Our story begins at 8 AM on the Lehigh University campus in sleepy Bethlehem, PA. The class consists of 9 students and one enthusiastic professor, and they are assembled around a wooden table in a well-lit room housed above the Linderman Library. Built in the 1800s by architect Addison Hutton, the library is a beauteous structure of dark woods, scrolled arches, and stained glass likened to "Hogwarts" by the many wide-eyed high school students that are shepherded through daily on the campus tours. In this setting, the first chapter takes place: an anthropology class called Food for Thought. Little do our two main characters expect from this course, which both signed up for on a whim, and in order to fulfill the writing intensive requirement of their degrees. But every morning, bedraggled, bespectacled Christina would engage in discussion with her tablemate across the dark expanse of wood. It is too early for her to put much debate into the cultural significance of instant ramen to the citizens of Papua New Guinea or of the divine drudgery of kitchen work for Victorian housewives, but her sparring partner Tyler, always outfitted spectacularly in a blue suit and flashing silver watch, or cowboy boots and a button down, is untiring and eager for conversation. It does not take long for the two to meet outside of class for the first time—at a mutual friend’s birthday party. The event is styled as an open mic night, and Tyler, ever the musician, is there to support the friends who are brave enough to hop onto the soapbox and sing, play, or wax poetic. Christina arrives late. Upon realizing she has a lot of catching up to do, drinks-wise, she makes a beeline for the punchbowl, where Tyler’s infamous rum punch awaits. Eventually they stumble into each other in a corner of the living room, where Christina asks boldly for a swig of Tyler’s flask, kept hidden in his suit jacket. She holds up her Solo cup of boxed red wine, and at her request he pours it full of whiskey. Needless to say the rest of the evening dissolves into a blur of colors, people and laughter. When they meet again outside of class, this time at an open mic night sanctioned by the university, she apologetically invites Tyler to a homecooked dinner at her on-campus apartment, which she shares with three other roommates. “Let me make it up to you,” she says. “For making an ass of myself the other night,” she doesn’t say. Tyler accepts, and he mentions casually that he is to sing that night on stage. She should stay to watch the rest of the show. Christina retreats to a corner table and waits, mentally kicking herself for being so bold as to ask out this still-stranger, all the while ransacking her brain for a suitable dish to impress the classmate with whom she spends several hours a week discussing food and breaking it down into its minutiae. Tyler is last to get up on stage. Dressed in his favorite alligator skin cowboy boots, loose jeans, and a button down, with a wide-brimmed cowboy hat atop his head, his good friend Amelia on ukelele at his side and a keyboardist behind him, he brings the mic towards him and sings. He croons “Summertime,” a 1900s jazz aria sung by greats like Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. The audience murmurs in surprise at his choice. And when the pearl button snaps of his shirt quite literally snap open, the shirt flying off to reveal that his jeans are actually a pair of denim overalls and leave little else to the imagination above the belt line, they whoop and cheer. Christina is astounded. Who is this young man, who dresses like he belongs on Wall Street and sings like he is in a smoky underground jazz lounge in East Village? 8 years later, Tyler still sings arias to Christina in their cozy apartment in Astoria, Queens. And once in a while Christina cooks Tyler’s favorite half-poached salmon recipe. This year, we are beginning a new chapter, and we are excited for you all to be a part of it!