Egyptian-Texan BBQ, Israeli Food, Kebbeh Nayyeh, and Ghammeh.
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These readings are some of my favourite so far from the course, and I've got too many thoughts for one discussion post, but I'll do my best. I want to touch on fusion, authenticity, and diasporic relationships with food.
On the topic of fusion, I think of myself as a purist foodie and generally am against it. I just think it's useless and is rarely bringing anything impressive to the table. However, there's an Egyptian man who moved to Texas and learned to make proper Texan BBQ to then open his own food truck, serving Texas BBQ with Egyptian flavours (think smoked brisket with pomegranate molasses and fattoush). To me, that is fusion done right for many reasons. It brings change and innovation to something classic and rigid like Texas BBQ, which many have said is too meaty and heavy. By bringing Egyptian flavours into it, Kareem Al-Ghayesh adds vegetables, a salad with a bright dressing, and acidic flavours that cut through the fatty meat and brings much needed balance to the meal. Beyond that, it introduces Egyptian food to a population known for its conservative and ultra-American nature. Breaking into a market that is so rigid and traditional as an Arab man is difficult, I'd say, especially when you're trying to bring Arab spices, and halal meat to Southern America, but Al-Ghayesh came to Texas and learned to become a pitmaster, showed respect to the original cuisine, and then brought his own twist to it.
As for my thoughts on the importance of authenticity, I immediately thought of 'Israeli' food. We've all surely seen videos of influencers trying Israeli food, aka falafel, hummus, baklava, labneh, zaatar, baba ghannouj, and knafeh. Claiming that these dishes is 'authentic' is a disrespect to the Arab countries that have been making these dishes way before Israel ever existed. It is a disrespect to claim these dishes are theirs when they were simply appropriated from Palestinians and made to be 'authentic Israeli food'. I suppose their attempt to pretend that these dishes are authentic is an attempt at selling their belonging to the Middle East, since they share a cuisine with much of the other Middle Eastern states that surround them. However, this attempt at cultural solidarity through food is not successful when Israel continues to occupy Palestinian territories and bombards Lebanese cities, so their authenticity truly goes out the window.
Finally, to talk briefly about nostalgia and relationships with food in the diaspora, I think of my own experiences. I was quite moved by quotes from Katrak's essay and by the writing about "enhancing the value of a recipe... to consume 'authentic' difference" (Mannur, 32), and the concept of naturalization minoritizing your ethnic identity (33). To combat that, I've always proudly shown off the fact that I eat 'kebbeh nayyeh', a dish made of raw meat mixed with bulgur, eaten with raw onions and mint leaves. I'm also proud to say I love 'ghammeh', a dish made of stuffed intestines that looks... quite beige in colour, but is delicious and holds many dear memories to me. I often show this pride off in front of other Arabs or Lebanese people, to portray myself as 'more Lebanese' or a 'better Arab' than those who find these dishes unappetizing. In my mind, the weirder and more unappealing the dish is, the more authentic and traditional, which means I'm a better Arab than other Arabs, both in the diaspora or back home. This is... a little childish of me, but it's one of the ways I validate myself. I'm sure many other immigrants share this experience.
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