I grew up with two of the most delicious cuisines on the planet: Italian and Southern. Spaghetti with meatballs. Chicken and dumplings. Lasagna. Fried Chicken. Sausage with peppers. Grits with butter and salt. Stuffed Shells. Deviled Eggs. Italian soup. Alabama corn. Cannolis. Apple Pie.
Italian tuna packed in olive oil on toast with pepper and lemon juice. Tuna fish packed in water on soft white bread with celery, mayonnaise and lemon pepper. Fresh sliced tomatoes with pepper. Pimento sandwiches. Crusty Italian bread dipped in olive oil. Fluffy biscuits dripping with butter, maybe honey.
Family gatherings would include Aunt Josie’s salad with sliced onions and oregano on lettuce on the Italian side; baked beans, macaroni and cheese and Grandma’s picnic cake on the Southern side.
But there were other cuisines. Our parents would occasionally treat us to Chinese, particularly, chicken chow mein, my father’s favorite: chunks of chicken with hard and soft noodles over rice. Or Dad would surprise us with quarter-pounders, Big Macs and French fries from the McDonald’s down from his office. Not that our family picnics didn’t include hot dogs and hamburgers. They did.
As I grew older, I was introduced to all types of foods: Mexican in Tucson. Korean from my dear high school friend whose parents owned the Golden Metropolitan in Silver Spring. Crepes in Rehoboth Beach from the beautiful Parisienne who listened to French radio. Vietnamese spring rolls from the twin restaurants near Woodley Avenue in Washington, DC where I lived after law school. TexMex in Houston. Lebanese from our dear friends, who claim theirs is the best cuisine in the world. (Still partial to Italian.) Thai rice with fresh crabmeat, Indian red lentil dal, Greek baklava, Japanese matsu balls and Peruvian beef in Northern Virginia.
In Washington, DC, Moroccan chicken eaten with fingers sitting cross-legged entertained by a belly dancer. Ethiopian. Soul food. Barbecue pork. Native-American. Gazpacho soup. Lobsters in Maine. Crabs in Maryland. Jamaican in New York City. Jambalaya and beignets in New Orleans. Fried green tomatoes, shrimp and grits in Charleston, South Carolina. Belgian and Afghani in Charlottesville. German on Route 29. Scottish in St. Louis. A world of food here in the United States.
I think of the breadth of food, brought here by decades of immigrants who share their family’s recipes, mixing cultures and creating new ones- in restaurants, food trucks and small shops. I love watching the diversity of people enjoying each other’s cooking-appreciating each other’s heritage, no matter their own. How dull this country would be if we only had one cuisine and not the rich diversity of foods that tempt us. Immigration has been so divisive, but how can it be when it has brought so many things that bring us together: an incredible array of foods and dishes.
Because in the end, it is all about the food.