The opening minutes of Jon Favreau’s Chef demonstrate why it might be the best food film since Ratatouille. Carl Casper (Favreau), a respected executive chef in LA, maneuvers into the kitchen. We watch Carl butcher a whole pig, slice a zucchini at lightning speed, and sauce carne asada. And it’s mesmerizing. Mesmerizing because the scarred, tattooed fingers that we see doing the mise en place are, in fact, really Jon Favreau’s—to prepare for Chef, he studied culinary arts in real-world superstar chef Roy Choi’s restaurants in LA.

So begins a lush tribute not only to food, but also to the profession of cooking itself. Favreau’s attention to detail caresses and coaxes commonplace foodie-ism into a loud tribute to the world of cuisine. Of course, there is your fair share of food porn: garlicky pasta, oozing grilled cheeses, and crusty barbecue sliced open with insides so perfectly pink that I blush and have to turn away. But Favreau’s depiction of Carl’s occupation opts for realism over glorification. The cult of the chef is debunked; Carl struggles with a conservative restaurateur (Dustin Hoffman) and faces difficulties maintaining a family with his awfully photogenic wife (Sofia Vergara). Yet passion carries him through these trials, propelling Carl on to a cross- country food truck tour with his sous-chef (John Leguizamo) and his son (Emjay Anthony).

Even though this cinematic road trip ends predictably with negligible character development, the film’s weaknesses don’t detract from enjoying Chef for what it is. Chef succeeds as a feel- good film that’s infectiously good-natured. There’s a sense that this is a very personal film for Favreau, and indeed, at times it screens like a vanity project. Ultimately, the audience will surely leave with smiles and, inevitably, pangs of hunger.

The Wolf of Wall Street is a savage crash-course on the intricacies of the Wall Street life. Leonardo DiCaprio plays Jordan Belfort, an ambitious stockbroker lap dog who sets up a boiler room brokerage firm under the name Stratton Oakmont. Soon enough, he becomes the cash-crazed, drugged-up, and sex-obsessed “Wolf of Wall Street,” a name he gives himself. Jonah Hill is by his side as his right-hand man, Donnie Azoff. Margot Robbie is by his other side and all over him as his wife, Naomi Lapaglia.

The film’s topic is strangely familiar. In the same vein as Money Never Sleeps (2010) and American Psycho (2000) , Wolf of Wall Street wrestles with the darker sides of finance. But while the scandal is spun with the same yarn we’re used to seeing in other Wall Street films (fraud, sex, drugs, and alcohol), what’s thrilling about this reiteration of a Wall Street exposé isn’t the tale of immorality. The moral of the story is left on the back-burner and essentially forgotten. The attraction is the charismatic sociopath, Jordan Belfort, rendered so alive by DiCaprio’s absolutely all-out performance. His narration gives no shits about the fourth wall just as his Belfort gives no shits about the 99%. DiCaprio transforms that utter disregard for morality into a sprint, punctuated by jukebox tracks. It’s a rousing string of comedy and debauchery, clad in suits.

And of course, this three-hour, not-so-tempered tease into the Dionysian lifestyle is what so many Yalies seem to be interviewing for at 55 Whitney. Opening in cinemas during recruiting season surely brews a cult-following, much like the Stratton Oakmont depicted in the film. And for those of us currently logged onto UCS Symplicity, inevitably, there are tingles of envy and dirty, dirty hopes and dreams.

Bitter Rivals, in signature Sleigh Bells fashion, starts off sounding like a fight; the first and titular track on the duo’s third studio album features guitarist Derek Miller’s angry electric guitar tearing through a loud kick-pattern and Alexis Krauss’ husky lo-fi vocals skating on high-voltage synthesizers. This sound is tried and true, dating back to Sleigh Bells’ 2010 debut, Treats, an album whose brand of fuck-the-world spirit still remains more or less unmatched today.

But Bitter Rivals isn’t all snarling cheerleader chants over sledgehammer power-chords. The focus has shifted away from Miller and towards Krauss; Miller’s guitar gives way to Krauss’ vocals more than ever, and Krauss herself opts for candy-coated superstar vocals in place of the sultry whispers and brash screams that were near ubiquitous in the band’s previous work. The new full and high vocals are much more tuneful, lending variety to Sleigh Bells’ once rather monotone sound.

These melodic tunes are most prevalent towards the end of the album. And indeed, it’s the less belligerent tracks, such as “To Hell With You” and “24,” that are the most memorable. In the former track, the kick pattern slows down, and there’s a marked sense of delicacy. In the latter, an airy riff parallels the soaring, clean vocals.

In Bitter Rivals, it sounds like the brawl from the previous two albums is finally ending. Early album tracks “Bitter Rivals” and “Sugarcane” don’t pull any punches, but soon enough, Krauss swoops in to kiss the wounds. Halfway through the album, “Young Legends”, arguably the most promising track on the album, demonstrates perfectly the evolution of Sleigh Bells’ sound, with its sing-song melodies floating over urgent, do-or-die synths. They might be walking away from the fight, but their knuckles are still burning.

First, there was Chipotle. Then, there was Panera Bread. Maison Mathis landed around the corner. Next comes Pinkberry. All of these establishments, which joined or will be joining downtown New Haven’s restaurant scene in 2013, triangulate the fast-food industry’s mantra of efficiency and casual-ness with quality guarantee. And as it stands, there is a new-comer—a gem of one, at that—tucked away on Orange and Chapel, just one block before Elm City Market. Here comes Tikkaway, or as you might hear it referred to: the “Indian Chipotle”.

On the surface, Tikkaway fits snugly under the “fast-casual” umbrella. The experience is built around the assembly line; every customer is given full reign over the composition of his or her meal and is serviced at every step along the way. The process begins with a choice between a roti wrap, rice bowl, or salad bowl. Then, there is a choice of protein or vegetables: chicken, lamb, panir, potato, chickpeas, or mixed vegetables. The final choice of toppings includes raw vegetables, cold chutneys, and of course, a curry: masala, khorma, madras, vindaloo, or Tikkaway vegan. Customers, then, are given the power and responsibility to mix-and-match ingredients for their meal; the picky college student, suddenly, is endowed with a tantalizing sense of culinary prowess. It’s a successful formula; Tikkaway only opened in the end of August, but it already holds 5 stars on Yelp and has become a favorite lunch-break destination for locals.

It isn’t just this emphasis on customizing flavor profiles that makes fast-casual dining an ideal business for a college town. The limited-service format is efficient and clean. Prices are low, ranging from $6-$12. Students and other busy clients can feel free to dine well and dash. On top of respecting their customers’ time and budgets, these restaurants reflect contemporary values by sporting environmentally- and health-conscious menu options that show a genuine concern for dietary restrictions and allergies and meet a growing demand for organic and locally sourced ingredients. Furthermore, fast-casual options such as Chipotle and now Tikkaway serve ethnic cuisines that pique the palate in contrast with what can often be bland offerings from your dining hall or typical burger place while keeping options comfortably familiar and simple.

Yet in spite of its tiled floors and open-kitchen, Tikkaway is no chain. Rather, it is the latest of jaunty restaurateur Gopinath Nair’s ventures. Nair was the owner of Coromandel, a highly acclaimed chain of Indian fine dining restaurants in South Norwalk. One day, he asked himself if the Mexican burrito and the Chinese orange chicken had made it to the mainstream, why hadn’t any element Indian cuisine? His answer: Tikkaway.

Tikkaway is supposed to be merely a gateway to a greater expanse of more complex and dynamic Indian cuisine. This means that some authenticity is lost along the way: three of the five sauces have no cream, and one is vegan. The results, however, are impressive; too often, diners at more traditional Indian restaurants regret the buttery paratha, the creamy chicken tikka masala, and the carb-in-carb samosas. Tikkaway, very surprisingly, keeps you light on your feet. The curries are lightened but remain the stars of the establishment, perhaps in part due to Nair’s background in Indian fine dining; they boast a carefully balanced spice blend and are an absolute, full-bodied delight.  Rather than sacrifices, then, these changes can be seen as Nair’s innovations on Indian 101 (as Nair refers to more traditional Indian dining). These innovations are grounded by a solid foundation of well-executed basics: the basmati rice is subtly flavored with saffron, the vegetables are cooked to caramelization in gentle spice, and chutneys are balanced.

In the past, New Haven’s fast-casual restaurants may have not had the smoothest openings, but they at least had corporate backing. At Chipotle, burritos were cold, and Tabasco bottles were used as salt-shakers. Similarly, service at Panera Bread was slow, and pastas were overcooked. But supported by strong corporate infrastructures, these New Haven branches became as good as any other within three months.

In contrast, Nair doesn’t have the economic and marketing backup from such industry powerhouses. For him, the restaurant business demands not only a fervent dedication to his craft, but also a keen sense of hospitality. As a consequence, Nair makes a commendable effort to be the most dynamic, amiable restaurateur in New Haven: he works the line himself putting together rice bowls all day so that he has a chance to interact with customers himself. And it works: regulars drive from Norwalk every Tuesday to see him. A father even swung by to visit and show off his child’s dimples.

Tikkaway may initially seem like just an “Indian Chipotle,” but it offers so much more than quick and delicious Indian fare; it is a testament to the entrepreneurship and audacity of a local restaurateur who not only learned from the restaurant industry, but managed to surpass his corporate competitors in quality and service at every step.

Imagine this: you wake up one morning and find only creases on the pillow beside you. You wrinkle your nose and realize that your significant other has woken up early to make you breakfast. Almost-artisan pancakes, cantaloupe, and eggs. That’s what the Reading List, Yale’s new student-run, student-cooked delivery brunch service, offers (minus the significant other): a cozy meal crafted and delivered to your entryway with a great deal of thought and care—all for eight dollars.

Delivered in a neat brown box, the breakfast in bed evokes a care package from mom. Inside, the girls at the Reading List (Cora Ormseth, MC ‘14, Nicole Ivery, DC ‘14, Mona Cao, CC ‘14, and Yohanna Pepa, BK ‘14) have whipped up and packed three pancakes, sliced fruit, glaze, and of course, an endearing quote from Alice in Wonderland on the top. In anticipation of a potential breakfast date, the set comes with utensils for two. The Reading List, so it seems, aims to deliver not just a viable dining hall alternative, but a wholesome stay-at-home start to your day.

There are difficulties delivering a fresh breakfast across campus—as well as serving ganache for breakfast—but the pancakes are a delectable start to the day. Their fluffy texture is complemented by classic flavor pairs like banana-chocolate, cinnamon-cream, and carrot-honey-lemon, which certainly do not disappoint. Imagine the delight of a cupcake without the sugar rush afterwards.

As midterms come up, ‘tis the season when we all need a little love—and luckily, the Reading List delivers.