Nourishing Connections Through Food in the Age of the Coronavirus—An Unfinished Blog Post from March 2020

 March 29, 2020//April 22, 2021

Nourishing Connections Through Food in the Age of the Coronavirus—An Unfinished Blog Post

April 22, 2021--I discovered this unfinished post the other day. It’s from the end of the first month of the lockdown due to the Covid-19 pandemic. I remember why I didn’t finish it. We were still getting used to the reality of the pandemic. It seemed like something from a science fiction film, and to suddenly find ourselves living through it seemed surreal. In the face of that, writing a blog seemed pretty trivial and useless. Who knew who would be around to read it.

Now, almost a year later, many of us are vaccinated, and life is actually returning to some sort of normalcy. A lot has changed, though, for a lot of us. The university used covid as an excuse to cut numerous positions, including mine, and even though it now has plenty of funds, it doesn’t see a need to rehire people. I also haven’t seen my kids in over a year and a half. Other than that, my life during the pandemic was actually very good.

The thoughts I had over a year ago, though, are still relevant, perhaps even more so. We’ve had a chance to rethink the way we live and to look into how “normal life” perhaps shouldn’t be considered normal, at least, when it comes to food. Many of us were disconnected from the producers of what we consume, were blissfully unaware of the inequalities in the food system and assumed we would have access to most anything we wanted to eat and whenever. We saw during the pandemic how fragile those systems are, though. We also know now how fragile life itself is, and how there are no guarantees. That has made some of us turn both inward to reflect on the purposes and meanings of our own lives and outward to find ways that we can contribute to others’ quality of life. Food continues to be at the center of much this activity and actually now seems to be recognized for its potential. It turns out that it is the “small things” after all that connect us all.

 

March 29, 2020-

-I haven’t written anything for this blog in several months—last fall was incredibly busy, and I spent the first part of 2020 catching up on overdue projects. Then, news of the coronavirus (covid-19) started creeping in from China. Like many Americans, I figured this was something that would be contained and wouldn’t be a serious problem here, but I have friends and relatives living in the countries initially affected, so I followed the news closely. I curtailed my own travels and socializing before the shelter at home orders came in—and stocked up on necessary items. (Yes, I even have extra toilet paper that I’ve been sharing with friends.) 

      Now that people are finally taking Covid-19 seriously, I, like many, am noticing the role that food is playing in all of this, especially, the need to get fresh supplies. I am also noticing the ways in which food is being used to nourish connections. Many people are doing this intentionally—offering to shop for others, posting notices of restaurants still serving through delivery or take-out, posting suggestions for recipes, and offering online cooking instructions. New social media technologies are even making it possible to have virtual meals together, as well as “happy hours” with cocktails and wine (sometimes more accurately known as “wine and whines”).

     As many are pointing out, though, many such intentional displays of connecting through food are for the privileged--those of us who have well-stocked larders, easy access to clean water and cleaning supplies, time to devote to thinking about food, and enough emotional energy to think about food as an artistic and social outlet. What happens to the people who have never had to cook for themselves, to the ones who do not have basic supplies or equipment (like the large freezers in many American homes), to parents trying to deal with traumatized children, to the individuals too traumatized themselves to string together coherent steps in a recipe? 

    This might be a time to draw back and notice the “big meanings in small things.” As a folklorist, my scholarly training has always focused on the everyday, the mundane and oftentimes overlooked parts of life. In food, that means noticing—and appreciating--the the dishes and recipes that we tend not to think about too much, and that we don’t think of as special—until we don’t have them. Fresh greens for a salad? Flour or yeast to make bread? Is it risky going to the store? We also don’t have to make gourmet meals with exotic ingredients for our food to be meaningful. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich can bring back memories of childhood and be comforting. That can make it more meaningful to us than the most expensive fine dining experience.

[Photos--the one on top is my grandmother and my daughter sharing a snack. The paper of the toilet paper cake comes from a post on the Internet and the name didn't get attached to the photo. If anyone recognizes it, I would love to know who made this cake--and give them credit. I love the humor of it.)

 

Garlic Mustard—Weeds, Pesto, and Memories (For Earth Day 2021)

 Garlic Mustard—Weeds, Pesto, and Memories (For Earth Day 2021)

It’s garlic mustard season! Although it does signal the arrival of spring, this plant takes over woods, fields and yards, choking out other plants. Because of this, it is called a weed. 

On a personal level, garlic mustard reminds me of my son. He spent long days pulling it out and disposing of it in the various parks and meadows where he worked, but he also didn’t like calling it a weed. He found it problematic that humans divided the world into things that were useful or pleasurable to them and therefore “good,” while everything else was dangerous or bad. He saw that categorization applied to humans, too. Those who toed the line and did what was expected to keep the capitalistic, consumerist-oriented system going were the desirable ones, while humans--like himself—who challenged the system, cared about the wellbeing of the planet more than money were deemed bad, or, at least, odd. 

 

I think he might have related to garlic mustard on an emotional level. Rather than simply dismissing it as a weed, he encouraged people to appreciate it as a food but also to keep eradicating it. To that end, he tried different ways of eating it and oftentimes made pesto from it. His recipe is below. He also talks about garlic mustard and other wild plants in the short documentary I produced on “Foods From Nature” for the Center for Food and Culture. You can view it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dJhU0L6t4No.

 

The Garlic Mustard plant is native to Europe, western and central Asia and northwest Africa, where it was valued for its medicinal and edible properties. It was used there as a flavoring for food, and the young leaves were eaten as a vegetable. It apparently also functioned as a diuretic and disinfectant, and was used to treat wounds. 

 

So, originally, it was not considered a weed. It was likely introduced to the U.S in the early 1800s by European settlers and was first recorded in Long Island in 1868. (https://www.invasive.org/alien/pubs/midatlantic/alpe.htm). It turned out, though, that there are no natural controls for it in North America, and it has spread across the continent, taking over in wooded areas and yards. It is also toxic to many native herbivores, butterflies, and moths. 

Rather than exterminate the plant by chemical means, which would then cause another set of problems, scientists (like my son) suggest physically removing and discarding the plant, but also finding uses for it. One of those can be food. To that end, garlic mustard pesto is a small step in making a dent in the spread of this plant. Perhaps more importantly, it represents a way to collaborate with nature, recognizing that human intervention has created damage and that our solutions resolving that damage can sometimes cause even more. 

Ian Santino's Recipe for Garlic Mustard Pesto:

3 cups garlic mustard leaves washed and packed (young leaves are the best)

2 garlic cloves (optional

1 cup olive oil

1 cup grated Parmesan cheese or nutritional yeast

1 – 1 ½ cups walnuts (pine nuts can be used, but are expensive)

¼ teaspoon salt 

1/8 teaspoon pepper (optional)

 

1.Pack three cups garlic mustard leaves washed and dried. (For best flavor, use young garlic mustard leaves before the plant flowers. )

2.Combine remaining ingredients in a food processor.  

3.Blend until pesto is smooth.  

4.Slowly add garlic mustard leaves to the pesto blend until all leaves are added and the pesto is smooth.  

Use as a sauce or spread on pasta, bread, and other dishes or use as a dip for veggies and chips.

Thanksgiving during Covid-19: Inventing New Traditions (Nov. 19, 2020)

Thanksgiving during Covid-19: Inventing New Traditions  (Nov. 19, 2020)

 

With the new surge of cases in Covid-19 throughout the U.S., people are looking at spending the Thanksgiving holidays at home without the usual gatherings of family and friends. The holiday was officially established as a way to unify the country during the Civil War (Benedict Anderson’s notion of imagined community is relevant here—simultaneous feasting gives us something in common), but today it is actually about affirming that we have communities to belong to. And the bigger the turkey, the bigger one’s community.

It is not surprising, then, that the thought of not being able to visit and eat with others for this year’s holiday is upsetting. It flies in the face of tradition, and traditions give us a sense of grounding, reminding us of life’s continuities. But tradition is not something crystalized in the past. Neither is Thanksgiving. 

As a folklorist, I know this, and study those non-crystalizations. I have long researched and documented regional and ethnic variations of Thanksgiving dinner, but also in my own life, have had to constantly reinvent the celebration. Living in a variety of countries as a child, our dinner table usually included dishes from a variety of cuisines, along with my mother’s southern and 1950s sensibilities (think of a fully laden table with every dish “fancied up”). With a partner from New England, I found in my own family the need to mix regional aesthetics and dishes. I usually “fixed” my dishes on Wednesday (cornbread dressing, sweet potatoes, pecan pie); he cooked the turkey, white bread dressing, mashed potatoes, mashed turnips on Thursday. When the children were little, we would spend the morning volunteering at the animal shelter so the workers could go home earlier. As they got older, they contributed their own ethos and aesthetics to the meal: tofurkey instead of turkey, green bean casserole made from scratch to celebrate their Midwestern heritage, roasted brussel sprouts. The meals still tend to be eclectic with various guests bringing their own specialties. Last year, it was Korean fish (a whole one) and chop chae (a “cellophane” noodles dish) with a Korean friend in town. 

 

            This year, we’re already planning a virtual cooking spree and meal, with family members zooming in from Ireland, Wisconsin, and Ohio (and probably Colorado, Virginia, and North Carolina, if we can coordinate it). I’m introducing a new recipe—potato and squash gnocci from my friend, Betty Belanus, another folklorist who knows that traditions are dynamic. I bought a vegan “turkey roll,” but I’ll probably save it, and make stuffed acorn squash instead, something that I served at my daughter, Hannah’s engagement party in 2019. I’ll also make the apple-cranberry-walnut cake that I got from the Moosewood cookbook 33(?!) years ago and have made every Thanksgiving since. I might even try making green jello salad from a vegan gelatin mix. I was usually the only one that ate it, but it was a private tradition between my mother and me. She made it in a Chinese zodiac mold, her own privately subversive act against the suburban housewife culture to which she was expected to conform. And, I’ll experiment with other dishes, making them in smaller quantities since there won’t be a full house to eat the leftovers. 

 

This year will simply be more innovations that might in the future join the practices that we will call tradition. I’m already hearing from friends about creative alternatives. We will focus more on sharing recipes, virtual cooking, zoom dinners, and “quarantinis.” Humor is mixed in with serious suggestions—like my friend Jennifer’s post of a turkey “carved” from spam--but the point of all of these is that what the holiday really celebrates is belonging. It is definitely about the food, too, but the food is just a ruse for

gathering people together. That togetherness can be in a variety of forms, including virtual ones. Like the cartoon above says (and which happens to be by my son, Will Santino), that’s what the new traditions will recognize and celebrate. With a little imagination, we can all be together apart. And still eat too much!

Comfort Foodways, Covid-19, and Liminality: Suspending Rules, Making New Ones

 Comfort Foodways, Covid-19, and Liminality: Suspending Rules, Making New Ones 

(Nov. 16, 2020)

 

One way the American public along with American food industries and food media have dealt with the covid-19 pandemic has been to turn to comfort food. It makes sense that they would. According to medical sociologist, Julie Locher, comfort food is food that people consume in order to alleviate stress. That the pandemic has caused a great deal of stress is obvious. Another way to understand this turn, though, is to look at both as being liminal states of being.

            Developed by scholars in ritual studies, folkloristics, and cultural anthropology (Falassi, 1986; Turner, 1969; van Gennep, 1960), liminality is technically a period in between two stages in a rite of passage. During such times, the rules of the old stage no longer apply, but the ones for the new stage are not yet established, relieving participants of the usual expectations for proper behavior. The concept was expanded and applied to other times in our lives as well as spaces in which the normal rules are suspended. (Tourism scholars, in particular, have used this idea.) 

From this perspective, we can see commonalities between comfort food and the Covid-19 pandemic. Both are times of suspending rules. With the pandemic, we have left behind an earlier stage with its established rules and will move eventually to a post-pandemic world. In the meantime, we’re not quite sure how to behave properly.

Comfort food, as used in the U.S., is a similar suspension of

 the normal guidelines for “healthy” eating. It can be an excuse to eat foods considered un-nutritious, “fattening,” or otherwise “bad” for us, but the need to relieve stress makes it morally ok to eat those foods--although we might regret it later on when we weigh ourselves. Comfort foodways can also serve as a medium through which individuals are playing with a potential new order. Will calories still count; will sugar still make us “hyper;” will carbohydrates still translate into pounds on our hips? 

This liminality in itself is oftentimes stressful, but it also offers the potential to develop new relationships with food. Foodways activities that were previously mundane chores —shopping, organizing cupboards, consuming weekday meals, cleaning up- are now being recognized as providing opportunities for participation in larger social networks as well as for performing of identities, values, and relationships. This time is forcing us to appreciate those everyday activities as meaningful ones. 

Also, disruptions caused by the pandemic to those routines can make us aware of the connectedness of our own culinary experiences to the larger food system and to the comforts-discomforts of others. Comfort food, as thought of now, tends to be about the wellbeing of the individual. Can we expand comfort foodways to take into account how the individual interacts with and impacts food systems and culture in general? Perhaps these new relationships will be permanent, encouraging us to not only find comfort in all food and foodways, but to work to offer those opportunities to others as well. The liminality of this time, then, offers a chance to create and establish new—and better--rules.

Culinary Tourism in Poland—Window and Mirror

Elzbieta, Pietr, Lucy

In May of 2019, I had the honor and privilege of giving the keynote address for the culinary tourism conference in Warsaw at Vistula University. Invited by Dr. Pietr Dominik, I spoke on the evolution and revolution of culinary tourism, and had a fascinating two days of listening to papers and discussions. I was struck by the blend of theory and practice and by the mix of scholars, tourism professionals, and policy makers (many individuals seemed to be all three also). It was eye-opening also to see issues discussed in the US as theoretical ones, discussed with real case studies and practical implications, such as authenticity, intangible heritage, regional foods, national identity, the marketing of everyday, “mundane” foods. (I’ll discuss those issues in another blog on a Polish bread, Obwarzanek, that is a symbol of Krakow and can be described as a wreath bagel.) A summary of the conference is available in Polish (which I cannot read), but I hope to get a translation.

obrawaznec

obrawaznec

The other part of my trip to Poland was an invitation from Elzbieta Tomczyk-Miczka, a scholar and tourism professional who invited me to Krakow for 5 days prior to the conference. Elzbieta was familiar with my work on culinary tourism, had written about it and taught it at the university!! (This to me is the highest compliment possible for scholars--that people find my work useful.) One of the points from my work that she emphasized was the idea that although culinary tourism can be a window into other cultures, it is actually more of a mirror onto one’s culture—foods noticed by a tourist as exotic and strange show what his/her own culture does not have. 

Smoked cheeses

Elzbieta’s invitation gave me to chance to put this idea into practice. She arranged tours and guides for me (churches and sightseeing in Krakow, the Salt Mine, the Krakow Jewish ghetto and museum), took me to food festivals (obrawaznec festival, a women’s collective food fair exhibition), a farmers market, a pierogi making class being filmed by Russian television, drove me to the Pieneny mountains where, with her son, Rudy, as my translator, I took a raft ride down the river with Gural mountain guides and visited shepherds making cheese and herding sheep (including disobedient lambs who kept leaving their mothers’ side to greet humans), and even included me at a family dinner (pasta made by the teenage daughter—similar to my own family meals). And she fed me! Lots of new tastes that showed the diversity of Polish food culture. (We even stopped at McDonald’s in order to do a menu comparison and get sweet potato fries and coffee—very exotic for both of us!) Her colleague and friend, Barbara Tekieli, then continued the hospitality in Warsaw, arranging tours for me of the “old town,” the Polin Museum (on Jewish history), the Vodka museum, and on Saturday, visiting a variety of farmers’ markets and restaurants with historian-tour guide, Agnieszka Kuś (https://agnieszkakus.pl), who was able to give me cultural perspectives on a number of questions. (Barbara drove me to the airport, too, on Sunday—true hospitality!)

Pierogi with lemon sauce, Warsaw, 

Fried cheese with cranberry sauce

So what was exotic to me? A number of foods: lamb sweetbreads, pickled herring, sour soups, blood sausage, other varieties of sausage, beef tongue, snails, horsemeat tartar, trout tartar, any kind of tartar, small “cranberries” made into preserve used on sausages, pickled herring, smoked cheeses, lard spread on bread, rhubarb juice, obrazanec (bagels), edible flowers, vodka, pickled baby squash, pierogifilled with soft cheese, small jelly doughnuts (paczki), and smoked prunes. Some of these are distinctive but not unusual to Poland and eastern European food cultures, while some are specialties of Polish regions. They were new to me, however, because of my background as an American of British heritage born and raised in the South and in east and southeast Asia. Now that I have lived in the eastern Midwest for several decades, Polish American food is no longer unfamiliar, but it’s not a part of my daily eating. I also learned about it when I made a short documentary on Polish food in the Toledo area (https://foodandculture.org/about-food/food-and-culture/polish-food-traditions/) and was told that what survived is mostly the dishes brought by laborers and farmers, rather than the foods of the educated elite Polish immigrants. 

Kielbasa stand, Market Square, Krakaw

Paczki

Kielbasa are oftentimes grilled along with hot dogs, bratwurst, and Italian sausage, and stuffed cabbage rolls (galumpki) are frequently on down-home restaurant menus as “pigs in a blanket.” Pierogiare not as common but are becoming so, usually filled with potato and cheese, especially in cities with large Polish populations. I knew about pierogis from my friend Emily, who invited my children several times to a family pierogi making party. I also knew of special holiday foods: Oplatki wafers for Christmas Eve and paczki for Fat Tuesday, marketed along with Mardi Gras king cakes and St. Patrick’s Day cupcakes with green icing for the period up to Lent when it was traditional in Catholic cultures to use up all the fat and sugar before then.

Edible flower salad

Sour Rye Soup

What I tasted in Poland was much more diverse—and delicious! These foods reflected the history of Poland as a crossroads between the east and the west. Trade, invasions, and migrations brought numerous culinary influences through this area, and class differences, as well as urban rural contexts shaped Polish food culture. Food can be used to “read” all of those influences, and in that way, food can be a window into the culture. But it is also a mirror in that it shows the ways in which that richly varied food culture became homogenized and whittled down to just a few “ethnic “dishes as Polish immigrants became established in the U.S. It is also a mirror for me personally because it highlights what my own culinary universe has not included in the past. That will change, though, now that I have experienced the wide range of Polish foods. Some are more to my taste than others, but they are now familiar to me, and I will relish them when I get a chance to—along with the memories of the wonderful friends I made in Poland.

Hard Cider in Madison, Wisconsin--Global Perspectives, Local Connections

Hard Cider in Madison, Wisconsin--Global Perspectives, Local Connections

 Like many Americans, cider to me always meant the juice pressed from apples. I didn’t realize until I travelled in Ireland and Spain, that to the rest of the world, cider is an alcoholic beverage made from fermented apple juice. Usually called “hard cider” in the US, it actually has a long history in the nation. Along with beer, it was usually preferred over plain water as more nutritious and possibly safer, holdovers from European customs. These traditions died out with prohibition (1920-1933), and many orchards producing the bitter cider apples were destroyed. Sweeter varieties for eating were developed, and cider became the “sweet cider” associated with the autumn season, trips to apple orchards, and fall festivals.

That is now changing. Hard ciders are now becoming easily available, and a surge of small-scale artisanal and locally-based cideries are making the beverage better known. Madison, Wisconsin is one location where excellent cider can be found, and I spent a week in April exploring some of them. It was well worth it. The ciders were not only tasty; I also learned how complicated it is to produce it and how varied are the motivations and experiences of the people making it. 

(A note here—I did not get a chance to try all the ciders being produced in this area, and I apologize for those not mentioned here. These 3 represent 3 stages in cider making: growing the apples, making the cider, and consuming it.)

Interestingly, two of the makers featured here (the Cider Farm and Restoration Cider) were introduced to hard cider in Europe, where it tends to be drier than the ciders traditionally made in the US. They now try to replicate some of that taste, but also--along with the third maker (Brix Cider)--felt that hard cider would allow them to combine their values with a potential business opportunity. Those values include a passion for the land, a love of the outdoors, and a commitment to local communities. 

All three makers display qualities apparent in much of the hard cider being produced today in the US--innovation and imagination, qualities reflected in new blends and flavorings, quirky names, and memorable packaging designs. Actually, those qualities are very traditional. Experimentation with apple varieties was a hobby of some famous early Americans—Thomas Jefferson developed at least 18 varieties of “cyder” apples. And many orchards boast their own distinctive variety.

Another thread evident in the current cider revival is a connection to American history. George Washington is said to have relaxed by pruning his apple trees, and Johnny Appleseed is a familiar legendary figure and real historical person. Apples themselves tend to be thought of as all-American, and many of us mistakenly assume they are indigenous to the continent. (They originated in Central Asia, in what is now Kazakhstan.)  Imbibing the beverage can then be a way to participate in history—or, a good excuse if one is needed. 

 

The Cider Farm (http://www.theciderfarm.com) is an orchard and farm near Mineral Point in the “Driftless” area of Wisconsin. Deirdre Birmingham and John Bionchi started hand-grafting with cuttings from English and French

cider apple trees. Unlike the sweeter American apples for eating, the European ones have tannins that give “mouthfeel and complexity” to the cider. Their orchard is certified organic and is a hands-on operation, as I discovered walking with Deirdre while she checked on young saplings and a ditch being dug. The cider itself is made in Madison and then distributed to select restaurants and groceries in the Midwest. It can also be purchased at their recently opened Cidery and Tasting Room at Brennan’s Cellars in Madison, where I had a sampler of four of their ciders along with an imaginative and delicious radish and turnip dish. The ciders were
delicious, with pronounced differences between the varieties.

Restoration Cider (http://www.restorationcider.com) is located on the east side of Madison. The owner, Paul Asper, met me at the door to a large room where cider is made and bottled. As I watched several employees working, Iwas reminded that this is hard work, especially when a glass bottle explodes from too much carbonation. A “veteran owned” sign hangs on the wall, and I soon learn that Paul is a nurse for the Air Force and helped bring wounded soldiers out of Afghanistan. Afterwards he spent time restoring his spirit flyfishing at streams in rural Wisconsin and now donates 5% of his profits to stream restoration, hence the name of the company. Paul and his wife/business partner, Lissa Koop, discovered cider in northern Spain and fell in love with the taste, and the food and lifestyle surrounding it. They wanted to recreate that experience, but with locally grown apples.

Restoration Cider seemed like a way to pursue their dream and also manage their own business, although they both work at other jobs in order to support it. They would like to grow their own apples and offer a space for tastings, but, for the time being, they have to be satisfied with sourcing from local orchards and making excellent cider. And they have been successfully doing that since 2014. I’ve purchased their ciders at stores in Madison and given samples to friends who swore they didn’t like cider. Restoration Cider usually won them over, much to my dismay since it meant depleting my stock. (Another trip to Madison in the near future!)

Brix Cider (http://Brixcider.com) in Mt. Horeb, also in the Driftless area, is a cidery and family-friendly cider pub that focuses on sustainability. The owners, Marie and Matt Raboin, have

backgrounds in agroecology, and spent time working in Africa. Like the others, they also were introduced to hard cider in Europe and wanted to reproduce those tastes but also connect them to Wisconsin. They did that by starting their own orchard, and, until that produces enough apples, they source from at least 18 local orchards. The pulp left over from pressing apples for juice is fed to pigs at a local farm, and the pork is then used for sausages sold in their pub. Their all-in-one building offers a view of the cider making along with a café and a very comfortable space for socializing and eating—and drinking cider, of course. Their website clearly states their vision, letting consumers know that producing cider at Brix is more than just a business venture; it is a statement of values, and an opportunity to create positive change. I paraphrase here: “We believe that cider should be …about the land, the people who grow the apples, the people who drink the cider, and the connections between us all.”

                                                                ***********    

Hard cider might not seem to be about identity and passion, but these three businesses show that the beverage is much richer in history and meaning than it might appear on the surface. It ties in with American heritage, but also connects us with global food cultures as well as local landscapes. Making cider is a huge investment of time and energy (and money), but the results have positive implications for sustaining local economies, small-scale farms, and a wider variety (and biodiversity) of apples. And best of all, those results are delicious! 

MUSEUM OF FOOD AND DRINK (MOFAD) Brooklyn, NY Saturday, Jan. 26, 2019

Occasionally our dreams come true, not necessarily for ourselves, but for others. And looking at things in a broader perspective, it’s good that they have, regardless of who gets it done. The Museum of Food and Drink (mofad.org) is one such dream. I was able to explore MOFAD this past weekend, and the experience was as intriguing, enlightening, and delightful as I hoped it would be. 

MOFAD is a non-profit organization that is both a concept and a 5,000 square-foot space in the Williamsburg neighborhood of Brooklyn, NY, the MOFAD Lab, that houses exhibits, food demonstrations, and a shop. The Lab is open only Friday through Sunday, 12-6 each day. General admission ranges from $7 for youth (children 5 and under are free) to $14 for adults and includes a small tasting sample as well as unlimited fortune cookies—a brilliant idea for those who like to have a choice of fortunes. A higher special admission is charged ($17-$25) for a meal that parallels the current exhibit on “Chow: Making the Chinese American Restaurant.” On my visit, the “Chow Down,” included dumplings with a wonderful fried chili topping, noodles, and congee remade to look like an American rice pudding sundae. 

But, I’m getting ahead of myself. The museum is the brainchild of Dave Arnold, a food writer and inventor, who in 2005 asked: "Why isn't there a Smithsonian-scale museum of food and drink?" (There is one now, housed in the American History Museum, plus food is featured at the Museum of the American Indian, the African American Museum, and the Festival and programs by the Office of Folklife and Cultural Heritage.) He started working on his vision in 2011, was joined in 2012 by Peter Kim as executive director and volunteer Emma Boast, and opened a “museum on wheels” in 2013 that displayed an exhibit on cereal and held roundtables on food issues. The MOFAD Lab space opened in 2015.

The Museum’s motto is an idea most of us can applaud: “Food is Culture.” In their own words, it “ brings the world of food to life with exhibits you can taste, touch, and smell. We inspire public curiosity about food, what it means, and how it connects with the world around us.” The exhibits focus on different themes, including an installation on chickens, the puffing machine for turning grain into cereal, some miscellaneous artifacts and posters, and the extensive current one on Chinese American restaurants.

 

Just as the promotional material claims, this last exhibit successfully “celebrates the birth and evolution of Chinese American cuisine, tracing its 170-year history and sparking conversation about food culture, immigration, and what it means to be American. “ Entertaining, educational, and full of information clearly presented, it goes far beyond celebration, offering a history of Chinese Americans through their food. It is not an easy history. Like most immigrants, discrimination and racism shaped their initial experiences, and they continue to do so today. The historian Ronald Takaki referred to Asian Americans as “eternally foreign,” and this exhibit demonstrates how Chinese American culinary culture has responded to that perception of foreignness. 

The 1882 Chinese Exclusion Act, for example, denied entry to laborers, but allowed special visas for students, teachers, diplomats, and merchants. In 1915, restaurateurs were considered merchants, and the number of Chinese restaurants quadrupled in some cities. Many of these played up the exoticness of the Orient in order to attract “American” customers and to prove that they were entrepreneurial enterprises—a good illustration of how public policy and popular sentiment shapes a food culture. The exhibit features restaurants, chefs, and cookbook writers that are key to this history.

The exhibit also dissects dishes that have become emblematic of Chinese American cuisine, particularly chop suey and fortune cookies, and includes fascinating summaries of other favorite dishes-- chow mien, General Tso’s chicken, egg rolls, and many others. This adds to the effectiveness of the museum as a whole. It focuses on food, acknowledging that many people know of other ethnic groups primarily through food; then without judging taste or ethics, demonstrates how that food can be a window into the experiences of individuals of that culture. 

I came away from this exhibit with admiration for the endurance, tenacity, and flexibility of Chinese immigrants but also more awareness of the discrimination and “othering” that challenged them—and their culinary culture. From what I could see, so did other viewers, many of who seemed to be young (20s and 30s).Thought-provoking but also enjoyable—difficult orders for an exhibit to attain both. The developers, Emma Boast and Catherine Piccoli, are to be commended, and I look forward to seeing what else comes from this intriguing museum.  

For more information, see: 

MOFAD Lab;    62 Bayard Street;  Brooklyn, NY 11222
(718) 387-2845    mofad.org