Jessai Flores

From leaving behind friends and family, to adjusting to new classes and cultures, arriving in the United States for college brings a whirlwind of changes. Amidst these major life changes, one wouldn’t expect our greatest adjustment to be food. But coming from cultures known for endless numbers of dishes and flavors, American college cuisine was a real shock.

The surprise began when we first heard the phrase “Freshman 15.” How could a country be known for its college students gaining weight in their first semester? It didn’t make sense. But then, we came and saw the bagels every morning, the bottomless bowls of pasta and the countless cookies after every meal. And while the enticing options of American cuisine appealed to us, we found ourselves longing for the familiar tastes of home.

This is a reflection from us, four international students — Laura from Brazil, Maria from Portugal, Inez from the Philippines and Mina from Turkey — on how we navigate the differences in food culture and the American dining hall experience on campus.

Emotional Ties

The memories I hold dearest surround food. Even considering the laid-back lifestyle of Lisbon, it is difficult to find times compatible with everyone’s overflowing schedules; meals are, hence, a sacred time of conviviality.

I crave the “paella mista” my dad masters, even though the Spanish blood only officially runs through my mom, my brother and me. My parents have friends over and we all gather in our garden, patiently waiting for “the chef” — as my dad is called during these gatherings — to bring out the food. I miss the “tortilla de patata,” or potato omelet, my mom makes for me when I get home late and famished. I long for the Sunday family lunches at the traditional “A Mesa,” where “língua de vaca,” cow’s tongue, is a staple, or at “Pina,” where the fish is always fresh and grilled just perfectly. I miss the sudden decision to go to “Marítima do Restelo,” close to home and with unparalleled seafood. And, most importantly, I miss “Nanarrela’s” mango and “nata” ice cream on sunny and rainy days alike.

I will always remember the daily lunch school breaks at “A Tasca do João,” reviewing for the exam that would begin in 30 minutes while we sip a “curto” coffee. I think about the incomparable “brigadeiros” of “Alta Spot” — a bit of heaven made of chocolate — or Isa’s “melhor pastel de nata do mundo” — the best Portuguese pastry ever created — that gave us the sugar intake needed for afternoon classes. I look forward to October recess and the revival of the girls’ night out dinners: 9:30 p.m. get-togethers at  “Casa Nostra,” “Casanova” or “Nómada.”

I impatiently expect the moment I am back in Miranda do Douro, the second capital of Portugal. My grandma never disappoints with her “fritas,” “pastés de bacalhau,” “polvo com batatas e couve” and ”costeletas de cordeiro” — to name a few of her traditional specialties. I am always excited for the opportunity to be her sous chef and learn the generational secrets behind seemingly simple recipes.

The food at Yale is not like the food at home; not in regards to taste or appearance, but because it still doesn’t carry the emotional ties that food at home does. I am sure that will change with time: in a matter of months, matcha at Atticus, the dining hall pizza and Sunday brunches at Slifka will form memories I forever hold dear.

– Maria Gonçalves, Lisbon, Portugal

Meal Grabbing Culture

Back home in the Philippines, meals are late and long. Our breakfast “silogs,” at 11 in the morning, consist of fried eggs on top of garlic rice with chorizo. We sit and eat these meals slowly, delaying the start of our days through ambitious conversations of what we must accomplish by the time night falls. We linger at the table and bask in the presence of good company and great food. Even on school days, I was never one to skip breakfast back home. 

Here at Yale, breakfasts are brief — that is, if I even make it to breakfast. I take my Saybrook eggs and swallow them with a gulp of Sumatra dining hall coffee. In this rush to make my nine o’clock on Science Hill, I only have time to give my friends a quick “good morning” with an eye-rolling groan that is meant to convey just how tired I am. 

My lunchboxes back home often housed “arroz a la cubana” — fried caramelized bananas over rice — and “adobo” — soy sauce-marinated chicken. These meals were packed into Tupperwares with love. My school allotted an hour and 15 minutes for lunch everyday, so my friends and I would savor our meals and gossip in between bites. 

At college, my friends and I find ourselves only eating to get the act out of the way. Sometimes, the dining hours don’t fit our schedules, or we need the rest of the day to study — so we run to the nearest dining hall and pile pasta, salad and pizza onto our plates. Our brief meals are composed of short conversations that highlight only what needs to be said, and nothing more. When someone I haven’t seen in a while asks me to “grab lunch,” I know the drill. I have grown accustomed to a detailed ten-minute catch-up conversation while waiting in line for food, followed by a lunch of Bow Wow Sushi that takes just as long to eat as it did to stand in line. Time at Yale seems far too valuable to sit idly for longer than this! When I miss home, I miss sitting at the school or lunch tables after eating, without a rush to be anywhere else.

Though my Filipino definition of a meal has yet to adjust to American college standards, I don’t think I’ll ever change. I refuse to accept “lunch” as a 15-minute ordeal where we finish Commons dumplings whilst trying to hold a conversation. Instead, I will always smile to myself as my friends and I excessively talk at dinner and close out the dining halls. I will always smile to myself as we linger at the dining table.

– Inez Chuidian, Manila, Philippines

Always More Than a Meal

When I think of Turkish food, it’s not just the meal itself that comes to mind, but the environment it’s enjoyed in. I picture the Turkish eggs, “menemen,” as I watch the sunrise over the mesmerizing Bosphorus strait. I feel the sea breeze as I walk through the park, eating a warm “simit.” Then there’s the Turkish breakfast platter: a seemingly endless array of choices, enjoyed best with my extended family gathered around the table. It’s not just the food, but the ritual — rounds of tea served in perfectly crafted Turkish tea glasses, cousins and grandparents reminiscing as we eagerly await the second plate of “sucuk.” In Turkey, breakfast is not just a meal, it’s an event. Long and leisurely, always with more tea than you think you’ll drink, and just when you think you’re full, there’s the promise of Turkish coffee, accompanied by a mouthwatering piece of “lokum” — Turkish delight.

Turkish cuisine, to me, is a perfect reflection of our culture. Being at the crossroads of two continents — Europe and Asia — we have an incredible variety of flavors and dishes. In fact, we have over 150 different ways to prepare eggplants alone! But beyond the diversity of dishes, there’s a deeper cultural connection: a sense of community. Meals in Turkey are built around sharing. Whether you’re at a seafood restaurant or a kebab steakhouse, most dinners begin with a selection of appetizers, or as we call them, “mezes.” A waiter presents a massive tray of cold appetizers, each one more tempting than the next. And once you’ve made your difficult selections, the warm appetizers follow, leading up to classic Turkish dishes like “doner,” “pide,” “lahmacun” and more.

But no meal is complete without dessert. From sticky-sweet “baklava” to creamy “sutlac” or caramelized “kazandibi,” the choices are endless. And even when you think you can’t eat another bite, there’s always time for another cup of Turkish tea, because in Turkey, no meal is truly finished without it.

For me, Turkish food will always feel like comfort food. Whether it’s my mom making “manti” to cheer me up as a kid or treating myself to a chocolate-covered pistachio “lokum” while studying, there’s no mood that a little taste of home can’t fix.

– Mina Ashaboglu, Istanbul, Turkey

I don’t just need food for living — I need it for loving! 

Food is one of my love languages. When I think about the people and places I hold dear, there’s always a meal tied to the memory. Growing up in Rio, whether it was a casual bite at the beach or a family meal at home, those familiar flavors hold a special place in my heart.

When I moved to the U.S., I was nervous about losing those comforts. Gone were the familiar Brazilian meals, and in their place were dining halls, coffee shops and what felt like an overwhelming number of New Haven pizza options. The change was drastic, but I soon realized it was the start of a new adventure. It wasn’t just about trying out popular TikTok-worthy spots like Crumbl Cookies or Raising Cane’s. It was about forming new bonds with people through shared meals, just like I had in Rio.

At home, every meal began with “arroz e feijão” — rice and beans — an essential dish in every Brazilian household. Whether paired with grilled meat, fish or chicken, it was always on the table, and for good reason: it’s simple, healthy and comforting. Every evening, we’d gather around the table, sharing stories and laughs. It always felt like dinner brought my family together.

But in college, pizza seems to be the staple for every meal. While I give into it now and then, I try to balance it out by heading to the salad bar — where I’ve developed an unexpected obsession with edamame seeds. No matter what I’m eating, I somehow find myself sprinkling them on top. And dinner here is so early! By the time 8 p.m. rolls around, I’m already hungry again and heading out to grab a snack. 

Rio’s weekends meant beach days with friends, eating “milho,” or grilled corn, or sipping “matte” — Brazilian iced tea — while buying “biscoito globo” from our favorite vendors. Evenings often ended with “caipirinhas” in “botecos” — the Rio de Janeiro “pubs” — where light conversation and hearty laughter flowed as easily as the drinks. 

At Yale, the culture is different but just as meaningful: the ultimate bonding moment is grabbing coffee. Here, even though there may not be the warmth of the sun, there is warmth in deep conversations with friends, and it makes me feel just as connected to the people I’m with.

I’m still finding my way when it comes to managing my diet in the U.S., and I definitely hesitate when the urge for ice cream strikes after every meal. As I navigate my first year, I hope I can avoid the infamous freshman 15, but what’s more important to me is continuing to share the experience of food with the people I care about. That connection — whether over a familiar dish or something new — is what keeps food meaningful for me, no matter where I am.

– Laura Binenbojm, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil