Zaring - Flavors from home: refugees in Kentucky share their stories and comfort foods

Aimee Zaring

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Publication of this volume was made possible in part by financial support from Catholic Charities and Kentucky Refugee Ministries.

Copyright 2015 by The University Press of Kentucky

Scholarly publisher for the Commonwealth, serving Bellarmine University, Berea College, Centre College of Kentucky, Eastern Kentucky University, The Filson Historical Society, Georgetown College, Kentucky Historical Society, Kentucky State University, Morehead State University, Murray State University, Northern Kentucky University, Transylvania University, University of Kentucky, University of Louisville, and Western Kentucky University.

All rights reserved.

Editorial and Sales Offices: The University Press of Kentucky

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www.kentuckypress.com

Map by Dick Gilbreath.

Except where noted, photos are by the author.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Zaring, Aimee.

Flavors from home : refugees in Kentucky share their stories and comfort foods / Aimee Zaring.

pages cm

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 978-0-8131-6091-7 (hardcover : alk. paper)

ISBN 978-0-8131-6093-1 (pdf) ISBN 978-0-8131-6092-4 (epub)

1. International cooking. 2. CookingKentucky. 3. ImmigrantsUnited States. 4. RefugeesUnited States. I. Title.

TX725.A1Z37 2015

641.59dc23

2014047963

This book is printed on acid-free paper meeting the requirements of the American National Standard for Permanence in Paper for Printed Library Materials.

Manufactured in the United States of America.

Member of the Association of American University Presses

To those without a home

To those making a home

To those who have found home

To my parents, who taught me what home is

When I walk into my kitchen today, I am not alone.

Whether we know it or not, none of us is.

We bring fathers and mothers and kitchen tables, and every meal we have ever eaten.

Food is never just food. Its also a way of getting at something else: who we are, who we have been, and who we want to be.

Molly Wizenberg, A Homemade Life

Growing up in Louisville, Kentucky, in the 1970s and 1980s, I had few opportunities to interact with people from other cultures in my largely white, middle-class, suburban community. Sure, the city had its established immigrant neighborhoodsmost notably, German and Irish but I never saw the range of diversity that exists today: African women wrapped from head to toe in colorful kangas waiting for buses, Muslim mothers in hijabs dropping their children off at school, Bhutanese men strolling down the street wearing flat-topped topis on their heads. As a child, the only time I caught a glimpse of someone ostensibly foreign was on TV (for those old enough to remember, think Zsa Zsa Gbor and Ricardo Montalbn).

Despite this lack of early contact, or perhaps because of it, I have always had a genuine interest in cultures different from my own. So when I boarded a bus in the spring of 2008 to tour my hometown as part of a Leadership Louisville Center program, I was thrilled to share a seat with a dark-haired, friendly faced Bosnian native. Zeljana Javorek spoke so enthusiastically about her job as an English language trainer (ELT) manager at Catholic Charities Migration and Refugee Services that it reignited my old desire to work with people from other countriesin particular, to teach them English, the language I love, in the city and state I love even more. Zeljana invited me to visit her school, which I did. And the rest, as they say, is history.

At the schools where I have had the pleasure of teaching English to foreign-born students, we occasionally hosted potlucks, giving students the opportunity to share the exotic flavors and cuisines of their homelands: savory sambusas from Somalia; tender, succulent pulled pork and frijoles negros from Cuba; juicy, vegetable-stuffed momos from Bhutan. At these potlucks, it made no difference that we didnt all share the same language, customs, faith, economic status, education level, or skin color. We were simply a group of hungry, adventurous, appreciative souls, chewing and smiling from ear to ear like happy Buddhas. As Franz Kafka wrote, So long as you have food in your mouth, you have solved all questions for the time being.

These potlucks inspired this book. At first, I planned to collect only recipes, hoping to preserve them while they were still close to their native sources and before they became altered or Americanized. Soon, however, it became apparent that to present these dishes without telling the stories of the refugees who lovingly prepared them would be like forgetting the saffron in the Persian rice dish tachin or omitting the hot chili peppers in the Bhutanese stew ema datshi. What eventually emerged, and what the contributors of the recipes and I offer you now, is a collection of oral histories representing some of the diverse refugee populations that have resettled in the commonwealth of Kentucky in the last half century, as explored through their foodways.

Food and culinary traditions are like the Cliffs Notes to a culture. One dish can encapsulate the history, topography, climate, and even religious practices of a people and place. As my Burmese friend Mya Zaw says, If you want to know about our culture, look to the food.

In visiting these refugees homes and kitchens, listening to their courageous stories, and sharing meals with them, I began to rediscover and appreciate my own cultural heritage, my own personal narrative. As I saw my refugee friends redefining their lives and re-creating their homes during a time of major transition in my own life, I took heart that I, too, couldand woulddo the same.

I hope these stories and recipes feed your body, mind, and spirit as much as they have mine. As my Iranian friends say before a meal, Nooshe jan (may your soul be nourished).

Something curious happens when you talk to people from other countries about their native foods. I once told a Pakistani student in my English as a second language (ESL) class that I liked boorani, a layered eggplant and yogurt dish from her region of the world. Her eyes widened beneath the hood of her hijab as she gasped with delight, How do you know about boorani? I received a similar reaction while shopping at an ethnic grocery store one day for the ingredients I needed to test a recipe. An African customer at the counter, noting my purchases, raised his eyebrows in shock. How do you know about cassava leaves? he asked. Are you married to an African?