Thanksgiving
This year my Aunt S is unable to host Thanksgiving at her house as she has done since I can remember. Seriously, for the past forty years. Mom has stepped up and is having all my dad's side of the family over. She is cooking an American Thanksgiving. This is a point of some contention. Aunt S always had some of the American standards- turkey, gravy, cranberry relish, but the other half of the buffet has been Lebanese food. Salad, hummus, Arabic rice, lubyi, etc. For me, growing up, Thanksgiving and Christmas (hosted by my other aunt) were my introduction to Arabic food, cooked as it should be, in large quantities for close family. In high school and college, as a vegetarian, I never felt deprived because so many of the Lebanese mezza dishes are made without meat. If I had no other connection to my father's heritage, not speaking Arabic, I at least had the food as something that had always been with me, to the extent of it becoming a comfort food. And now, this year, with Aunt S not feeling well, and mom cooking American, I felt something vital was going to be missing. My Aunt N called mom to ask if she wanted her to bring the rice. Rice is important to Arabs- cooked with meat and sauteed pinenuts, it is the almost invisible bedrock of the meal, after the bread. But mom says she does not want rice on her table. After all these years she has been married to my father, eating Arabic food she doesn't really like, this year she gets to make Thanksgiving her way. Which means potatoes instead of rice. Sweet potatoes. (shudder) Two delicious pies. My mom can cook. But these family holidays are my old holdout here- my only connection to Arabic culture. And I want my daughters to know this. They need to grow up knowing that Thanksgiving is also about family heritage and how immigrants have made America what it is.
So I'm bringing the Lebanese. I spent three hours making stuffed grapeleaves tonight. My fingers are wrinkled and dry. So much work, and hence such a special delicacy. When I told my aunts and friends I wanted to make grapeleaves, that was the first thing they said. So much work. It ruins your nails. But I made them. 58 little grapeleaves. They don't taste as good as my aunts'. They're big and some are falling apart. I gotta start somewhere, though, if I want to master these things. I always forget something. Tonight, exhausted after a morning at work and a playdate that left both my children in tears, I forgot to add the salt to the rice mixture. Tomorrow, another busy day, I make the lubyi and beets.
Thanksgiving is all about the food. The food is part of our identities. It's about what tastes right. My Laotian friend told me my daughter's name, Noor, means a good taste in his language. The right balance. Our senses bring us home.
So I'm bringing the Lebanese. I spent three hours making stuffed grapeleaves tonight. My fingers are wrinkled and dry. So much work, and hence such a special delicacy. When I told my aunts and friends I wanted to make grapeleaves, that was the first thing they said. So much work. It ruins your nails. But I made them. 58 little grapeleaves. They don't taste as good as my aunts'. They're big and some are falling apart. I gotta start somewhere, though, if I want to master these things. I always forget something. Tonight, exhausted after a morning at work and a playdate that left both my children in tears, I forgot to add the salt to the rice mixture. Tomorrow, another busy day, I make the lubyi and beets.
Thanksgiving is all about the food. The food is part of our identities. It's about what tastes right. My Laotian friend told me my daughter's name, Noor, means a good taste in his language. The right balance. Our senses bring us home.