New Year’s Food (Somali)--Jan 1. 2016

New Year’s Food--Somali meal--Jan 1. 2016

I celebrate every holiday with food in some way. (Actually, I celebrate every day with food, but that’s a different story.) The meal for New Year’s Day in my southern (Appalachia and piedmont NC) family was traditionally black-eyed peas, ham hocks, and rice. We ate black-eyed peas at other times of year, too, but on New Year’s, they had to be served with rice, and we called it hoppin’ John. After living in and celebrating New Year’s in many different regions and countries, I have expanded that repertoire—although I will be eating hoppin’ John later today. In the Midwest, it’s usually some kind of pork and sauerkraut (never chicken since chicken’s scratch backwards and pigs root forward.) On the east coast, it tends to be some kind of Asian cuisine—frequently Vietnamese since that’s a comfort food for me. With my sisters, it usually includes a pig of some sort—a peppermint pig, a German gingerbread pig-shaped cookie, or a Swiss sweet bread shaped like a pig.

This New Year’s day, in between social visits, I happened across an African restaurant, featuring “Somalian and Italian cuisine.” I couldn’t resist. Walking in, I was greeted by a young man who eagerly showed me photos of the dishes offered and explained their provenance. Most were Somali, but Ethiopian and Kenyan were included, as well as dishes showing Indian, Persian, and Italian influences. Breakfast included “foul mudammas,” a fava bean dish common throughout North Africa and the Middle East. The most typical Somali dish was a goat meat stew, but I opted for a chicken dish also very typical—chicken kalenkal. Delicious choice—marinated and grilled cubes of chicken with rice (long grain seasoned dry rice, similar to Persian or Pakistani rice dishes), grilled vegetables (broccoli, zucchini, cauliflower, carrots, broad beans, onions), and lettuce salad with creamy Italian dressing. Way too much food for one person for one meal, but very, very good. Before the main dish was brought out, though, I was served a cup of broth (goat or beef), pineapple juice, a banana, and hot Somali tea (sweet and spiced similar to chai, but not milky). A hot sauce (very hot) was offered alongside.

It was an excellent way to celebrate a new year, but as I sat in the small restaurant I also thought about the people who shared it with me. Mostly men, but a few women also—all looked like they were from Somalia or surrounding regions. The women, who wore colorful headscarves, sat apart from the men, but conversed with them in a lively conversation in the Somali language. (I had to ask what language it was; many immigrants speak multiple ones.)

I can’t imagine what their lives have been like, having to leave their homes, and live through the terrors of war, displacement, and finding a place in a new culture with very, very foreign customs and values. I can sympathize. I have lived in many cultures as well, and oftentimes feel somewhat displaced wherever I am (do any of us ever really fit in?), but I have never had the hardships of being a refugee. Seeing the strong sense of community displayed at this restaurant along with the obvious pleasure they all seemed to take in conversing and being together strips away the baggage of the past and reminds me of what things really matter in life--relishing the moment, the people in our lives, the tastes available to us and being grateful for those moments. Here’s to many more in the coming year!