Tasting the Golden State at FoodFest
Photos courtesy of Camilla Fezzi.
[This article has two parts, between mine and Camilla’s perspective:]
The email pops up on my screen: of course, today is FoodFest! Who knows what surprises Tom Mannion—the mastermind of it all—has planned for us. I was finishing my last physics problem when suddenly Californian tunes started whistling through the Fleming windows.
Now, I’ll admit it—as a true Italian, I’m always a bit skeptical about foreign food. There will never be anything quite like ours, right? Still, with journalistic bravery (and mild hunger), I ventured down the shaky steps to begin my culinary inspection.
Mistake number one: I tried the pasta. I always tell myself not to, but temptation wins. And, well, disaster. Overcooked, bland, and—brace yourselves—cauliflower?! Please, someone explain your creative decisions. Next time, maybe call an Italian consultant first.
Thankfully, redemption arrived quickly with the burrito. Surprisingly good! Maybe it could’ve used a little more seasoning to bring the flavors alive, but compared to the pasta, it was nearly a relief. The atmosphere was lovely—a few more lights would’ve made it better, but the cheerful crowd made up for it.
Then came the true revelation: the Animal Fries and can I be honest in this? I have never heard this name before, what does it mean? Eventually they told me it is because they are so full of things, salsa, cheese and anything that …it is an almost animal thing to do?! Sinfully delicious, drenched in cheese, thousand island sauce, onions, and pickles—a messy, glorious invention straight from In-N-Out.
The tofu burrito, on the other hand, symbolized the spirit of California itself: vegetarian, free-spirited, a testament to the state’s enduring hippie soul. The brownie dessert was unforgettable, I think as every dessert is, but specifically with chocolate. Chocolate is simply the best in everything.
During our chat with Tom Mannion, we learned that FoodFest actually started as a Saturday carnival full of food and games, later moved to Friday to fit the campus rotation—a way to kick off the year and bring everyone together.
After yesteryear’s focus on Asian fusion, today’s event celebrated the Taste of California: tri tip, animal fries, burritos, and the iconic Ghirardelli. Tom even shared the backstory of a famous Santa Maria tri tip sandwich—created years ago by alumnus Andrew Hogue and his father Todd, who perfected their own “Hoagie” version.
“If anyone asked me what Californian cuisine is,” Tom said, “I’d probably just say: anything you add avocado to.” California, after all, is too vast for a single cuisine—it’s a melting pot of cultures and flavors.
And as Tom reminds everyone, “Food brings people together. It’s a fun way to teach science and connect cultures.”
In the end, with burritos, laughter, and a full stomach, FoodFest wasn’t just about food—it was about community. And we Techers love our community—the beavers, who we are—but always staying together with good food is a great idea!
Damian, your Editor-in-Chief, also accompanied the ever-dependable Camilla on Friday’s FoodFest, and as a born-and-raised Californian I feel obligated to supply my brooding two cents on the experience.
As I write, the seasons change in the only way they do here: not in the foliage, which refuses to turn, but in the seasonal menu at Starbucks. Pumpkin spice arrives, and so is it autumn in California. That’s the usual joke, but it contains something serious: that this is not a place of seasons, not in the way understood elsewhere. Here, rather, is a place of invention and substitution.
A burrito takes the place of something older, an avocado slides into every dish until it becomes shorthand for the state itself. Santa Maria tri tip, Animal Fries, tofu burritos—all of them are less dishes than arguments about what California wants to be. They come from different histories—Mexican, fast-food, vegetarian counterculture—and yet in the act of putting them together on a single table, we call it “California.”
This is the state’s paradox: too big, too plural, to be captured by any one thing, and yet always in search of a unifying story. We call it “fusion,” but what we mean is more like improvisation—a refusal to admit that the pieces don’t quite fit. “California cuisine” is a performance of identity, a way of stitching together a geography that runs from the beaches of Santa Monica to the almond orchards of the Central Valley.
Ever the literary subject, California has varyingly been cast as frontier (John Steinbeck), as playground (Eve Babitz), as mirage (Joan Didion). And I’d even say it’s these synchronous paradigms that this food delivers to the sensory forefront: frontier in the tri tip, playground in the Animal Fries, mirage in the tofu burrito that insists on being healthier, freer, more Californian than it is.
We call this state a community, and perhaps it is. But it’s also nostalgia for a community that never quite existed, a way of holding together fragments with seasoning and sauce. Food becomes the story we tell ourselves to justify the dream of California—that we belong here, that the contradictions can be made to taste good if we add enough avocado. But aren’t these contradictions what define this country, so long as there’s a country to be defined? As a physicist and a Californian, someone whose life is mired in paradoxes of every kind, I see no issue in embodying aporia.
Avocado never hurts, though.