WP3: A Seven Course Meal

Inspired by the late Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential, I want to offer this project as a seven-course meal, each course offering a different taste of humanity’s relationship to ingredients, meals, and dishes. To start, an amuse-bouche.

First course: amuse-bouche [ah-mooz-boosh]. Noun, plural.

1. A type of small, bite-sized hors d’oeuvre. Served to diners to enjoy while waiting for their food orders to arrive (Dictionary.com). A way of saying “welcome” to guests while offering a glimpse of the chef’s style (“Amuse-Bouche).

Through creating my first two writing projects, I wanted to focus on my own experiences with food and meals. I thought long and hard about how my own culinary taste and experiences related to the world around me. Initially, I considered myself a passive consumer, mostly uninvolved in the deeper implications of my food choices. In creating this, my goal evolved into something far more significant: conscious consumption of food and deciphering its role in our everyday lives. I could write a story about how I love other cuisines and how traveling changed my view on food. But I think what I really want to contribute to the conversation about food is how it is more than simply part of a group’s culture.

The story I want to tell is not just about what kind of meals I enjoy or how traveling and living in different places changed my perspective. Instead, I aim to explore the multifaceted nature of food, how it is implicated in more than just a cultural expression. The essence of food, dishes, or simply ingredients is embedded in every facet of life. What we eat shapes our lives, a direct relationship between what we make a priority through the means we produce, cook, and share it. Through the exploration of food’s implications in global affairs and practices, one can gain insight into the similarities and differences of people around the world. Understanding food in a broader context allows one to appreciate its ability to unify and divide, provide comfort or create tension. My WP3 aims to transcend the simplicity of cultural anecdotes and culinary preferences.

Second course: appetizer [ ap-i-tahy-zer ]. Noun.

1. A small portion of food or drinks served before or at the beginning of a meal to stimulate the desire to eat (Merriam-Webster).
2. Any small portion that stimulates a desire for more or that indicates more is to follow (Dictionary.com).

By nature, I am a slow eater. That means I am consciously thinking about finishing as fast as I can when eating with others. While my family had finished their meal, I was struggling to eat my vegetables, which I despised. I thought of a meal as a chore, something I had to get over with so I could continue watching TV or go play with my friends. It also didn’t help that I was a picky eater, making cooking dinner difficult for my mom. I hated vegetables, another chore at the dinner other than finishing my meal. As I talked about in my WP1, I took the family meal for granted once I went to college, living on my own, forced to feed myself for the first time. The ritual of family dinner was the one time of the day that my mom, dad, and sister could be together between the chaos of the work or school week. It meant sharing what we did that day, letting out frustrations, or how I was upset about something that happened at football practice. When living on my own, I became more conscious of the importance of a family meal, along with the ease of not having to decide what to eat that night, the burden transferred to me from my parents. This allowed me to be more conscious of my food choices. If I eat something frozen, it won’t take that long. But will it taste as good? If I cook rice, I am going to have to wait at least 20 minutes while also balancing cooking a chicken or steak. And I have to consider adding a vegetable? Cooking with my roommates is more efficient and fun, but we also have to compromise on what we eat. Dinner became an active thought in my mind, not a break from homework.

Third course: soup. Designed to be warm and comforting for the diner, preparing the palate for the heavier courses and introducing the chef’s style of textures and flavors.

The only time I would scarf down vegetables was when my family made Indian food, my favorite. That was the only time dinner didn’t feel like a chore. Cooking Indian food in my house was an experience, not just dinner. It meant starting the laborious process early, closing all the doors to our rooms to avoid the potent smell from permeating our bedrooms. The process of cooking Indian food was down to a science in my home. My mom would start with making sabzi, a type of mixed vegetable dish. It includes green peas, tomato, cauliflower, onion, and potato in a large pot on the stove. An array of spices were mixed into the dish, filling the house with a delicious aroma; cumin, turmeric, coriander, ginger, salt, pepper, mustard seed, and a few more I can’t remember. Basmati rice was cooking on the back burner during all of this. Then, the dahl would go on the other burner, a mixture of yellow and orange lentils and spices mixed together until it was a creamy consistency. In the meantime, my sister would cook the okra on the stove, her favorite, a taste I didn’t acquire until I was older. The kitchen was chaotic, everyone helping like the back of a busy downtown restaurant.

On the kitchen counter, my dad and I would make poori, a fried bread made from only a few ingredients. My dad taught me how to make it, and I would always insist on making it myself. In a large bowl, I would mix wheat flour, white flour, salt, and water. I kneaded the dough with my hands, covering them with sticky flour in the process. Eventually, the chaotic mixture would turn into a smooth ball of dough. The best part was pinching off a bit of salty dough and taste-testing its flavor. I would always get mad at my mom for taking off too big of a piece, concerned that there wouldn’t be enough of the finished product for dinner. Then, I would roll the dough into small balls, perfectly sized. My dad stressed the importance of making each ball the same size. Then, came the rolling of the dough into flat circles with a rolling pin. Rolling the dough is an art, requiring a little bit of flour and perfect precision. Then came the final step, frying the dough in a special pot that my grandma gave to my dad. Each piece taking only a few seconds, my dad taught me how to fry it perfectly into fluffy, aerated pieces stacked into a bowl ready to serve. Once everything was done, we could finally eat.

The process of making Indian food is sacred to me. These recipes were passed down from my grandma, who passed away when I was four. When my parents got married she made sure to teach my white mom her cooking methods, to make sure the tradition was never lost. I think it is beautiful how my mom embraced it and still cooks like this today, embracing a culture that’s not hers and instilling it upon her children. As my memory of her was short and my grandpa passed away before I was born, I feel like their legacy lives on through these dishes. It gives me a sense of pride to be Indian and a connection to them that can’t be lost. Dishes like these can bring people and families together.

Fourth course: salad. The purpose of the salad is to offer a refreshing and light contrast to the third course, cleansing the palate in preparation for the heavier, main course.

On a micro level, Indian food provides me with a sense of pride in my culture, family, and traditions. But on a macro level, cuisine can be used to promote a country or even diplomacy. There is even a term for this: gastrodiplomacy. It is the “the nexus of food and foreign policy and how countries communicate their culture through food” (Sonenshine 10). A great example of this is Thailand. In the 1960s and 1970s, Thailand had a substantial population of American soldiers, which modernized and westernized its hospitality and food industry, resulting in its success and promoted Thai food globally, along with Thailand as a tourist destination. In 2002, the Thai government launched the initiative Global Thai, which aimed to increase the amount of Thai restaurants around the world through funding, coordination, and training. Specific dishes like pad Thai and Thai green curry are required to be on the menus at the restaurants. The amount of Thai restaurants since the initiative has tripled, resulting in a huge increase in tourism. However, Thailand’s larger food policy “aims to link the promotion of Thailand and its culture with innovation and expansion in agriculture, food, and tourism” (Ranta 36).

The beauty of gastrodiplomacy is its ability to promote cross-cultural understanding. Differences in beliefs, customs, religious values, and other sources of conflict are put aside, even if momentarily. It creates an avenue for peace and understanding. Gastrodiplomacy, however, is not just the efforts of governments. It happens at the personal level wherein “eating at a diaspora restaurant, and engaging with the owners or the community that frequents it” can lead to better understanding (Sonenshine 10). Something as simple as a restaurant in a neighborhood can bond people that may have never crossed paths. The reason gastrodiplomacy like this succeeds where other methods of diplomacy fall short is due to it having the citizens of both countries in mind. It uplifts the people of the diaspora (the seller), and provides value to the unaware citizens of the other country (the diner). It is economic cooperation that doesn’t simply look for profit or focus on large corporations. However, if food can bridge the gap between groups, it also has the power to divide.

Food and nationalism go hand-in-hand. Globalization has brought products to shelves across the world where every country is rushing to claim it as their own. Food is increasingly being advertised as national, where “our coffee is Turkish, the mustard English, the salad dressing French,” and so on (Ranta 34).

Fifth course: the main course. A substantial dish that is the centerpiece, designed to be the heaviest and most complex part of the meal.

The chickpea was domesticated in Western Asia around 7,000 years ago and “spread throughout Asia and the Mediterranean, and eventually to the new world.” Pureeing chickpeas, also known today as hummus (which is simply the Arabic word for chickpea), became a common culinary practice much later in the Islamic world (Ariel 36). In modern times, Lebanon declared national ownership of hummus, sparking what was known as the “Hummus Wars.” The Hummus Wars started when two Israeli hummus producers competed to create the largest hummus plate, resulting in an 880-pound plate of hummus being eaten in Jerusalem (Ariel 39). A trivial competition took a geopolitical turn when the Association of Lebanese Industrialists created a campaign called “Hands off Our Dishes” to stop Israel from selling and marketing what Lebanon believed was its national dish. They announced they were requesting protected status from the EU for hummus, as the Israeli sale of it was costing Lebanon a substantial amount of money (Avieli 22). As the request was unsuccessful, Lebanon decided to set the record in 2010, with a plate of over 10 tons of hummus (Avieli 28).

Although seemingly trivial, the Hummus Wars was a microcosm of greater regional politics, conflict, and national identity in the region. It is symbolic of the tension between Israel and Lebanon, where the two sides engage in war-like competition. Furthering this notion, the Lebanese claim over hummus highlights tension between Arab states and Arab nationalism in the region, as it denies hummus as a staple in other countries. Essentially, the Lebanese are asserting their national identity and declaring “that Israel is not of the region” (Ariel 37). Further complicating the identity of hummus is the importance of it to Palestinians. In Nir Avieli’s writing “The Hummus Wars Revisited,” he introduces the concept of gastromediation, in which food can serve as a way to ease hostility and bring about dialogue between sides. During the Hummus Wars, Jawadat Ibrahim, a Palestinian-Israeli citizen, attempted to set the world record in Abu Gosh, as Palestinian-Israeli village, on behalf of Israel. He showed food can be a great mediator in conflict, especially in a place of contention, and an effective method of diplomacy. Therefore, hummus is a perfect metaphor, “although plunged in conflict, is in fact a unifying element, a bridge between Israeli Jews, Palestinians, and the Arab world at large” (Avieli 26). Hummus is much more than a regional food. It is a source of regional pride for Israelis, Lebanese, Palestinians, and others in the region. This pride, coupled with the globalization of hummus and regional foods in general, creates such an intense desire to control it.

Sixth course: dessert. The sweet finale of a meal, it provides contrast to the savoriness of the previous course, highlighting the creativity of the chef.

Aside from being a symbol of national pride, food has always played a role in the making of civilization and, thus, has been a symbol of spirituality. Different aspects of religion incorporate a different meaning of food. Christianity uses bread and wine as symbols of the body and blood of Jesus Christ, a way of remembering his sacrifice. During Ramadan, Muslims fast as a practice of self-discipline and cleansing of sins. The ancient Mesoamericans revered the maize crop as a symbol of spirituality due to their reliance on it. They quite literally believed in the parallels between maize and life through it sustaining them, where “the concept of a calm and balanced human life that evolves and terminates like that of a maize plant seems to constitute a fundamental principle of Maya theology” (Sachse 71). Food can be seen as a worldly metaphor for the supernatural, much more than just nourishment. In the past, a bad harvest meant death, while a good one meant prosperity, which makes it clear why it is incorporated in religion.

Seventh course: digestif. [ dee-zhe-steef ]. Noun French.

1. A drink of brandy, liquor, etc., taken after a meal to aid the digestion (Dictionary.com). Taken to help settle the stomach and help the diner relax, signifying the conclusion of the meal (Denig).

Through exploring the topic of food, I am able to better understand my own relationship with it and how food is multifaceted in how people relate to it. A nation, a community, or even a religion gives different meanings to different foods. It can be used as a means of bonding with people, where one might discover another culture or get to know someone they wouldn’t have met in the first place. It can be used as a source of conflict, representative of greater dispute. Familiar food provides me with the comfort of routine, something I can rely on. By consciously understanding the role of food and meals in our everyday lives as well as how it is implicated in almost everything, we can understand the world around us better.

Works Cited

“America’s Most Trusted Dictionary.” Merriam-Webster, Merriam-Webster, www.merriam-webster.com/. Accessed 14 Nov. 2023.

“Amuse-Bouche.” CHEFIN Australia, CHEFIN, 2 May 2023, chefin.com.au/dictionary/amuse-bouche/#:~:text=Amuse%2Dbouche%2C%20otherwise%20known%20as,pampering%20them%20with%20something%20special.

Ariel, Ari. “The Hummus Wars.” Gastronomica, vol. 12, no. 1, 2012, pp. 34–42. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.1525/gfc.2012.12.1.34. Accessed 15 Nov. 2023.

Avieli, Nir. “The Hummus Wars Revisited: Israeli-Arab Food Politics and Gastromediation.” Gastronomica, vol. 16, no. 3, 2016, pp. 19–30. JSTOR, https://www.jstor.org/stable/26362370. Accessed 15 Nov. 2023.

Denig, Vicki. “The 5 Major Differences between Aperitif and Digestif.” Taste France Magazine, Taste France, www.tastefrance.com/us/magazine/article/5-major-differences-between-aperitif-and-digestif#:~:text=Digestifs%20are%20alcoholic%20beverages%20served,referred%20to%20as%20pousse%2Dcaf%C3%A9. Accessed 14 Nov. 2023.

Dictionary.com, Dictionary.com, www.dictionary.com/. Accessed 14 Nov. 2023.

Ranta, Ronald. “Food and Nationalism: From Foie Gras to Hummus.” World Policy Journal, vol. 32, no. 3, 2015, pp. 33–40. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/44214242. Accessed 15 Nov. 2023.

Sachse, Frauke. “Metaphors of Maize: Otherworld Conceptualizations and the Cultural Logic of Human Existence in the Popol Vuh.” The Myths of the Popol Vuh in Cosmology, Art, and Ritual, edited by Holley Moyes et al., University Press of Colorado, 2021, pp. 48–76. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctv1z52356.7. Accessed 16 Nov. 2023.

Sonenshine, Tara, et al. “Culinary Diplomacy, Gastrodiplomacy, and Conflict Cuisine: Defining the Field.” Is the Kitchen the New Venue of Foreign Policy?: Ideas on Food as a Tool for Diplomacy, Building Peace and Cultural Awareness, Stimson Center, 2016, pp. 9–11. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/resrep10919.6. Accessed 15 Nov. 2023.