food – Flavors of Diaspora

Three Reflections on Modernist Cooking: Convenience Stores, the Limits of AI, and Blenders

This has been, by my math, the longest stretch I have gone without posting something here. And trust me, I have good reason: I have been launching a business! I am now the owner of Opossum House Accessibility, which is my vehicle for providing bespoke accessibility consulting services for public and private clients. Launching a business is hard, but has been supremely fun. Subscribe to the newsletter here – I plan to write something in the future about how food blogging gave me skills I applied for launch.

Besides that, I have also been traveling. My husband (love that word!) and I went to Japan and South Korea on our honeymoon in May and June, and we have also been traveling on the Eastern Seaboard of the United States.

Anyway, enough prattle from what I am doing. You are here to read about food!The travels and business startup process have given me a lot to “chew on,” metaphorically and literally, about modern food and what modernist food is and is not. So, I want to share three reflections on modernist cooking.

Japan and South Korea do modernist food really well.

Japanese convenience store aisle with a refrigerated section on the left with vegetables, fruit, pickles, and salads, and a selection of noodle cups on the right — The wondrous world of a Japanese convenience store – in this case, a SeicoMart in Sapporo. (Photo mine/May 2025)

I am very much not the first person to write about the wonders of convenience stores in Japan and Korea. In these chains, you can get simple, reasonably healthy, and traditionally-rooted dishes for very cheap. Favorites include onigiri (Japan) or samgak gimbap (Korea) – rice balls with fillings, various noodle salads, and filled buns. While we definitely had “nicer” meals too, the stores were helpful for snacks or after a long day of sightseeing.

On both this trip and a past trip to these countries in 2019, I found myself thinking about how these stores exemplify what Rachel Laudan calls for her in her seminal article about culinary modernism: that we should advocate for cheap, high-quality processed food for everyone – not to undo processing. (I have written about this at length on these pages.) While 7-Eleven is making some moves towards this in the United States, I think these Japanese and Korean stores give us in North America a lot to think about. These stores also made me wonder about how these tastes have then affected Japanese and Korean cuisine more broadly. Do the wares of konbini in Japan and pyeonuijeom in South Korea change what people seek to make when they are at home? This is something that, despite the language barrier, I want to learn more about.

Generative artificial intelligence (AI) is overrated – especially in the kitchen.

A computer with an annoyed facial expression — Me, reading claims about generative AI. (Image via The Noun Project)

When you start a business nowadays, people want to talk to you about generative AI. This is especially true in accessibility, where a lot of people try to apply generative AI badly. I was already a bit suspicious of claims about generative AI, but decided to give it a little bit of a shot because it seemed money was there. After talking to Generative AI enthusiasts and my own research, I am now more skeptical than before. (As a result, I chose to ignore the misguided advice from more than one person to spend an hour a day fooling around on ChatGPT or Claude.)

Because people mean lots of things when they say “AI,” I will be more specific. I am talking about predictive large language models that generate content; for example, ChatGPT, Claude, or Gemini. These are prediction-based tools that use “the most likely” thing to generate something. When you state it like that, the weird claims about generative AI sound a lot less plausible.

(I acknowledge there are some limited use cases that work well. For example: the designer I hired for my logo used AI models to replicate the beautiful logo she designed across business cards and letter heads. A friend of mine used a large language model to help people find the correct lawyer for their needs. Image description AI tools, which can come from multiple forms of AI, have been helpful for my blind friends. But the first is a talented artist using a tool to save time in applying her skills, and the second has many sources and is not usually reliant on large language models.)

I will link some great AI skepticism below. Anyway, I was originally going to write about how generative AI is actually a problem when you apply it to cooking, but Joe Ray at Wired published that article last week. He did the work of talking about the problems of asking generative AI for recipes, so I do not have to. Definitely go read it! It makes many of the points I wanted to make, and more.

A grilled fish fillet on a charcoal grill rack — Grilled fish – no AI needed. (Photo mine/May 2025)

In any case, I also spent time – especially on long flights and Amtrak rides – thinking about how people use generative AI in the kitchen. Apparently, people use it to “save time” with knowing when food is going off or to use food, plan their meals and grocery shopping, look for recipes, or figure out what to cook.

I think there are tons of problems here. Ray goes in about them in the food context, and other people – especially Ed Zitron and Baldur Bjarnason – have written about these issues in other contexts. But for cooking, I see two big problems. One is that cooking is embodied. Many of the things we do when we cook, we do through physical sense and actions that we take without describing well. How we beat an egg, see that something is browning, or how my blind friend listens to hear if a sponge cake is fully cooked. Generative AI does not have a body, much less knowledge one gains through a body. So the “advice” it spits out is already suspect.

The other is that cooking is inherently unpredictable. What happens when, as occurred to me last week, you cut into a cucumber to find a worm, and you need to rejig the salad you made? Or when you accidentally spill too much salt into your soup? AI usually looks for the “most likely” thing – but sometimes, we need to take unlikely steps in cooking. I worry about what happens to someone’s ability to cook and feed themselves when they become reliant on a tool that cannot handle the unpredicted. (And as an autistic person, I know surprises are hard! But they are part of life.)

Friends have also made a point that much of the dependence on AI is a direct consequence of the parlous state – and degradation – of search platforms, something that I have seen as I have written this blog over the past decade. Google and Bing, for example, both return far less reliable results than even two years ago. People are looking for something that seems useful to them – even if, as in this case, it causes more problems than it solves.

Modernist cooking is lots of things, but this use of AI is not one of them. At best, it is gimmicky. At worst, it becomes another way to pressure people to spend more time, energy, and money cooking than they can afford. What I see most vis-a-vis AI and food is that it is papering over an unhealthy or unsustainable relationship someone has with food. The problem is not that you need to better track your produce or plan your meals – the problem is you are trying to cook or eat in such a way that is not working with the way you live your life. And there is no shame – and it is probably better for your health, the planet, your wallet, and your well-being – if you choose to eat some more processed or prepared foods, or eat that sandwich, or do something simple, because that is what you have time for. And there are many established, low-tech, and more reliable ways to do this tracking. (I use a notebook.)

And if you need recipes, why not go to the original source? Recipe writers are humans whose work deserves to be supported. The best way to get free recipes, besides food blogs, is to support your local library and check out a few cookbooks – which you can now even do online. These books’ recipes are tested with the embodied knowledge that AI can never have. Here in Greater Washington, I have immensely enjoyed the cookbook collections in both Montgomery County and Washington DC’s library systems.

The blender and food processor are modern miracles.

Salad with shredded mango, carrot, cucumber, cilantro, and fried onions in a bowl with white rice crackers — A spectacular vegetarian mango and tofu salad with rice crackers at Chay in Falls Church, VA (photo mine/August 2024)

My business startup period has coincided with a renewed love of Southeast Asian vegetable salads. These are magnificent, hearty creations that feature shredded vegetables and fruit, often with tangy dressings and tofu or even fish for heft. (Vietnamese mango salads are a particular favorite.) While traveling, I was also lucky enough to have many delicious things that prominently feature grated carrots – fritters, pickles, noodle dishes, and even desserts. Grating or julienning by hand is a slow, dangerous process – and I am slower with a knife than most people. And besides that, I do not always have the time to do such an intense chop – especially with all of the tasks of getting a business launched and starting business development. My workaday, mundane food processor and blender have been a lifesaver. I can satisfy my cravings, safely, and do it in a reasonable amount of time. This machine is a win for society, not a cop out.

I have also, after nearly 34 years on this planet, finally come to truly understand why people love smoothies. Not as a meal replacement, but it is nice to have something somewhat heartier than my typical coffee (normal or decaf), tea, or sparkling water to sip on. It is especially comforting while I am trying to learn QuickBooks Online. Now, hearty drinks have a long history – in Viking Age Scandinavia and pre-colonial Mesoamerica, hearty grain-based drinks were very common. But the smoothie as we understand it now, with pureed fruit, yogurt, and anything else, is completely enabled by modern cooking equipment such as a blender. The miracle of cooking in 2025 is not a predictive model that can tell you to combine tarragon and fennel to flavor your pasta (pro tip: do not do this), but the fact that I can plug a machine in that spins a knife and liquifies a mango for me. What a time to be alive. Baruch Hashem.

Great Books: Vietnamese Vegetarian, by Uyen Luu

My husband loves Vietnamese food. The balance of flavors speaks to him; he loves the textures and the forward tastes; and he likes lemongrass more than anyone I know. He asked me to make more Vietnamese food recently. (Reader, I lovingly cater his meals.) I decided to buy a cookbook, and chose Vietnamese Vegetarian, by Uyen Luu, because we do not eat much meat. This quick purchase was an excellent one, which I now recommend to you.

Book cover of Vietnamese Vegetarian by Uyen Luu: with stylized vegetables and the subtitle "simple vegetarian recipes from a Vietnamese home kitchen"

Vietnamese Vegetarian is an incredible book for three reasons: its approach, its flexibility, and of course, the recipes.

First – this book is a perfect example of what an accessible showcase of a cuisine can be. The recipes are rooted in what Vietnamese people eat in Vietnam and the diaspora, of course. Many common favorites are in this book – pho, sour soups, noodle salads, and summer rolls among them. However, Luu does not insist that you always find the exact ingredient someone might use in Vietnam, and offers options and substitutions, especially aimed for someone not near Vietnamese or other Southeast Asian stores. For example, she offers quite a number of potential substitutions in her noodle recipes – and explains how you may need to adjust the recipe.

Secondly – this book accounts for flexibility in recipes in a way that I will seek to emulate more on this blog, now. Many of her recipes come with a dizzying array of options: be it to bake or fry the spring rolls, which herbs to include in your banh xeo crepes, or the multiple seasoning options for simple stir-fried greens. After reading this book, I will now include more “choose your own adventure” posts here.

And, of course, the recipes are delicious. Many of these recipes are a bit complex – especially the ones involving rice flour (which is very easy to mess up!) – but well worth the time. On the simpler side, I have really enjoyed the tofu with tomato and Thai basil (called rau húng quế in Vietnamese) and the lemongrass tofu, and the cold noodle dishes are all really tasty. I also recommend the many-recipes-in-one garlicky greens close to the beginning of the book. Even with my experience in cooking, that recipe gave me many new ideas.

Vietnamese food culture is a wonderful world, and Luu’s book is a great place to start. I recommend the book and hope you enjoy it. Be sure to also explore Vietnamese eateries in your area if you are so able: this cookbook has heightened the joy of going to these businesses for me as well. I now deeply appreciate, even more, the creativity and human endeavor of this cuisine.

Vietnamese Vegetarian, by Uyen Luu

Growing Out of Taste

I do not know when I stopped liking marshmallows or cantaloupe. What I also do not know is when marshmallow then transmogrified into a food that inspires physical horror and discomfort at its mere mention. (Reader, my spine tingles in pain as I write those eleven letters.) Meringues and honeydew remain, somehow, pleasurable. What I can say is that marshmallow and cantaloupe, which were perfectly acceptable to child Jonathan, have become either an absolute aversion to me as an adult, or a strong dislike.

close up of a grilled marshmallow on a stick — Witness: my nightmare food (photo by Jack Redgate on Pexels.com)

Societally we speak often of growing into foods: strong cheeses, bitter and umami tastes, and vegetables. But what about growing out of tastes? This post is about what tastes one might grow out of, and what that looks like.

I am not writing based on any scientific research. Rather, I am communicating what I learned from asking friends and social media connections, as well as finding various articles on this topic across the internet – including from many food bloggers. Many people, it turns out, had parallel experiences to mine with marshmallows and cantaloupe, albeit with other foods.

Quite a number shared that their tolerance for sweetness had reduced. For example, one friend cannot eat candy anymore; another mentioned that a childhood favorite ice cream now inspires nausea. I have noticed that my capacity for a certain kind of saccharine sweetness is now gone, too. For a few people, a small sweet tooth disappears totally. Many other newly disliked foods were downstream of a reduced taste for sweetness: some people spoke of a newfound dislike for persimmons, juice, packaged cakes, or bananas.

This is part of a natural process: as we age, our taste buds become less attuned to sweetness. In addition, as our palates grow, we also develop new expectations that put less emphasis on sweetness. And while I cannot speak to the science of how that translates to new dislikes, I can say that it feels parallel to other types of “outgrowing” we see in our lives.

Various halloween candies in a pile — Less of this for many adults. (Photo Luke Jones via Flickr)

The conversation around sweetness reminded me of what Bee Wilson very aptly called “kid food” in her book First Bite: food that is designed, marketed, and intended for children – though enjoyed by all ages. (Think dinosaur nuggets.) So much of “kid food” around the world is eye-wateringly sweet. While others have discussed the ample impacts of this sugar consumption at length, what interests me is how this tendency can lead people to think of sweetness as something for children. Consider, for example, how less sweet desserts are often called “adult” or “for grown-ups.” Many dislikes shared with me seemed to parallel this social norm: for example, a reduced love of fast food (which can also be quite sweet).

There were other outgrown tastes too. One person noted that they could not eat excessively salty things anymore. Fellow neurodivergent people, like me, gained some aversions too: towards cold cheese, fish, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, walnuts, and tea, among other things. While we often associate aversions with autistic children, they persist – and often develop – in adulthood!

In considering this input, my friend Margaret’s comment really stuck with me: she spoke of allowing herself to dislike things that she always disliked. Indeed, that is an important lesson: it is okay to not like some things. Many adults take a whole lifetime to accept that lesson. While we often celebrate learning to like new things – which is good! – I think we need to make room for Margaret’s point here too. Being okay with not liking something is a learned skill, and one in which we can all support each other.

And that’s a form of disappointment – which is not only something one learns to accept, but also the root of the other response I found most interesting. One friend noted that she found herself not outgrowing things, but rather finding herself disappointed by certain things – and offered the example of a zebra cake. I found this observation deeply resonant, as there are many foods I would now consider not unlikeable, but disappointing. What comes to mind first for me is the granola bar, which I now generally find to be a little odd texture-wise. Beyond this, though, I think my friend did find a different type of taste and growth: because is it not true that growing, in taste and other things, includes learning how to be disappointed?

Thanks to many friends for talking to me about what you stopped liking!

Things You Can Learn From Autistic Cooks

This is the third post in a three-part series; you can read Part One here and Part Two here.

I am not a big believer in specific rules around cooking or what is proper. In these pages, I have called some of these rules “bullshit.” Cooking is great, but cooking is also work, and cooking is an intense experience. Sometimes, you do not have the time, money, resources, energy, space, or patience to follow everything to a T. No one has this 100% of the time. So you have to cook in your own ways, on your own terms. There is nothing wrong with that – but food media will tell you so.

As an autistic person, I find that many autistic people are better at knowing how to navigate these realities – and are not afraid to do so. We already have to navigate a whole, messy world – and food is one part of that. I think everyone, though, can benefit from some of these tricks, autistic or not. So, here are six things you can learn from autistic cooks – across the spectrums of autism and cooking habits.

A cabinet of spices. (Photo public domain)

1. Be very honest about what you can and cannot do in the kitchen. Autistic cooks are often quite forthright about the skills they lack or find exceedingly difficult – whether it be because of common motor coordination or sensory issues or the things anyone might find tricky. While it can be good to build an ability to do something, I think there is a lesson here for everyone. It’s okay to know what you cannot do … and move on.

It can be disappointing to admit that you cannot do something, or cannot do something easily. However, this does not make you less capable or less good of a cook. No one person can do everything, and it is perfectly okay to work with certain bounds or to not do certain things. Honesty can make cooking a far more enjoyable experience.

As an example: my motor coordination is not fine enough to easily fold in egg whites into a batter, so I tend to avoid these recipes.

2. Allow yourself the time you actually need, not what you think other people expect you to need. Many autistic people are forthright about the fact that things can take more time for us – for me, it’s chopping; for others, it might be gathering ingredients or preparing various implements. We often discuss how inadequate suggested preparation time in recipes can be. We also plan more time to cook. I suggest that everyone do this – you know best how long things take for you. The suggested preparation times in books are not a dictum on your ability to cook. Give yourself lots of time, and feel no guilt.

3. Prepared ingredients are good. Many autistic people rely heavily on prepared, processed ingredients like store-chopped onions, frozen peas, packaged cooked beets, and certain kinds of mixes. These ingredients help many who struggle with the executive function of cooking, and also help those who take a bit more time in the kitchen. In addition, these ingredients’ predictability are comforting and even enjoyable by many autistic people. Many non-autistic cook shun these ingredients as short-cuts.

Yes, the original ingredients are different and in some cases taste better or are more predictable. However, a prepared ingredient can mean the difference between cooking and not cooking, or having the time to cook, or being able to cook something you want to make. They also save a lot of time and energy. I think everyone should be more honest and open about using these ingredients. As Rachel Laudan notes, we need “culinary modernism.”

Besides, many well-known chefs and food writers now make recipes that involve these ingredients and take advantage of their specific characteristics – Nadiya Hussain is particularly adept in this regard.

4. There’s nothing wrong with repetition or relying heavily on a few things. Most autistic people like repetition in some form or some shape. Food is an obvious example. Many autistic cooks, including myself, make extensive use of leftovers – dinner one day can also be lunch for the next two days. For some people, that would be dinner for two days as well. Many other people do not handle repetition in their food well – but I have to say, the repetition does make meal planning a lot easier. It is also less time-consuming (you cook once) and expensive.

Many autistic people – and for times in my life, including me – also rely heavily on a few foods. For some people, these foods are known quantities that do not introduce new things that can be overwhelming. For others, these foods do not require a huge amount of cognitive function to make. Many non-autistic people (like my partner) rely on certain dishes or foods, but it seems to be much more common among autistic people. This practice, I think, is good. It takes a lot of the cognitive work out of everyday, non-celebratory cooking – and is far easier for grocery shopping too. If you are just starting off cooking, or find cooking difficult, I think finding a few “reliable” dishes is a good idea. Two of mine for a long time were toast with spinach and eggs, and lentils and okra. (I do not eat the latter very much anymore – my partner despises okra.)

Some of you may have seen the terms “same foods” and “safe foods” bandied about. A “same food” is a food that an autistic person relies very heavily on – sometimes for dozens of meals in a row, a “safe food” is one that can always be consumed. I find a lot of the discourse in the autism community about “same foods” and “safe foods” absolutely cringe-inducing. I also think that this discourse represents a minority experience, and is often rooted in people using autism as an excuse to feel entitled to other people’s labor, time, and work. As an autistic person, I find this infuriating.

The lesson here is about repetition as a concept, and reliability as a concept, but also being mindful of not being entitled to other people’s labor, time, or work. The vast majority of autistic people find regularity without that entitlement. Please do so too, non-autistic readers.

5. Substitutions are an art, not a cop-out. Many autistic people have sensory or taste aversions to certain foods: basically, eating these foods can be a painful, highly distressing experience. (To the point where many autistic people can handle an emergency better than they can handle a surprise encounter with certain foods.) As a result, autistic people often make substitutions when cooking.

Many people think substitutions are a cop-out. I disagree. Knowing how to replace something to imitate a flavor or make a similarly delicious dish is a tricky task that is as much a creative exercise as anything else. You can also find delicious new ways of doing things by doing so. Autistic cooking discussions endorse and support substitution – and I think we all should take a page when we talk about food and cooking. Substitutions are not a less-than!

A few years ago, I made a substitution cheat sheet for the blog – my examination of autistic cooking has made me realize that perhaps it needs expansion.

I want to give a special shout-out to Ruby Tandoh here, whose new book, Cook As You Are, contains substitution advice for every single recipe. I know she has discussed food and worked with autistic and other disabled cooks in the past (including me!), and I hope she kicks off a new trend of everyone joining us in appreciating the art of substitution.

6. Recognize cooking as cognitive work. Cooking takes thought, and not just in deciding what to make: one has to keep an eye out for several things happening at the same time, from making sure the water is still boiling to chopping vegetables to ensuring the rice cooks properly. These things all take energy to monitor – even if you do not notice it. Autistic people more readily acknowledge the attention and thinking that any cooking takes. I think everyone – and especially those who rely on others to cook for them – should do the same.

A quick note: many autistic people prefer “identity-first language,” because autism is part of an identity and can’t be separated from the person. Other people on the autism spectrum prefer “person-first language,” because they want to emphasize the humanity first. (Some non-autistic people like to mention something about not being defined by the autism, which tends to rub most of us the wrong way.) I switch between the two in my day-to-day life, but many of the people I spoke with strongly prefer identity-first language. So I am using that.

Thank you to the dozens of fellow autistic people who I spoke with while preparing to write this piece, particularly those on the Autism Meals Facebook group.

What Do Autistic People Cook?

This post is part two of a three-part series. See the first post here.

In my last post, I discussed how the relationship between autism and food, often narrated as limiting, is actually multifaceted and very complex. There is joy, there is creativity, and yes, there are boundaries, but we autistic people relate to food well beyond limits. In this post, though, I want to discuss what autistic people cook, and how they go about cooking it.

What do autistic people cook? The answer to this question of course tends to vary from culture to culture – though on the internet, you’d come to believe that macaroni and cheese is the national dish of autistic people. A few commonalities abound. Many autistic people rely heavily on the same or a few recipes for various reasons. These “same foods” are safe from the perspective of sensory needs or a need for structure; the recipe is “known” enough to allow preparation without taxing executive function; often, the ingredients are on hand too. I have noticed that these same foods are often comfort foods of whatever culture an autistic person grew up with – for example, huevos con ejotes in Mexico or chili for people from Cincinnati.

Bowl of meaty Cincinnati chili with cheddar cheese on top. — Cincinnati chili. (Photo CC/Wikimedia Commons)

Other autistic people tend to enjoy cooking a wide variety of foods, especially if – like me – they find sensory pleasure in cooking. Some autistic people also do not enjoy consecutive meals or consecutive textures. Sometimes, the “calculus” in a recipe might be different for autistic people than for people who are not autistic. For example: many autistic people are highly sensitive to texture, so a recipe may be more closely aligned around textural contrast or consistency than taste. (Chinese culinary tradition builds heavily on these contrasts.) Other autistic people, including me, add to the astringency, pungency, or acidity of their food, often doubling or tripling the amount of garlic, onions, or chilies in a dish. I realize as I write this that I’ve “gassed out” many neurotypical housemates over the years with a particularly spicy dish. It is hard to categorize what we autistic people in this category make, but I have noticed that many of us enjoy Mexican cuisine, Japanese and Korean cuisines, and the cuisines from around the Indian Ocean basin – Ethiopian, Indian, and Thai food. These culinary traditions place a lot of stock in the sensory experiences to which many autistic people are especially sensitive.

Many autistic people are very adept at substitutions. Part of this skill comes from the aversions many autistic people have to certain textures, foods, or ingredients – and so they have to learn how to, for example, substitute for the depth of onion without the texture of onion. In addition, it appears anecdotally that autistic people are disproportionately vegetarian, vegan, or adherent to religious dietary rules. Sometimes, cooking certain things might involve an ingredient “swap.” When I surveyed people on an autistic food forum, a lot of contributors brought up substitutions.

Autistic people often heavily rely on written recipes. Why? Many autistic people have an easier time with structured directions or steps when doing complex tasks like cooking, and a well-written recipe helps in this regard. When recipes go awry, it can be hard for many autistic people to “course correct” – even when, as is often the case, it is the recipe author’s fault. (I’ve had to correct a few myself.)

Other autistic people, like me, are not as reliant on recipes but need other forms of structure in the kitchen as well – and tend to do certain things in very routine or predictable ways. For example, I cannot go to a grocery store without a list, which means I plan what I cook at home – and many adjustments I might make to recipes – well in advance. One autistic person posted about planning meals for a whole month! Autistic people often memorize key recipes, too – which adds another layer of structure. Even those who don’t need written recipes memorize them, because we autistic people often end up remembering reams of information anyway.

Bread pudding with cherries in the pan — Bread pudding with cherries – a dish with a soft yet firm, chewy texture that pleases many autistic people. (Photo mine, November 2017)

There is a lot of tasty food in autistic kitchens. These habits in cooking do lead to lots of delicious-sounding things. On the autistic food group I am in on social media, many people post lovely-looking meals; some of my autistic friends are among the best cooks I’ve met. I hope, someday, to see several cookbooks by autistic people on the shelves of every bookstore. Not just to share the delicious food we make, but also a little bit about how we make it. As I will explain in the next post, I think everyone can learn from autistic cooks.

Thank you to the dozens of fellow autistic people who I spoke with while preparing to write this piece, particularly those on the Autism Meals Facebook group.

Jewish Food, Dementia, and Inclusion

Two forget-me-not flowers — Forget-me-not: the international symbol of dementia advocacy (Photo by Ithalu Dominguez)

Hello! I have not posted much content in a while. Graduate school keeps one busy – although, I am pleased to say, the work is applicable to the community! And part of this work has involved lots of fieldwork and lots of writing. But now I have the time, during my break, to write a new post – on a topic near and dear to me.

Something I have recently thought quite a bit about is dementia. A good chunk of my graduate and recent professional work has been about social infrastructure and facilities for older adults, especially those with memory loss. We live in a culture that does not value people with dementia, and it is a shame. Even other discussions about disability, including some of mine, do not adequately consider people with dementia and their needs. To make better lives for older adults with dementia, we do not just need proper infrastructure, nor is it only keeping them out of congregate facilities. (Both are essential.) Rather, we need to have a cultural overhaul – and that includes food.

Trays of vegetables and fruit on a metal table — Institutional settings do not always offer choice. (Photo public domain)

We often forget that people with dementia have personalities and preferences – and that extends to palates too. As memory loss progresses, people with dementia have different experiences. Sometimes, they prefer one thing that is somewhat new. In other cases, and especially for immigrants, their preferences revert to those of their teenage or young adult years. When it comes to food, these tendencies might manifest as a strong desire for one food, or a preference for food from a home cuisine. Institutional food usually does not meet these desires. Nor do many standard programs that encourage “healthy eating” – while forgetting that “healthy food” is different from person to person.

Regularity and independence matter a lot when we talk about food and dementia. Many older adults with memory loss are given no agency over their lives – and though support is sometimes needed, support is different from forced dependence. Often, no preference about food is offered – or the opportunity to control how much is eaten, and how. At the same time, routine is grounding. Often, a regular meal or snack on the same day or at the same time is helpful and empowering. Variety, often forced, can be disquieting or distressing for some people. Yet we live in a food culture that often considers repetition or leftovers “boring” or “dull.” This problem is part of a wider one: people with dementia are also often excluded by the food practices of everyone else. Older adults with memory loss are often talked past when food is discussed, and their preferences and needs are often dismissed. We can start by allowing for their independence and need for regularity.

Three baked challahs — Challah: a traditional bread that can be grounding. (Photo mine, October 2016)

What does that look like for Jewish food? We already have regularity: challah and other traditional breads on Shabbat, weekly festive meals, and traditions around what food gets eaten when, like herring, cholent, brik, and bourekas. Keeping up these traditions can help include people with dementia in two ways. One is providing that grounding regularity. The other is that, for many Jewish older adults, these foods may meet a need grounded in an earlier stage of life. Encouraging these traditions can be a powerful form of inclusion. At the same time, all of us can do more to encourage independence. People with dementia should have the chance to eat independently, and their preferences should be respected. If they do not want “Jewish food,” that’s okay. Jewish tradition and food should not be forced.

I strongly encourage my readers to complete the Dementia-Friendly America video series, to learn how to better support your family, friends, and neighbors with dementia.

Food Sharing in a Pandemic

I was originally going to write a long resource post about how to share food safely and what to make in this time of cautious life. I hold by an ethic of harm reduction: I take it as given that you will socialize and that food will be a part of that, and not always “bring your own.” How to do that safely is something that is useful to know.

I dithered on this post, which was handy, because other resources came out! So in this brief post I will share a few resources, a few foods, and then the blog’s first ever video: a sharing mechanism.

Good Resources

Yes, it is probably safer to “stay home” or to not share food, but realistically, I know that that is not going to happen. So do public health departments. I found the Washington DC guide for cookouts to have a lot of broadly applicable information:

Also, take a look at the Centers for Disease Control’s guidance here. (Yes, I know they got some things wrong early on. But many epidemiologists have said the same things as this.)

Today’s guidance on outdoor cookouts (and travel) is good!

Some great highlights: centralize serving, use individually portioned things, and of course, wash your hands.

Tasty Food to Share

Here are some blog recipes that I find are easy to share in outdoor settings and portion well individually.

A Serving Video

Here is an awkward video I made with two of my friends to demonstrate a safe way to serve and share a food at an outdoor picnic. The food is chocolate babka. Thank you to Joe Jeffers and Hannah Cook for starring, and to David Ouziel for filming! The video is captioned. A transcript with or without descriptions of what is on the screen is available on request.

If you prefer a text description of what to do, here it is:

Have one person serve the food. Let’s say it’s you.
Wash or sanitize your hands.
Put on your mask. Wash your hands again.
Put on gloves if you wish – it is helpful for reducing anxiety, and for avoiding things other than COVID.
Set out your serving tools – knife, cutting board, etc.
Cut/make a serving and place it on a plate or napkin.
Step 6 feet/2 meters away.
The other person should come and take it.
Step back. Repeat steps 6-8 for each person.
Remove gloves, wash your hands.
Remember to wash your hands between removing your mask and going back to serve any more food. Don’t reuse gloves!

A Reminder That Food is Political!

A deli window with a sign that says "we accept food stamps EBT" with Doritos and Lays bags behind it, and toothpaste below. — (Photo Clementine Gallot via Creative Commons, March 2009)

I often post explicitly political things on this blog and the associated Facebook page. I do this for two reasons. One is that this blog has never been, and will never be, politically neutral. It is irresponsible to talk about the food people eat without concern for how that might be affected by people’s lives, and all the things that affect their lives. The other is that, by and large, the readers of this blog like the political commentary – even if they do not always agree with it. Some are even drawn to it. That said, a few people have complained, either because I refuse to endorse their racism or their politics of cruelty, or because they believe food should be not political. “Food should unite,” one messenger told me. “It shouldn’t be subject to politics.”

Well, you will just have to deal with the political bent of this blog. Food is deeply political! In some ways, it is the basis of politics itself – what else spurred any form of governance other than the need to make sure people’s resources were managed, including food! (For good or for bad.) When we eat, we say all sorts of political things. What we eat is closely connected to our status, what sort of “traditions” we pass on to our kids, and who we see ourselves as. Even more so, what we do not eat does the same thing. Beyond that, what we are able or not able to put on the table spurs us to political action. The knowledge of how that ability might change informs how we act politically today. And the identities that we take into politics is shaped by food. Think about how much our own Jewish identity is shaped by food – and then think about how much Jewish identity gets shaped in politics. Think about how many racist things are said in the name of food being “too smelly” or “too gross.” Think about how someone’s life might be shaped by those remarks. And think about how often politicians use food as an excuse to gain power, to take away power, or give power.

Your food cannot be isolated from political discussion. It is a hard truth, and many people wish to hide behind the privilege of not needing to think about this. If you are a migrant child in a cage with irregular food access, an elderly person unable to access food because of an inaccessible environment, or a poor person unable to buy certain foods because of limits on what you can use food stamps for, you do not have the luxury to assume that food is not political. The same rules apply for an observant Jew in a country that has banned shechita, the Jewish child teased for matzah at school, or the Jewish prisoner forced to eat treyf because of the abysmal nature of prison food systems. Even when you can sit at a dinner table normally again, that knowledge never goes away.

So I ask you, if you are uncomfortable, to sit with that discomfort at your next meal. Think about the workers that grew the crops in your food, and why your food cost as much or as little as it did, and why you are eating that specific thing. Were you ever teased for eating it, if you brought it to school as a child? Did anyone call the cops while you made it? Have you always been able to afford it – and what enabled that? That will help you understand how food is, in fact, deeply political.

Mistakes Made Jewish Cuisine

My maternal grandmother left a mountain of recipes. I wrote about some of these for Handwritten Magazine before. The recipes are delicious and replete with typos or forgotten ingredients. Mysteriously, 0s are doubled or removed, so the recipe ends up calling for “20 grams flour” rather than 200. Entire ingredients, like flour, are forgotten. So are basic steps, like frying onions. When one cooks from the recipe, it is an experiment of trial and much error. It took nearly twenty attempts to get her pumpkin fritters right.

Fish on ice in a market — Cooking a whole fish for the first time – or after a long time – can result in various mistakes. (Photo mine, December 2017)

So, to this year. My mother and I were tasked with bringing stuffed matzoh balls to a Passover seder. These kneidlach are stuffed with fried onions and garlic and are very, very tasty. We opened the sheaf of my grandmother’s typewritten papers with her recipes to the matzoh ball to find that … mysteriously, she seemed to call for as much margarine as matzoh meal. Being experienced enough to know that this couldn’t be right, we consulted other recipes for a more sensible ratio. We realize now that my grandmother meant 20 grams.

As I reflected on this bizarre typo (and imagining fat globules swimming through my soup), I thought about all the ways Jewish cuisine might have been shaped by mistakes. We often think of cuisine as some sort of unbroken tradition. I have written repeatedly, here and elsewhere, why that is bunk. We also valorize the creativity of our ancestors in using and taking in new ingredients, or making things out of limited ingredients, or having the bravery to try something new. That is somewhat more accurate, but there is still something lacking. And so I would say this:

Mistakes have shaped Jewish cuisine. They may be typos, omissions, spills, accidental omissions, or random accidents. Sometimes they change it for the worse, sometimes for the better, and sometimes we never know. A dish might end up being better with the accidental addition of a spice, or leaving out something else. It might become a longstanding tradition – I suspect that whoever first made the gelled broth of gefilte fish probably left the broth out for too long by mistake. A mistake may also turn into someone’s “secret ingredient.” My formerly-secret ingredient of black pepper in applesauce started as an accident.

Soup with squash, beans, and noodles garnished with sour cream in a bowl — I have not made this soup for a while, and I am liable to make a mistake while making it. (Photo mine, February 2018)

That said, people make mistakes more often than they withhold secrets. When a recipe does not work out, some people’s first instinct is to assume that the cook left out an ingredient to preserve their domination over a dish. The mythical “secret ingredient.” I doubt that this is usually the case, though ardent cooks can be as vain and petty as anyone. Rather, I am more convinced of the fact that cooks forget that they do things in a way, or that they add something in such and such a way, because it is so natural to them. I beat eggs in a certain way, so that the whites get a bit puffier, but I never thought to include that in a recipe, for example. That mistake will change the final product, unless you too beat your eggs in the exact same way. In addition, you can always mess up when cooking from someone else’s recipe. And these mistakes determine, I think, a bit of what gets cooked and what does not. If a mistake makes a dish hard for someone to recreate, then that dish will likely not appear on the table – or appear in altered form. Likewise, if a mistake leaves you with a bad impression of a dish, then you will not be inclined to cook it again. As I write this, I wonder how many creative, tasty, and wondrous dishes have been lost to mistakes by author or cook. My grandmother’s pumpkin fritters very nearly met this fate, because she forgot to mention flour at all.

Things get lost in translation, too. One thing that often never gets really appreciated is how different “eyeball” quantities can be in different languages – ktzat in Hebrew is not necessarily a bit in English, and that is not un poquito in Spanish either. Now, apply that measure to salt, or pepper, or nutmeg (as I have witnessed), and see what results. The same goes for directions: meng in Afrikaans can be expressed by several words, not just mix, in English. And, of course, “to taste” is impossibly personal and extremely cultural. So when parents give their children recipes, or friends give their friends recipes, or someone squints over a newspaper in a language they speak imperfectly (guilty as charged), unintentional mistakes can be made quite easily. And the end product is different. Sometimes the change is not so great, but sometimes it is better or tastier.

Pihtije, a Serbian aspic — Aspics, like the pictured Serbian *pihtije* or the Ashkenazi *p’tcha*, were maybe invented out of a mistake. (Photo VI via Wikimedia/CC)

And then there are the dishes you end up forgetting to make for years at a time. I have not made brownies, for example, for about five years. (Shocking, I know.) I know that when I make them the first time, I will probably mess something up. If I make them for someone, they might not like “my brownies” – even if I try to convince them that my brownies are normally delicious. If that person is my boyfriend, I might not end up making them for quite a while, or ever again. Transpose this idea to a rarer dish, or one that might not be easily made. It is quite possible that many things have been given up, because they are too hard to make right, or so hard to recreate that they are easily messed up. Beyond changing ideas of “good” and “bad” and assimilating a cultural aversion to wobbliness, one reason that p’tcha is probably no longer as common, for example, is that it is actually quite easy to mess up. Other dishes or variants of extant ones have probably been lost in the recesses of many memories. Still others are changed by the mistakes that you make in re-creation.

Part of me wants to think only of the happy accidents – after all, which genius realized that gefilte fish is perfectly paired with horseradish? But cooking and cuisine are not only happy or happy accidents. A lot of learning to cook, and researching food history, is not noticing a thing and then making a disaster of your dish. These disasters help us figure out what to cook, how to cook, and how not to cook. And when we learn from others how to eat, what to eat, and how not to eat, these disasters can add up to a cuisine. Mistakes have changed the way Jews talk about, cook, eat, and remember food, and that is something worth noting – just like my grandmother’s missing 0.

A Few Thoughts on Deadly Food

A pink bunch of oleander flours are open with some buds against thin green leaves — Oleander flowers – they smell sweet, and they can kill you. Some people learned that the hard way. (Photo Wikimedia commons)

I have wanted, for a long time, to research how people figured out which foods were safe to eat. How were unsafe foods found? How were necessary preparations found? It is a huge topic, and my hubris became clear rather soon. There are scientists who have spent their entire lives figuring this out.

Even then, I have now spent a few weeks down the rabbit hole of poisonous food, poisons, and food. The big thing is that the historical study of food poisoning is completely bonkers. For example: we find a lot of early pottery that sort of looks like a colander. Turns out the items were used to make cheese, which is one of the first safe ways people had to eat milk. Before then, people would eat milk and get really sick, from lactose intolerance. But diarrhea when you are malnourished is dangerous, and people died. Cheese saved lives. Later, lactose tolerance became a more common genetic mutation in Europe and India. This was probably because that in resource scarce areas, where milk was one of the only reliable foods, people who could not digest it died. Then there are other mysteries. Corn was bred from teosinte grass in what is now Central Mexico several thousand years ago. At some point, ancient Mesoamericans figured out how to soak the corn in various alkaline substances. This process, nixtamalization, makes corn more nutritious and flexible. The initial moment was very likely an accident. But later “research” was probably toxic at times – too much alkaline, or not enough washing afterwards. Alkaline substances are sometimes fine for you. There were also certainly instances when someone burned the wrong tree for ash, with terrible consequences. This goes toward the major theme of a lot of what I read: what happens later.

Something that has struck me is how often people die after we know what foods are safe. Mushrooms are one example. We know that some mushrooms are poisonous, and they look like safe mushrooms. There are details that distinguish them. These were important things to learn in communities that relied heavily on foraging. (Communities in Eastern Europe and the Balkans foraged through modern times.) This knowledge was mostly transmitted orally through folk tales and folk wisdom. The knowledge was not always right! People were confident, forgetful, or rushed to assuage hunger or finish the day’s work. And people died. Elderly people, disabled people, and young children were most at risk. When even a mouthful of a deadly mushroom can destroy one’s kidneys, those most at risk died. People of all ages and bodies died, though, centuries after it became common knowledge that a mushroom could be deadly. Monarchs died, composers died, and countless ordinary people died. Even now, many people die from relying on folk legends about mushrooms, such as the idea that all deadly mushrooms are brightly colored. We also have known for millennia that ergot can render rye and barley dangerously unsafe. Yet it still ends up in flour – often under conditions of hunger – and was responsible for several medieval epidemics. Today, occasional incidents still pop up. And let us not forget the people who eat fish that is plainly rotten, drink raw milk despite the risks we know, and consume unwashed salad greens, e. coli and all.

17 poisonous mushrooms of various colors on two pages, illustrated to show all parts — Poisonous mushrooms in a Czech-language encyclopedia from 1897 (Public domain)

You may have noticed that I switched into the present tense. This is a current topic: people still die from food poisoning every day. Besides, more than half of all food poisoning comes from food prepared at home. Obviously, this is relevant now. Our concern about restaurant safety needs to come alongside giving people the knowledge and tools to prepare food safely at home. Methods include an accessible kitchen, simpler and less risky food, or industrial food. But it also is important from a historical perspective. Until recently, almost all people mostly ate food prepared in domestic settings. The risk then was from the family hearth. The food that killed people was the peasant food, the mother’s food, and the grandmother’s cooking of yesteryear. This is where that oral knowledge comes in – and where it was forgotten.

In the Jewish world, this is no different. Deadly food is mentioned in the Bible. In II Kings 4, the prophet Elisha throws some flour into a pot of gourds and herbs to ward off “death.” Scholars now think that the plant mentioned is colocynth, whose flesh can cause severe gastrointestinal distress. Flour may reduce the distress. The story is didactic: that some of G-d’s creations can kill you. In the Holy Land with sweet and toxic oleander, and colocynth with poisonous flesh and edible seeds, this was important and life-saving knowledge.

Later Jewish communities had to deal with the dangers of their local environments. In Europe, one found deadly mushrooms, dairy products made with rotting milk, and badly brewed alcohol. In the Middle East, you had the risks of oleander, colocynth, and algal blooms in the sea. Adulterated or diseased grain was a threat everywhere. Many Jewish foodies have embraced a romantic history of Jewish food. We rue lost traditions of food preservation and certain delicacies and ties to the land. And while the traditions are beautiful and worth keeping, it is also important to remember why our grandparents embraced industrial foods. Homemade killed, and food was risky. Abundant, relatively safe food was the promise that pushed immigration. The idea of clean, Jewish food contributed to the rise of Zionism. The search for safe bread motivated Bundist movements in Europe and leftist Jewish movements in the Middle East. Food was, and is, life.

Death and deadly foods are a glaring omission from romantic histories of food. I get that it is not fun to think about the food that kills people. A food activism that focuses on yesteryear why we have to go forwards, not backwards. We are all familiar with the horrors of industrial food, but let us take a moment to remember the horrors it reduces. People died trying to figure out what we can eat, and people die figuring out what they are able to eat. Should we not avoid meeting our fate at dinner too?

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