Activity 2: Identifying Thesis, Purpose, Audience, and Tone

Read the following student essay from the Treasury of Essays in the back of your textbook and answer the questions below.



          Elizabeth takes a bite of her sandwich and looks at me. I am grimacing. "You should try it," she says.
          I look at this sandwich. It has what look like blades of grass sticking out of the side. Some sort of by-product of oats and soy is oozing juices onto the flowered plate.
          "No thanks," I reply.
          "You're just afraid of food that's good for you," she says. "This is really tasty, I swear."
          Elizabeth is my roommate. We share a refrigerator together. My side is full of butter, eggs, cheese, an occasional meat patty, whole milk, and sour cream. I notice that most of her food is much more brown than mine. She says that's because it's full of nutrition and protein. I tell her it's because she doesn't cover anything up. She just smiles and eats a spoonful of tofutti.
          Before we were roommates we used to go out and really dine: rich Alfredo sauces, fruity cabernets, tiramisu and ice cream, cappuccino. Now she says she needs to cleanse her temple.
          Cleansing her temple means hummus. It means millet and barley and rice milk. Elizabeth eats like Gandhi now, and, though I love her, joining her is a sacrifice I can't force on myself.
          Elizabeth has now made Udon noodles with tofu pesto sauce. She has sprinkled wheat germ on her spinach salad and is sipping ginseng tea by candlelight. "Come on, Leo, try some," she urges me, smiling and looking at me over a fork full of . . . something. I am grimacing again. "No, thanks," I say again.
          The next morning she is up early. From my bed I can hear her humming something. The juicer squeaks, the blender whirs, the oats roll. I turn toward the wall and go back to sleep.
          When I finally wake up, there's a note for me: "Meet me at the café for lunch, love, Elizabeth." I grind the French roast into a gritty pulp and strain myself a thick mug of coffee. Then I pour a bowl of Cocoa Puffs into a mixing bowl and reach for the milk. It's sour and lumpy, so I mix a little half and half with water and eat my breakfast.
          In my first class, I am a jittery wreck, at the same time exhausted and wired. My hands sweat and my eyes are heavy. In my next class I fall asleep.
          When I see Elizabeth at the café she is smiling again. Her eyes are bright and she is sipping coffee. "Decaf," she explains to me before I can ask.
          "So what's up?" I ask through a yawn.
          "Well, this morning I finished that art project I've been working on, and then I did some research for a paper that's due next week, and after lunch I'm off to work."
          "Sheesh," I mumble.
          "How about you?" she asks.
          "Oh, uh, I just woke up."
          "Didn't you go to class?"
          "I was in class."
          She grins at me again. The waiter comes for our order. I've been eyeing that flap-jack special, or maybe the four-cheese omelet. "I'll have the spirulina whip with a side of echinacea and a mung bean salad, please," Elizabeth says to the waiter.
          I grimace, fold the menu, lean back in my chair, look around, tap my finger on the table, and smile back at her. "Me, too," I tell the waiter.
          I feel better already.


What's the topic of "Salad Wars"?




What's the thesis?




Where, if anywhere, in the essay is the thesis?




What's the purpose of the essay?




Who is the audience for the essay?




What's the tone of the essay?




How does the tone fit the purpose?




E-mail your answers to your instructor.