A Roaming Plate

I love to travel and experience new things. This might come from the fact that I’ve moved all over the country and never really stayed in one place for too long. Some may think that there’s some psychological issue with that, but it makes me who I am. Because of this, food for me has really strong cultural ties.

The makeup of our family meals, in a way, reflects where we’ve been and where we’d like to go. The majority of my childhood was spent in Albuquerque, a city rich with culture and vibrant flavors. One of my favorite dishes that my mom makes is enchiladas. It’s a pretty basic meal consisting of corn tortillas, beans, enchilada sauce, cheese, meat, and often green chile; however her enchiladas are a bit different than most. Since the majority of the food in New Mexico has a Hispanic influence and is prepared so regularly, the methods in which such dishes are constructed vary. Sure, I’ve had traditional enchiladas, but the way that I’ve always known the homemade variety would be similar to Italian lasagna. Instead of rolling the tortilla around the filling, they are layered and baked. This is simply one example from a pin we’ve left on the map.

The holidays are obviously a time dominated by tradition. As I’m sure you’ve already guessed, there’s certainly a twist to this as well. Thanksgiving is classic and can’t be touched. Our table always has the full American spread with smoked turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, some sort of “healthy” green food, rolls, and usually enough pie to please every critic. But then Christmas comes and it’s as if the maps are unrolled, the globe scrutinized and the Google searches are endless. Every year for Christmas my family chooses a different country or culture to inspire our holiday meal. Some years it’s chosen based on a place we miss, but others it’s a place we wish we could venture to. We’ve done Spanish Mediterranean, Cajun, northern Italian, German, and few others. To us, one of the best ways to get to know a culture is to get a taste of its food- literally.

As I said earlier, travel is a big part of my life. Within the first few weeks of being born I was already on a airplane. As a kid I basically started my own collection of those little plastic wings the flight attendants give out. Nevertheless, there’s definitely more to travel cuisine than peanuts and a complimentary beverage. I always make it a goal of mine, wherever I go, to try the food that the region is known for; their absolute best, signature masterpiece that cannot be duplicated elsewhere. For example, while in Alaska: moose, Seattle: halibut, Jordan: baklava, New Orleans: jambalaya and beignets, Israel: shawarma, Chicago: deep-dish, Calgary: poutine and the list goes on! So much can be learned just by embracing the basics of a people.

It’s not just about learning the culture or customs though; there’s more to it than that. There’s something to be said about the people you eat the meal with. Eating is communal and a moment becomes wonderful when you can take the time to eat with someone new and really get to know them- to hear a bit of their life’s story. One meal in particular stands out when I think of the people I’ve dined with throughout my life. Roughly five years ago I was in downtown Kansas City, MO volunteering at the rescue mission. After all the men were served we got to go sit down and eat with them. Some I was with, heard heart wrenching stories of how a successful father had lost it all- his job, his house, his wife and his kids- which put him out on the streets; but a friend and I talked with this other gentleman and the topic I recall vividly- food. We talked about what we liked and what we didn’t. I remember we all laughed when he told us he was allergic to kiwi. Who’s allergic to kiwi?! Yet, to this day I can tell you that his leg would swell up if he ate such a fruit.

It’s the beautiful relationships that make a meal, and a meal that allows one to connect . . . everything. I’m truly blessed to have had these amazing experiences and all those that are to come. There are plenty of days that I’ll take a meal for granted, everyone seems to. But the days that I allow myself to slow down and become fully alive with the world around me, those are the days I remember. No matter where I am, food remains in the center of it all, and I expect that it will always do so. Culture, to me, is food. And food can bring a culture to life especially when shared with those around you.

Food Identity

No matter who you are, or what background you come from, food becomes your identity whether you like it or not. Taste is one of the five senses that allows us to travel time; to a place or memory that is instilled within us. Though I never would have expected it, this is exactly what happened to me while in the Middle East last summer. Just the taste of cinnamon, cardamom, cucumbers and tomatoes, and the combination of lemon with a hint of mint allows me to travel once again overseas into the rich, hospitable Arab culture. This is similar to Geoff Nicholson’s writing, Eating White, in that Nicholson intentionally eats specific foods that he knows will awake cherished memories. Though he searches for the authenticity of white, English Cheshire cheese, he is unable to match his mother’s cooking. In the same way, since returning to the states it has been impossible to replicate the vibrate flavors that I experienced while abroad. Every once in a while I will make a sandwich containing only hummus, cucumbers and tomatoes to take me back to the countries that impacted my life more than I could’ve imagined; but no ingredients could contain the richness that the true, local produce did.

I also found the allusion to purity throughout Nicholson’s work intriguing. I agree that his mother’s experience of WWII probably had a great impact on how she viewed these provisions. Not only would they illustrate wealth, they would also serve as a metaphor to simplicity. If she could, every aspect of the meal down to the salt was white. In addition I believe her Catholic viewed contributed to the desire of pure food, especially after a death, as a way to cleanse and purify herself.

Another article, titled Home Run: My Journey Back to Korean Food written by Roy Ahn, focuses on the importance of food as a person’s heritage. Though Ahn tried for many years to escape is Korean ancestry, there was no way out. During his teenage years it seemed easy to dismiss the native cuisine and exchange it for Americanized food; however after his parents’ deaths it was this very aspect of his identity he began to cling to. Somehow, the tastes and smells of such cuisine made him feel close to those whom he lost.

All in all I think it is fair to say that food connects both memories and experiences together in a unique way. There is nothing quite like it and it is unable to be accomplished with the same intensity by any other sense. No matter what, the food we grew up with, or experience throughout our walks of life, determine who we are and the flavors become irreplaceable.

Lunch Disaster

Though many would prefer an extravagant culinary masterpiece on their birthday, I kept it basic. It was one of those days that nothing was more enticing than a classic PB&J sandwich. There is a proper way to construct this childhood favorite, requiring two parts jelly to one part peanut butter, to ensure that one's mouth does not get overwhelmed nor allow the peanut butter to take center stage. Unfortunately this sandwich was not my finest work.
I went down to the dining hall to overcome this craving. After pondering the six bread options before me, I decided on potato bread, which could be classified as a sophisticated version of white bread. Next I introduced this bread its new companion, creamy peanut butter. Everything up to this point seemed flawless, nothing could go wrong. This next part I should've seen as a sign. Someone had obviously spread their grape jelly on the same side as their  peanut butter, and then continued to exhibit their incompetence by contaminating the rest of the jelly. I was a bit irritated at the time however, they had utilized the same ingredients that I desired on my sandwich so I decided it wasn't a big deal.
Nonetheless, though all of these specifications were followed, as I went to pick up my sandwich and eat, it all quickly fell to pieces. Somehow, the bread was not strong enough to support the jelly that was housed between the two pieces of bread and one piece began to separate from the other. I suppose it could be seen as a blessing that I was eating by myself because I was between classes so nobody else was there to witness this catastrophe. The whole situation was a bit disheartening and resulted in a glob of jelly left of the plate showing my defeat.