I grew up in a biracial
family in Australia in the 1990s. Although there were some moments that were
awkward or painful because of that, for the most part we lived in a welcoming
community that valued ‘diversity’. The food we ate was loved and our culture
was appreciated. This was in the sweet spot of multiculturalism but one can
find the ongoing persistence of pleasure and welcome in today’s world not only
in advertising, media, the British royal family, but in food where fusion is
often celebrated if not quite taken for granted. This is the second wave of
hybridity. And still, cultural traditions persist, as they should. I think here
of eating the traditional food on my mother’s side of the family – curry,
appam, putu, string hoppers, chutney, sambal, all the things one finds in South
India; Kerala to be more exact. When I eat this food, I feel good in my body
and it is an argument for remaining autonomous, independent, self-sufficient,
connected to the roots of one’s palate.
In that way, I often
think about the politics and flavour of ‘soul food’ here in America. I am not
going to start explaining black culture, not even for an audience that is
mainly based in Australia, not even given my decades long relationship with
certain expressions and people. Rather, it might be enough to say that we, even
on the other side of the world, are exposed to African American culture through
media, entertainment, sport. And, of course, living in our moment we know that
Black Lives Matter. So, how does one approach soul food?
It might be enough to
share with you one place that I love here in New York. It is Sylvia’s in Harlem.
Sylvia’s is an institution and on the welcoming walls, one sees photos of Al
Sharpton, Barack Obama, Shaquille O’Neal. In fact, you name the celebrity and
they will be there, beaming and eating. Our wait staff tonight have accents
that cover the board –the Southern drawl of the man who seats us, the lilt of
Jamaica in the woman who takes our order, the Francophone inflections of Haiti
in the man who pours our water. Here is a melting pot, a kind of welcome
meeting spot that has asked us over to share a meal, and it reminds me of being
in Kerala with Muslim, Jewish, Christian Indians all meeting and sharing.
Tonight, K has an
interview and is at home, but C, Y and I are out on the town for a mellow meal.
We all order fried chicken and I get sides of candied yams and string beans.
The yams are sweet and sticky, the beans a little vinegary. I order them
precisely for this balance, precisely because they offset the crisp, salty
goodness of the moist chicken. When you add hot sauce, the variations of
flavour help one to find joy in the palate.
And when you taste that
joy, you know you have arrived. Joy as the salt to the pepper of tragedy. Joy
is why I get up in the morning and put on a cup of tea and make my self happy
with waffles or pancakes or cornbread. As
my favourite black thinker, W E B DuBois said ‘a true and worthy ideal uplifts a people.’ To
that we might add, a true and joyful meal gives us hope in a world that is
cruel. And that, is the pleasure of soul food.
Sylvia's
328 Macolm X Boulevard, New York, NY 10027
Subway: 2, 3 at 125th.
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