memories and a sense of belonging. The very act of making food together or sharing it with others is special; it often serves as an act of love. An absence of that can feel like an absence of community.
I miss having access to affordable cultural ingredients and delicious meals, and I often find myself wanting to share those meals with my friends or embrace their comfort for myself. At grocery stores in San Luis Obispo, however, I’m often met with few options and high prices. It becomes more convenient to grab the basics at Trader Joe’s rather than break the bank at CalFresh.
If Cal Poly is serious about promoting a multicultural environment, it must continue to invest in things that fuel multicultural communities. To their credit, they’ve taken meaningful steps, like opening a permanent Sequel Tea location on campus. Student support was a big reason Cal Poly saw the need for this, so we need to continue to speak up for wider food options that reflect our backgrounds.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to have access to food in SLO, especially since we do have many great options. But it would be nice if there were more than one Asian market nearby, or potentially even more options on Cal Poly’s campus. Students like myself might feel just a little more at home, and gain the opportunity to share meaningful parts of their culture with others.
