Interview: Real Food is Real Work

Last week, I sat down with my dear friend, Laura Fabrycky, who writes for the Missio blog at the Washington Institute for Faith, Vocation and Culture.

Here's the thing about Laura: she asks the good questions: the hard, the important questions:

Why did you start a food blog? How is yours different than others? What have you discovered about yourself, the larger story you inhabit, and life in general because of it?

 

Do you think of yourself as an exile?  How much of your exploration of food is an exploration of your own identity, a passing on of an identity to your children?

 

Wow.

 

It was hard work to answer these questions, and at times, even smarted a little bit.  We had to do the interview twice (due to technical problems with the first recording), but even that had its advantages.  For me, it was a time to step back from the work itself, from the recipes, the writing, the community, and to look into my heart instead. 

Why do I engage in the real work of real food, when I don't have to?

How has engaging with the world through real food deepened my faith?

Read my answers here, in the interview: Real Food is Real Work.



I am so grateful that Laura made me ask myself these questions, made me find my answers for them.  But really, for me, this is just the start of the conversation.  I hope that you will continue to join in the conversation with me. And so I ask you, too:  How would you answer these questions?

On Thanksgiving: Food as Identity-Forming Story

 

All morning long, the family cooks work in the kitchen -- trussing the turkey, tearing bread for stuffing, rolling out pie crusts -- and the familiar scents of Thanksgiving begin to drift out of the oven: sage and pumpkin, turkey and yeasty bread.  Thanksgiving is not like any other meal that we enjoy throughout the year, is it?  We have set aside this day to enjoy eating particular foods, foods that we sometimes reserve to eat only at this time of the year, or at least, that is the only day when we eat all of those dishes with our family.

Thanksgiving is probably the one holiday in America that focuses exclusively on food:  on creating a table of bountiful, delicious food, and then enjoying it wholeheartedly. You don't have to buy cards or wrap presents, you don't have to churn through a bunch of holiday-themed activities or try to create and then sustain family traditions.  The goal is simple:  gather around the table with loved ones, give thanks, and then feast. 

Is this our culture's last ceremonial meal?  Perhaps. There is something about it that reminds me of Pasach, of the Passover meal shared in Jewish homes, to mark the great exodus.  Like the Jews who celebrate with Passover, we eat particular foods, on a particular day, to remember a time of  great need and great redemption.  We eat the foods, and we remember, and we explain them to our children. 

On Thanksgiving, the foods that we eat tell a story - a story of where we came from, and who we are.  This is an identity-forming meal, and one that certainly shaped my own sense of cultural identity when I was growing up.

 

Returning to the Old (Arab) Ways: Why I Soak My Grains

Here is what I remember about my mother's kitchen: no matter what kitchen, whether we lived in Mundelein, outside of Chicago, or Beit Hanina, outside of Jerusalem, you could always find on tje counter top a bowl full of water with something or other soaking in the liquid.  If I looked into those bowls in the morning, I could see my future:  the hummus I would eat tomorrow, the rice I would have for dinner, the lentil soup my mother would make later on that day. 

It was all a part of the mysterious rhythms of Rhoda's kitchen, first do this, then do that, and as a child I just followed the contours of my mother's movement, eating at her table, and sometimes even pouring rice into a bowl and covering it with water for her.  She taught me to let the rice soak, then rinse it several times until the water ran clear before cooking it, so that each grain would cook just right, tender, but still firm and fluffy. 

But then I grew up.  I moved across the world.  I graduated, I inherited her old pots, and bought my own bag of rice.   And when I started cooking, I asked her questions, such as why do I have to soak the rice?   Her answers were always the same - because it will cook faster.  Because it allows the grains to open up, to taste better.  Because that is the proper way to do it. 

Welcoming Autumn: Hummus with Spiced Lamb, or Hummus bi Laham

The leaves are piling in drifts around my house, forming crunchy alleys for my children to march through. 

It is time to pull blankets more snugly around our shoulders, to wrap our fingers around warm cups of tea, to dip our bread into something a little warmer, a little more substantial.

Here is a way to "spice up" your hummus:  serve it topped with warm, spiced minced lamb and toasted pine nuts. Add a pile of hot Arabic bread and some fresh cucumbers and tomatoes, and you have a hearty spread, guaranteed to satisfy and delight.