Growing up in a Polish-American family, the food is an acquired taste. A taste that I never did acquire. While my mother generally cooks typical American dishes (or American spins on other cultural dishes), family gatherings at my grandmother's house are a culinary nightmare. Every year, no matter what holiday, we gather at my well-meaning, yet culinarily challenged grandmother's house. The house itself is quaint--almost cottage-like. But immediately after walking through the door, the putrid scent of vinegar pierces through my nostrils. Sometimes it even makes my eyes water. And then I look over to see it staring directly at me. The szynka. Polish for "ham," the szynka is my greatest enemy--a ham marinated in vinegar and served at room temperature (it's actually supposed to be cold as far as I know, but for some reason my grandma serves it lukewarm). The szynka is the …show more content…
Even though I still curl my lip at the "Easter soup" (a vile concoction of vinegar and curdled milk that's sure to trigger acid reflux), I realize that it is a valuable skill to be able to cook for yourself. To be able to cook something that you like is to have the entire culinary world in the palm of your hand. After taking cooking lessons for the first time in third grade, I was constantly on the search for new recipes. I cooked anything that sounded good--Italian food, Korean food, French food, but certainly not Polish food! Learning how to prepare cultural dishes is a task that takes a lot more effort than just following a recipe. It's about getting a feel for that culture--the circumstances under which a dish was originally made. Maybe it's just me, but when I'm cooking an Italian dish, I like to research the cultural and historical significance of that dish. And in doing that for each dish that I cook, I gain a deeper appreciation for that dish's
In her article, “Sweet, Sour, and Resentful,” Firoozeh Dumas directs us through on how her mom readies a feast. She gives us detailed description on how her mother cooks the food for the guests by starting out grocery shopping until the part that the food is ready to be served. She writes about how because of their Iranian traditions they have to prepare a Persian feast for their newcomer friends and family, which brought joy to everyone, but her mother. Yet, we can see that she is trying to make sense to it all, every weekend they have guests over since the Iran’s Revolution started. Vitally, traditions stay great just when they convey satisfaction to the individuals celebrating those traditions. Also, the food that we choose tends to be based upon our culture, economic and social aspects. I agree with her even though traditions within various cultures are very different, but they all are supposed to do one thing that is bring everyone closer to each other, and bring happiness. However, that’s not always the case, especially in this article.
Incidentally, there are quite a few dishes that trigger food-related memories for my step-father. The strongest memories he has are tied first to his mother’s meatloaf, as it was a staple for their family and one of the few dishes she knew how to make regularly. He found them disgusting, mainly due to the long, worm-like onion strings she put into it without cutting them up. His father was a strict man and made him eat everything on his plate, and those onions were notoriously difficult to choke down. Both sides of his family did not believe in wasting food whatsoever, having
Reading Catfish and Mandala reminded me of my cultural closeness through food. Due to being bi-ethnic I learned how to cook food from both my ethnicities, however there were times when I found myself acting like a foreigner towards certain dishes. A prime example was when I had Chitlins or pig intestines. I had eaten menudo, thanks to my Hispanic mother and this was the first time I had Chitlins, an African American dish via my paternal grandmother. Unlike Menudo, which to me has an appetizing smell and taste, Chitlins were a gray stringy putrid smelling dish. Remembering the utter dislike I obtained from that African American dish, reminded me of Pham’s experience with Vietnamese food. While there are some dishes people can’t stand, most usually embrace a dish from their culture and that helps ease some of the pain or discomfort.
My mother was Jewish and chose to raise me as Jewish. Since my father was not Jewish and he was the only one cooking, we didn’t have stereotypical Jewish food very often. Even when we did have latkes for Chanukah or brisket for Passover, it was with my Dad’s own French influenced spin on it. My father’s dominance in the kitchen was present as he would take Jewish foods and make them his own. This is where honoring food with ritual really came into play. Since he was trained as a professional French chef, most of the meals I had growing up were amazing creamy soups or savory sauces. The meals that he created always had his signature style to it and would differ from the norm. This taught me to have a distinct pallet different from my Jewish peers. I was overjoyed to be introduced to various amounts of different foods that my friends didn’t know about or wish they could have. It also become obvious that among my friends, sleeping over at my house became a popular choice just so they could enjoy my father’s
I am an American whose heritage is both Cajun French Catholic and Irish Catholic. American food is just that American, a melting pot of all foods. As far as I can tell, I grew up eating the same or similar foods as most other American families. Except during the time of the Catholic season of prayer and fasting, Lent and while growing up in South Louisiana. During Lent, Catholics deny themselves meat on Fridays, so there is a lot of fish eaten. Lent can be explained in more depth, but no meat of Friday’s is the elementary description concerning food. After my parents got divorced, my dad returned to his home state, Louisiana. I spent most of my life between both parents; One in West Florida and the other in South Louisiana. My mom loved to try new foods, and she always taught me to take an unbiased bite. We would eat everything from Italian, Vietnamese, Chinese, Bar-B-Q, Southern, Spanish, Seafood, hamburger helper, etc. We ate a plethora of many cultural foods and were not confined to one type of cuisine. When I was with my dad, we ate my favorite food-Cajun. The more I was with my Louisiana Family, the more I thrived and fell in love with all things Cajun from Louisiana. The richness of the food was just the beginning. I love the fact that Louisiana is the only state which bolsters Cajun cooking. Every other state has its spaghetti, or bar-b-q or the American melting
My life was no crystal stair for me nor strange path to walk on. My life always goes up and down till now. When I was four years my dad get very sick due to the hard work. That struggle moment make me feel like I’ve left out alone in the darkness also to my mom too.There are a war between burma and karen people.it’s just like ice and fire were fight against each other. Many peoples are dying and some are service.the people that are dying left the scare to their family are like a nail or knife stuck in their heart because of the lost of their love one.Life was tough to live in thailand but we live each day with happiness for about 5 to 6 years than immigrated to U.S. Immigrated to U.S for the first two or three years life was hard and
I was born with a unilateral cleft lip and palate, this was devastating for my parents who had no idea of what was to come: years of rushing to doctor appointments, taking loans out for surgeries, having to see me being picked apart by my appearance, helping me recover from every operation, it was a burden most parents would never have to deal with. The pain of looking different was a big mountain to climb, I struggled for years with feelings of inadequacy and trying to get my physical appearance align with what was inside. Yet the NYU Langone medical center saved me. In the waiting room, I would meet many children with cleft disfigurations just like me, I was able to connect with them through the NYU medical center. It facilitated our sense of belonging, my parents were told this was the best place in the world to go for treatment. I first entered its doors as an infant, Dr. Cutting
In 1997 I became an American. I was born into freedom and I have been afforded rights and opportunities that so
I can to America when I was 6 months old and lived my whole life here, but I do visit my country which is Turkey from time to time. Like everyone else who comes to America, we also came for a better life. I have two sisters and two brothers. When we came to America my brothers went to school and my sisters didn’t. They didn’t go to school here, because back then in our country girls didn’t go to school. They would stay home and help around the house. Boys would go to school and then became the money making of the house. So in my family like I have said my sisters didn’t go to school and worked in factories. So my brothers did, but one of them dropped out of high school to work and the other only finished high school and went straight to work.
My mother was a simple cook. She prepared foods she'd been raised on, plain Southern fare-rice, gravy, sliced tomatoes, turnip greens, cornpone, grits, eggs, chicken and dumplings, pot roast, ham, field peas, lima beans, potato salad, stewed okra, pumpkin pie, salmon balls. We didn't have fancy casseroles or lasagnas or spaghetti, and nobody had ever heard of a burrito or an egg roll. I didn't know what an artichoke or a parsnip or kiwi or papaya was-certainly had never taste them. We drank sweet iced tea and sometimes lemonade.
Food is traditionally considered as a simple means of subsistence but has developed to become filled with cultural, psychological, religious, and emotional significance. Consequently, food is currently used as a means of defining shared identities and symbolizes religious and group customs. In the early 17th and 18th centuries, this mere means of subsistence was considered as a class maker but developed to become a symbol of national identity in the 19th centuries. In the United States, food has been influenced by various cultures such as Native American, Latin America, and Asian cultures. Consequently, Americans have constantly Americanized the foods of different cultures to become American foods. The process on how Americans have Americanized different cultures’ foods and reasons for the Americanization is an important topic of discussion.
October 20, 2007, the day that I’m going to say goodbye to my hometown. I was born and raised in Philippines by my grandparents for sixteen years. It is heart-breaking to think that I will not see them anymore like how I used to. I was 16 years old, and it will be my first time to travel with my big brother in the airplane. Our trip from Philippines to Virginia is approximately about 18-20 hours. It is not a direct flight, so we have to change plane three times, and it is a long trip for us. I was crying the whole time when we were in the airplane. As soon as we reach our last destination which is the Washington D.C., we have no way of communicating with my mom and auntie because we have no cellphones. I was hesitant to
Since before I took this class I had always been attracted to movies or cooking shows. The way food is prepared and the passion that many of the chefs put into their delicious creations. Many of the recipes are part of the person’s culture and they continue to cook these recipes to commemorate an important part of their history. A good example of this is the film Garlic Is As Good As Ten Mothers, garlic being the center of every recipe but it’s of great importance to the different cultures that represented in this film.
It was just a normal day. I was living at home with only me, John, and my mom. My dad had died trying to protect the village from a wild animal from the forest. My mom wanted me to go to the market and get some food. So I did. As I made it to the market I could see all of the things being traded. I went to were the food was being traded and traded some stuff for some food. As returned home I noticed a couple of strange voices I didn’t notice. I walked into the house. It got dead silent. Then all last I heard were gunshots until everything went black.
Soon, we all sat around the dinner table enjoying my grandma’s culinary specialties. There was one dish that had stuck in my mind though, possibly because it was the last dish served that night.