Cultural Appropriation Thanksgiving
Or, Looked at Another Way, Generosity and Gratitude
I was eleven the first time I tried food from a culture outside the Scandinavian-German-American world of my rural Minnesota childhood. My mom taught English as a Second Language, and the family of one of her students, Xueyen, invited our family over to celebrate Vietnamese New Year with them. We feasted on what Xueyen’s mom called “Vietnamese spaghetti” (but which in retrospect was pho) and egg rolls. In fact, my brother’s and my adoration of the egg rolls was so conspicuous that when we got up to leave, the older women in the family asked us to stay for ten more minutes and raced into the kitchen. While we waited, they fried up several dozen egg rolls for us to take home with us. To this day that Vietnamese New Year dinner remains one of the finest meals I have ever had.
As someone who enjoys connecting with people from around the world through food, I find few trends sadder and more retrograde than the demands for perfect authenticity and the anger about “cultural appropriation” that we see from many food writers these days. These writers make rules limiting who is allowed to cook and eat certain foods, or they impose onerous conditions for preparing and enjoying food so that it is politically acceptable to them. But scolding people about cultural appropriation ironically undermines our appreciation of food from other cultures, because scolding makes us feel defensive and unwelcome.
There is a reason that “breaking bread” is an expression for social harmony; one of the finest ways to get to know someone is to share a delicious meal with them. Next week is Thanksgiving, and this is a perfect time for us to resolve to let go of spurious desires for cultural purity and instead to share and enjoy our food in a spirit of generosity and gratitude.
But First, the Motte and Bailey Fallacy Again
I have written before about the motte and bailey fallacy: “Person A start[s] with a bold and controversial opinion that’s hard to defend. . . . But when challenged, they retreat to an uncontroversial argument that’s much easier to defend.” So, for example, if we object to some of the more extreme assertions that the cultural appropriation people are making, they might reply with stories of being bullied at school because of their food or bring up the legitimate problem of stolen recipes. Fair enough. I suspect that most of us agree that it’s not ok for kids to sneer that a classmate’s food “smells weird,” or for professional chefs to profit off other people’s recipes without acknowledgement or compensation.1
On the other hand, the bold and controversial opinions about food that threaten to divide us are legion. Here are just a few examples, and I suspect readers can think of many others:
Writers complain that white Americans are treading where we’re not wanted and taking over. Even before Alison Roman made controversial remarks about Marie Kondo and Chrissy Teigen, she was persona non grata in the food world because she had the temerity to publish a recipe called “The Stew” without acknowledging that it was actually a curry. One writer somewhat hyperbolically called the recipe “colonialism as cuisine.”
Or, if a white food writer does make an extraordinary effort to research, acknowledge, and honor the culture from which the recipes come, s/he still doesn’t do enough. According to a critical reappraisal of Diana Kennedy in the New York Times this summer, Kennedy—who spent her life traveling and studying in Mexico, who introduced Mexican cooking to a mainstream US audience, and who made a point of crediting by name the women she learned from—nonetheless “never managed to illuminate the women she learned from, only their food.”
Or critics are angry that white people make the food in the wrong way—putting peas in guacamole,2 or serving biryani in a wrap, or “add[ing] in more vegetables,” for example.
Some critics do admit that it’s ok for white Americans to cook and eat food from other cultures (gee, thanks), but then they insist that we should also engage in “proper research/learning, platforming, monetising, putting something back, education, support.”
I don’t like to pull rank, but I likely have more experience with people from other countries than those critics who tell us we’re not allowed to enjoy food unless we follow strict rules about authenticity that they have set. I have lived overseas for many years and have had the opportunity to meet people from around the world through my kids’ international schools. I am fortunate to have had friends, neighbors, or acquaintances from almost sixty countries and every continent except Antarctica.
The most joyous event at these schools every year is International Day, when people from around the world share their favorite dishes from back home with the whole community. Not one person I have encountered in my travels has ever objected to my enjoying or cooking food from their culture, nor have they policed how I cook at home. Quite the contrary, my friends are happy to see me enjoying their food and gladly share their culinary traditions and recipes with me—and they don’t seem to mind if I make a few changes to their recipes either. This stands to reason, doesn’t it? Why would people in other countries concern themselves with what we Americans eat? Surely they have better things to do.
Paradise Lost
The irony is, I actually agree with the cultural appropriation crowd in one respect: In an ideal world, we would not simply take the first Google result for a recipe but would seek out less popular and more authentic recipes; we would learn to cook dishes from other cultures exactly as the recipe says; we would research and talk about the cultural traditions that went into the dishes; and we would give full credit to the originators of the recipes. Learning about other cultures is an absolute good, as is giving credit where credit is due.
However (and you knew this was coming), we don’t live in an ideal world. Down here in our fallen world, overworked people barely have time to shop and cook, let alone conduct research into the cultures of the food they prepare. Parents may struggle to corral the entire family to sit down together between school and homework and are unlikely to persuade their kids to sit through a lecture on their dinner’s origin before they all chow down. Or our loved ones have dietary restrictions, whether for health, religious, or ethical reasons, and we need to adapt the recipes. Or someone in the family can’t tolerate a lot of spice, so we cut it back.3 We live in a world of competing duties, and we may find that our duty to feed our families healthy and budget-friendly foods they are willing to eat, as well as our duty to make our guests comfortable at our table, outweigh the duty to craft a perfectly authentic dish.
That vegan biryani wrap that provoked so much outrage makes a quick, nutritious lunch for people who don’t have time to sit down as they race between jobs. Those “extra” vegetables may be a parent’s way of getting some vitamins into kids who would otherwise subsist on noodles. And while I sympathize with food writers who looked on as “The Stew” became famous and their own wonderful recipes languished in obscurity, isn’t it possible that “The Stew” has met with so much success not (just) because Roman is an attractive white woman with a large platform? Her recipe is inexpensive and easy to make, and all its ingredients can be found at regular grocery stores. “The Stew” is not authentic, but it has the virtue of being a recipe that a busy, budget-conscious parent can throw together and be confident the kids will eat. And here outside of Eden, where we all live, pragmatic considerations like these matter more than political ones, at least for most of us.
Two Recipes for Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving is the perfect time to share the gifts of nature’s bounty, our own creativity, and cultural traditions—be they our own or adopted ones. I have appropriated and adapted the following two recipes from other cultures unapologetically. Whether you are hosting Thanksgiving or going somewhere as a guest, these recipes would make a perfect appetizer to put out as guests are arriving. Both dips are healthy, vegan, and gluten-free as well as delicious, if I do say so myself.
Hummus
Who owns hummus? The question seems crazy, right? Every country in the Middle East—as well as Turkey and Greece—can claim the tangy, tasty dip. (Here is a fun article on the debate.) There are almost as many versions as cooks; Nigella Lawson even has a recipe for hummus made with peanut butter, which friends assure me is delicious. My recipe, which I have liberally adapted from one by Jeanne Lemlin, calls for only a soupçon of garlic (I have trouble with raw garlic), as well as an enormous quantity of tahini (do not stint on the tahini!) for velvety richness.
Ingredients
1 15oz (400gm) can chickpeas, drained and well-rinsed to remove the sludgy gunk
half a very small clove of garlic, cut into small pieces (or more, to taste)
3/4c (175ml) tahini
3/4c (175ml) fresh-squeezed lemon juice
1tsp salt (or more, to taste)
1/2tsp cumin (I would counsel against adding more cumin than this, because it can overwhelm the other flavors)
1/4tsp cayenne pepper (or more, to taste)
a bit of water if necessary to achieve the correct texture
a drizzle of olive oil
a sprinkling of za’atar
Method
Put the chickpeas and garlic in the food processor and pulse about 10 times until it is a crumbly texture.
Add in all the remaining ingredients and process for a minute. Taste to check seasonings and texture and adjust accordingly.
Process for an additional two minutes and then scrape hummus into a serving bowl.
Drizzle olive oil and sprinkle za’atar decoratively.
Serve with pita wedges, spears of red and yellow bell pepper, and, for gluten-free guests, tortilla chips.4
Peanut Sauce
Peanut sauce is even more international than hummus. It shows up in dishes from Indonesia, Singapore, Thailand, the Philippines, China, India, Vietnam, and even the Netherlands and Belgium (where it is a dip for French fries). My version, which I have again liberally adapted from a recipe by Jeanne Lemlin, isn’t particularly spicy, in deference to family members who don’t like hot food. You can serve it as a dip, as I suggest here, but it is also terrific over sautéed tofu and bok choi, or you can serve it over noodles tossed with finely-minced red bell peppers and slivered snow peas.
Ingredients
2T vegetable oil
1 small clove garlic, finely minced
a piece of ginger about the size of your big toe, peeled and minced
1 or 2 small red chili peppers, seeded, veined, and minced
1/3c (80ml) natural peanut butter
2T soy sauce (or more to taste)
2T water (or more if necessary to achieve the desired texture)
zest and juice from 1 lime, plus more lime juice, to taste (I use at least 1-1/2 limes)
2tsp brown sugar
2T tomato paste
1T sesame oil
fresh cilantro and sliced red chili pepper for garnish
Method
In a small pot, heat the oil and briefly sauté the garlic, ginger, and red chilis. Don’t let the garlic burn. Set aside and allow to cool.
Combine all the remaining ingredients in a bowl and mix well.
Add in the ginger-chili mixture and blend. Taste and adjust seasonings and add water or more soy sauce or lime juice if necessary.
Put the sauce in a bowl or in individual ramekins and garnish with cilantro sprigs and sliced chilis. Serve with sliced red and yellow bell peppers for dipping. You can also serve purchased spring rolls or chicken satay (available in many grocery stores) to go with the sauce. Or, if you want to make the haters mad, kick it Belgian-style and serve with fries.
How about you, readers? What are your favorite dishes from other cultures? Have you shared food from your own culture with friends from another culture? Please share your thoughts in the comments!
The Tidbit
Or you could always go out for Thanksgiving dinner. The only inaccuracy on this menu, as far as I can tell, is that it’s more often the case that the token vegetarian dish is a grilled portobello mushroom that serves as an ersatz (and inadequate!) burger.
I will note, though, that it is difficult to copyright recipes, for the very reason that people are always adapting published recipes to their own tastes.
I am not a huge fan of peas, especially in guacamole, but I give plenty of leeway to inauthentic guacamole because my guacamole recipe isn’t authentic either. I get sick if I eat raw onions, so I don’t put onions in my guacamole. Heresy, I know.
Then again, hashtag not all white people. When we first moved to Prague, we went to an Indian restaurant, most of whose offerings were at a spice level we came to refer to as “Czech spicy” (i.e. not spicy). The sole exception was lamb vindaloo, which my spice-loving son ordered. The waiter warned him that it was extremely hot, and that he probably wouldn’t be able to eat it. My son insisted it would be fine and proceeded to devour every bite with gusto. The delighted waiter brought the entire kitchen out to meet (in their words) “the white boy who ate the lamb vindaloo.”
I know that tortilla chips with hummus isn’t exactly authentic, but I really like the combination, and I bet your guests will too!
We were making potstickers for dinner this very night, so I went ahead and made your peanut sauce. It's very good! I flinched at 1-1/2 limes because I suspected you might be using normal-sized, tiny limes, instead of the dinasour limes we seem to get now at the grocery store.
Lewis said-- "Next time you make fries, you are totally making this sauce!"
Three thoughts:
1) Authenticity is the death of creativity. Some of the most wonderful dishes are “inauthentic” because they were improved upon. As I wrote once upon a time, most of my cultural gastronomical heritage is “inauthentic” because it was created by immigrants who had access to different ingredients, namely, the excess of American beef due to Texans and railroads. And yet, a life without spaghetti and meatballs is one not worth living.
2) We had an International Day in 4th grade and I ate some Middle Eastern dish that even three decades later I can remember its taste but have yet to rediscover. It drives me insane.
3) Some day, my restaurant, Holidays (Holidaze?) will open. It’s gimmick is that the menu is just holiday meals. Imagine eating Thanksgiving dinner in April! I’m going to become a billionaire.