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volume XXIII | issue II uc berkeley’s muslim student publication
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volume XXIII issue II
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editor’s note Readers, We launch our spring 2021 issue with hope and optimism for the future. This issue is a testament to the unique moments and experiences that shape our lives. Let’s renew our resolve to embrace Allah’s will and welcome new possibilities with open arms. Happy reading! With love, Rania
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board rania mirza editor in chief aamna haq managing editor
sadia hasan social media & marketing director
marwa doost print editor
wanees hannan creative director
hafsah abbasi web editor
manaal joyo design and layout editor
rida anjum finance director
rida jan photo editor
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table of contents 4 editor’s note 8 main character energy 15 blood-stained hand-me-downs 21 less alive 30 dome of the rock-masjid al aqsa 41 mango achar served on white tablecloth: south asias’s fight to revolutionize fine dining 50 to the moon and back 57 and then there were three 61 recipes for an on-the-go foodie 70 visit palestine
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main character energy words | aanya ismail illustrations | hafsah syed
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I
was 9 years old when I began sketching fashion designs for abayas. I swore I would become a world-famous fashion designer (spoiler alert, this is most definitely not happening). I remember being obsessed with all things pink, glittery, and FASHUN. The way I saw things, I was an icon, and nobody could tell me otherwise. I used to ask (okay fine, force) my older sister to photograph me as I strutted down the runway *cough* I mean hallway. I felt so confident in all of my dreams, in all of the ways I imagined myself being. I lived in Dubai at the time, surrounded by hijabis doing everything: they were in the magazines, on the news, and they were all around me doing everything they dreamt of. Things didn’t stay like that forever. When I was 13 , I moved back to California and as I became minoritized, the spark I once had faded. I no longer saw anyone like myself in any part of my world, it was as if the only place Muslims existed was on the news and that news was no good. Everyone around me was different and I was lost. As the new kid, I looked timidly at all of these kids immersed in their conversations at lunch, and decided that maybe my books would be good enough for company. Books were my way out of awkward situations, out of lonely times, the stories I read transported me into worlds way more enjoyable than mine seemed to be. And honestly, as the years have gone by and as I’ve spoken to Muslim and POC youth, I’ve come to realize this experience is almost universal. I want nothing more than for our youth to feel represented, included, seen, I want them to know their stories matter. I want them to feel that they can be everything: they can slay dragons, go to Hogwarts, and be fashion icons. No greater gift can be given to them than a book which will hug them tight, let them know everything is going to be okay, that they are so incredibly valuable and are the main characters of their lives. I’ve reviewed some amazing stories by Muslim writers who might just be able to give this gift to you or any youngins who might need it. Enjoy!
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Once Upon an Eid written by 15 Muslim writers Rating: 10/10 Synopsis: The stories in this book perfectly capture the diverse experiences of Eid and the myriad of ways Eid looks, smells, tastes, and feels like for Muslims around the globe. However, while Eid is often a magical celebration, sometimes we need to find ways to make it special. This anthology of short stories features characters who are faced with hardships, big and small, but come to find that the glories of Eid are found in the little things: purple smiles, ka’ak cookies, and big hearts. Favorite quote: “I’ll take this Eid, and I’ll make it good, even if I have to do it myself, even if the memory of It sometimes hits me straight in the ribs and renders me breathless, even if my tongue stays dark as midnight without a moon.” – Taste, by Hanna Alkaf
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Review: I don’t think I have ever truly understood the value of representation in literature until I read this book. As an English major, I have read so many books that have inspired me, left me with valuable lessons, and taught me the worth of seeing things from different perspectives. The nature of literature is that it inspires empathy, the act of imagining and understanding the experiences of another. BUT, in seeking to understand and empathize with others, I ignored a very important story: my own. Once Upon an Eid is a story of the Muslim experience, the tests we face and the faith that guides us and pulls us through. This book features a diverse range of Muslim experiences and stories, including perspectives from converts, Asian Muslims, Black Muslims, Sunni and Shia Muslims, and many others. However different our Eids may be, the collective Muslim experience portrayed in this book felt so incredibly familiar. The characters in the stories reminded me of my own family. Their homes, fears, joys, and comforts, so much like my own. Written for middle school aged children, this is a book I could have used while growing up and am honestly grateful for, even now. I could have used a book reminding me that my hijab is beautiful even though the kids at my school may not think so, reminding me that the joys of life lie within the little things, that as the years come and go, our lives and Eids may look different, but that we are always being looked out for by our Lord and that there will always be joy—no matter how hard it may seem to find it. Through one of the stories, you will meet young Nadia, who wakes up on a dreary morning and doesn’t feel the Eid spirit like she used to. This Eid, her mother is sick, her family is experiencing financial difficulty, and Nadia wonders, “...what makes a special day special? Today just feels like a day I don’t have to go to school because my parents said so, because they told me it’s a special day. But so far it’s been the opposite—an un-special day.” While her sick mother rests in bed and her father and siblings are out at Eid prayer, she sets out to find the familiarities of Eid she once found joy in. She manages to make her mother smile and feel beautiful, to make her father proud, and learns something so valuable in the process. “Now I know something I never ever want to forget, like I don’t ever want to forget to love purple-black: Special days start when you run toward them. So I run into the house, to the rest of this most special day.” How to read it: How you read a book is arguably just as important as what you read. My recommendation is to read one short story every night before bed. Your heart will be filled with warmth and love and gratitude after every story and I guarantee—it is the best way to end your night. Though I will warn you, some of these stories will leave your eyes puffy and your heart aching, so you might need to sleep on it and ponder over all of the blessings of life—the people who make life sweet and the small traditions that make days special—before you are ready to read the next story. It’s sometimes so easy to slip into the daily rituals of life that we forget to pause and reflect, and it’s in those moments of reflection where gratitude finds us. Think of this as a prescription, one short story a night will make everything alright. This book would also be an amazing read in the days before Eid—it will surely inspire some Eid traditions and get you in a warm, festive mood. 11
Amina’s Voice written by Hena Khan Rating: 7/10 Synopsis: In this coming-of-age middle grade novel, twelve year old Amina Khokar is navigating through a time of drastic change. Her best friend Soojin talks about changing her Korean name to a more “American” name and is starting to befriend their former nemesis, Emily, who used to make fun of the way their lunch smelled. Amina’s brother has begun the daunting transition into teenagehood and is starting to act differently. On top of this, uncle is visiting from Pakistan for a few months, and her parents have entered her into a Quran recitation competition — stage fright being her kryptonite. Most of all, Amina is beginning to slip away from her carefree younger self and begins to doubt herself and her identity. Suddenly everything becomes complicated… elementary school was a much simpler time. When the community’s masjid is vandalized, Amina finds courage through a time of immense fear and uncertainty. Surrounded with support from the community, Amina learns to appreciate her identity in its entirety, come to terms with the change around her, and find strength and confidence in her voice. Favorite quote: “... I belt out the words I know are true with all my might: But I know a change gonna come. Oh yes it will. And I’m ready for it.”
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Review: Contrary to typical identity struggles depicted in the media, Amina’s voice features a book in which the main character, Amina, does not struggle with her culture or religion because she dislikes or disagrees with it. Throughout the novel, Amina admires her uncle’s melodic voice when reciting the Quran, loves meeting her friends and learning from their Imam at Sunday School, and looks up to her courageous Sunday school friend Dahlia who wears hijab at her middle school. Instead, her identity struggles stem from the unease she feels from others at school- her classmates are making fun of her cultural food, mispronouncing her name for Anemia, and pointing out her body hair (the true brown girl struggle), to name a few. This book opens a window into Islamic practices and Pakistani culture and does so in a way that informs readers about Amina’s identities and all the ways in which they make her who she is. Middle school comes with all too many growing pains (I just know you are cringing thinking back to those times). Growing up as a minority, person of color, and Muslim add to all of these weird feelings we have and the anxieties of finding where you belong and who you are. As a young Muslim, I would have loved to know that I am not in this alone. We all encounter fear, confusion, embarrassment, and while navigating these experiences look different for us all, Amina might have inspired us that the key to finding comfort and solace is to love every part of ourselves and do so unapologetically. Here is the caveat though: This book often caters to a white audience as it makes a valiant effort to make our experiences palatable. The scene in which Amina’s masjid is vandalized and burned lacks depth and is rushed towards the end of the novel. After their masjid is destroyed, characters in the novel make rather interesting comments about their love for America, almost in a reassuring tone — (we promise we still love this country, no terrorists here!) The novel tends to deal with issues regarding racism, hate crimes, and xenophobia with a light hand. I do, however, appreciate that the book touches on microaggressions faced by students of color, such as pressures for first generation immigrants to assimilate into American society. All in all, Amina’s Voice is a book that speaks to the collective experience that so many of us face as we grow up in America, being people of color, Muslims, or immigrants. How to read it: Most of our middle school years might have been filled with stress (please, nobody remind me of those awful braces or those petty fights about who stole our best friends) and maybe even with some bigger fears, it was also such a walk down memory lane for me to read the world through 12 year old Amina’s eyes. This book truly transported me back to my middle school days. It had me reading the book while hanging upside down on my bed, legs up on the wall (that was my go to reading position when I was an awkward preteen). I highly recommend reading this book wherever you feel like a child again- the swing almost every brown household has, the park you grew up playing at, or cozied up in your childhood bed.
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blood-stained hand-me-downs
words | aleeza adnan illustrations | eman peri
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He asked, “Where is war?” Scattered, puzzle pieces of the world Knife-deep cuts from paper-thin maps Red drops from my wounded hand transcend Until the whole map is coated in bloodshed He listens, as memories of cruelty glisten How stone statues of soldiers glorify stone-hearted leaders And kings make the world their own Refuse to share their throne, Sacrifice pawns and sleep in nailed beds till dawn, Kill off the serfs and commoners, Send out the swords and guns, the ships and boats, But what return are only the souls and ghouls As they become drunk on our blood And frolic as jokers in the parties they host Until they become leaders only to ghosts
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Leaders escape censure and their acts are blurred As countries censor newspaper clippings and crystal radios While the loudest cannon bolts remain unheard And decade-long battles take up five lines of history books When those who mattered die by the smallest piece of matter When disputes settle at battleground despite hope for common ground Because knives have never cut water, they only release ripples So as our Earth ends wars, there will always be more But the weak shall not follow laws made by the elite After the gold from our hearts was stolen to make their crown They cannot expect us, soldiers, to bow down Because when the bullets run out and cannons are sound The prisoners of war become prisoners of mind Satiating their wanderlust in a perished world Walking for miles, trapped in exile As the home of the brave makes their most loyal citizens Homeless in this very way His wide-eyed gaze looked up at my face As he asked, “But will you come home?” I said, “I hope so.” But leaving only my footprints behind the door, And an extra pair of boots in the drawer That became the last time I ever saw you Until your tiny feet eventually grew And my blood-stained hand-me-downs Were passed down to you
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words | nishat sheikh illustrations | ayumi namba
CW: suicide, death
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I watched the dim two a.m. light cast shadows across baba’s face it reflected the tears that had streamed down from his almond eyes soft and silver yet heavy with the exhaustion of countless restless nights he was told his nani had passed away and for days after his grief weighed heavy on each syllable. he. spoke. his pain, novel and raw ate away at him like water crashing into stone over and over again at first the stone seems unchanged but in due course it will never be the same again I didn’t understand how someone could “pass away” I didn’t know what it meant to be alive but I knew that it changed the people it affected left them feeling just a little bit:
less alive
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when I was young i was fussy about eating I sat at our wooden dining table at twilight the kind of table that fit right into our larger-than-life home as if it were holding our house together as people streamed in and out eating, laughing, sharing pakhi nanu made the rice into small balls for me because I wouldn’t eat it otherwise she made up stories to make me laugh and while I was distracted, she placed the rice gently into my mouth when ammu returned she was astonished that for the first time I had finished all my food on the night before eid that year, pakhi nanu’s brow furrowed in concentration as she put on my mehndi my hand resting on the table’s wood I ran around the house and made a ruckus coming back to her fifteen minutes later with my hands completely smudged I expected her to scold me but she patiently reapplied the design and followed up with lemon juice, telling me that it would bring out the color at three, I didn’t quite understand who pakhi nanu was just that one day I woke up and found her sleeping in our house and ammu explained that she’d be staying with us for a bit only when I was much older did I learn that she wasn’t related to me but was a divorcee whose husband had left her and her kids and that she had been a single mother for most of her life falling upon rough times, she lived with us for a while she was brave and kind and warm and loving that table where she fed me and applied my henna silently sits at our house shadows casting over as days turn into nights, empty, hollow a husk of its former self the once-vibrant laughter and stories only alive through my memories
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my nana walked me to and from school every morning from kindergarten through fifth grade our fingers interlaced, chocolates in his pocket he would surprise me with he smelled like cinnamon and mint his hands were soft, his grey eyes brimmed with affection as he walked the air hung still in awe of his elegance we took different routes home each day, shortcuts, the scenic route we would stop at local stores and bakeries and parks, shopkeepers would greet him because he was a regular he would buy me books, and dainty jewelry for his wife he told me stories about his childhood how he knew how to play the flute and ate ripe mangoes everyday how he loved to fish and grew up swimming in ponds and rivers as we approached home I knew to look up and wave at our living room window because I knew my nanu would be standing there waiting for us and that on the dining room table there would be two cups of warm cha and a plate of biscuits nanu and I would drink cha we would pray together and read quran she’d teach me how to sew and would braid my hair she’d tell me stories about how she scored higher than her brothers on every exam growing up and about borrowing their books to read late into the night that as a child she had dreams of becoming a teacher as we took neighborhood walks, stopping to smell the flowers, I took it all for granted I never imagined that life could be any different I thought someone would always pick me up from school with chocolates in their pockets and that if I looked up I’d always see my nanu waiting at the window
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my ammu’s brother shibly owned clothing factories in bangladesh for the first ten or so years of my life, ammu and baba didn’t have to buy me a single article of clothing everything came as gifts from him shibly mama was an avid reader, he had traveled to over twelve countries he defined for me what it meant to be graceful and generous and intelligent and kind from a very young age I knew I wanted to be exactly like him when I grew up I remember being four years old in the car in bangladesh when we passed a sign that said mango mousse for sale I was awestruck and looked longingly out the car window as i excitedly whispered to ammu “wow look they have mango mousse here!” as the car moved on I didn’t mention it again sure enough the next morning I find a variety of mousse at the dining table colorful bowls of mango and strawberry and chocolate and vanilla greeted me turns out mama had been listening when I whispered in the car
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at seven years old my brother and I got our first pet a blue and purple betta fish, it was the most beautiful thing either of us had ever seen zulqar and I decided to name him timothy after a storybook character we both liked ammu had explained to us that betta fish usually live for three years so when only four months later I one day woke up to find timothy floating in his glass tank I didn’t understand what was happening ammu told me that the fish was gone for good but that he was in heaven and that’s when my tears started to flow I didn’t believe her and was so afraid that because timothy didn’t have a muslim name and hadn’t been praying, that allah wouldn’t be okay with him going to jannah I made dua for him for many days and we decided to give him an islamic burial in the bamboo trees in front of our house.
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at eleven years old, I came across the word suicide while I was reading I asked ammu what it meant and she explained to me that it wasn’t a word that I was ready to know about yet I could look it up in the dictionary when I was older I never imagined that one day that same word would come knocking at my own doorstep
at fourteen years old I was an angsty teenager who had headphones in all the time and thought the entire world revolved around me my baba picked me up from school one day, I hopped into the car and started mindlessly scrolling through my phone when I realized that baba had been talking to me I took off my headphones and looked up at him to see that his eyes were bloodshot as if he hadn’t slept in days or had been crying he told me that pakhi nanu had passed away and that if I wanted to read a bit more about what had happened I could google her name because it was all over the news I think in that moment I just didn’t believe him. later when I got home, I googled her name and found out that she had jumped out of a moving car into highway traffic. they were calling it a suicide. no one knew why she did it. she left no note. I never had to look up suicide in the dictionary to find it it seemed that it had found me
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at nineteen the pandemic spread its roots across the world it still wasn’t fully real for me just something read about on the news or talked about on t.v. happening in some far away land still very abstract, it became tangible for me in a millisecond shibly mama was hospitalized with covid on september 28th, 2020. he passed away on october 2nd. ammu, zulqar, and i caught the first flight back to bangladesh we needed to be there for nana, nanu, and mama’s three young children that he left behind before we knew it, everyone in the family fell ill the infection spread its roots again but this time throughout my lungs and I was immediately hospitalized my nanu passed away from a heart attack on november 4th. barely a month since her son’s death. I lay in the covid ward oblivious to her passing, family members were asked to plaster on a smile for me finding out that she was gone could hinder my recovery I saw a facebook post a few days later someone had written asking for dua for the deceased for my nanu -
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rice shaped into balls, colorful jello, cha and biscuits, none would ever wait on a dining table for me again pakhi nanu’s number would never show up on incoming calls mama would never wish me a happy birthday nanu would never wait at the windowsill for me my pain, novel and raw ate away at me like water crashing into stone over and over again at first the stone seems unchanged but in due course it will never be the same again I still don’t understand how someone can “pass away” I don’t know what it means to be alive it all feels so surreal too painful to be real I do know that death changes the people it affects leaves them feeling just a little bit:
less alive
Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un our sincerest duas and condolences to anyone who has lost a loved one amidst this pandemic. may you all be granted ease and patience during these hard times. you’re all in our prayers.
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dome of the rock masjid al aqsa photos | aiya hammoudeh
a photo essay | aiya hammoudeh
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mango achar served on white tablecloth: south asia’s fight to revolutionize fine dining words | saif chowdhury photos | wanees hannan
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Harmony
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weet, salty, spicy, sour. Balance these four flavors in perfect harmony and a fifth is born, chatpata. Akin to umami for the Japanese, chatpata presents itself in various dishes across South Asia, capable of unlocking a sensation completely unknown to the Western palate. Though this delicate fifth flavor may seem elusive, or even mythical, it can be found captured in glass jars at the center of dining tables across the Indian subcontinent, in its most convenient form: achar. Directly translating to pickle, achar refers to a condiment in South Asian cuisine made through the fermentation of various fruits and vegetables in oils and spices. The process of making it is incredibly time-consuming, but the outcome is always rewarding. Opening any jar of achar for the first time is a euphoric experience, but my personal favorite is mango achar. After popping the sealed lid, aromatics of the toasted spices are set free, chaperoned by scents of fiery chili pepper and savory garlic. Vibrant red and green-colored fruit peek out of the golden mustard oil as the subtle tartness of unripened mango finally begins to come through. Half a tablespoon of this stuff could transform the most boring bowl of basmati rice into a culinary masterpiece—it just has that much depth! With all of these contrasting elements working together to create a single, unified flavor profile, it is no wonder that achar is often seen by many as the poster child of chatpata. The mystery lies in how this condiment, a symbol for such a central tenet of South Asian cuisine, has almost no association with South Asian food once you leave the region.
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An Identity Crisis Venture into any other part of the world, and there is a total switch in identity. Most restaurants featuring South Asian food cast themselves as vague Indian eateries, with a menu largely consisting of curry, naan breads, chicken tikka, curry, paneer, butter chicken, and occasionally, curry. My beloved mango achar? Nowhere to be seen! And this is not me trying to criticize people that love curry. In fact, I believe that the universal recognition of these dishes comes from how undeniably delicious they are. Prepared with well-known spice blends, a disrespectful amount of ghee, and sometimes plunged in cream, it is no wonder that this projection of South Asian, or “Indian”, cuisine is viewed as one of the ultimate sources of comfort food worldwide. However, it is this very fact that also places the South Asian community in the dilemma it finds itself in today. Yes, South Asians have found amazing success on the global stage with these best sellers, but if hearty, rich, buttery comfort food is all that the world thinks of when South Asian cuisine comes to mind, a disservice is done to the varying, nuanced depths of flavor that this region is also able to produce. This broken identity seems even worse when you realize that naan breads actually originated in Persia, or that curry was a term coined by British soldiers too lazy to learn the names of different dishes. In terms of truly authentic foods, mango achar is just the tip of the iceberg, and with not even that in the spotlight, much of the world will continue assuming that curries and naan breads are all that South Asia has to offer. In just June of 2020, globally renowned chef and Masterchef Australia judge Jock Zanfrillo claimed during the show that “Asian food does not lend itself to fine dining.” While this rightfully resulted in backlash from a large number of communities across Asia, the statement was a reminder of the widely held belief that South Asian cuisine is incapable of producing food sophisticated enough for “white tablecloth” restaurants, a mere extension of the belief that South Asians themselves are incapable of being sophisticated. Fortunately, this idea is starting to be challenged. South Asian cuisine is beginning to carve out a new place for itself in the culinary world, with its unique cultural identity reimagining the traditional definition of fine dining.
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Breaking the Stereotype The first challenge in taking on such a monumental task is introducing the rest of South Asian cuisine to the world, as there is very little room for growth or refinement when you are being misrepresented by a curry-naan combo meal. To illustrate how much there is left to introduce, here’s a quick geography lesson. The three largest countries in South Asia are India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh. Bangladesh is separated into 8 divisions, India into 28 different states, and Pakistan into 4 non-administrative provinces. Within each of these geographical units are hundreds of different styles of cooking, each with varying cultural histories, natural environments, access to ingredients, and social influences. Including these three countries alone, South Asian cuisine is already vast enough to house countless sub-cuisines, and this is without mentioning Sri Lanka, Bhutan, Nepal, etc. The layers of this cuisine are unbelievably deep, and many pioneering chefs have made it their life’s mission to get this message across. A prime example is Bengali-Indian chef Gaggan Anand. Positioned at the forefront of this movement, his restaurant, Gaggan, features a dynamic tasting menu highlighting different flavors across South Asia. Based in Thailand and regularly catering to customers from all over the world. Anand is aware of the stereotypes and expectations of Indian food that his cooking must confront. When asked, he has a very clear message that he wants his food to send to the world:
“If Pink Floyd can make a 20-minute song and make it sound good, then I can make Indian food, 23 courses, without serving more than one curry.”
However, breaking the misconceptions of South Asian cuisine is only the first challenge these chefs undertake. The second is to reshape the world’s view of fine dining itself.
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Challenging a 300-Year Old Culture The modern standards of fine dining first began forming in the 16th Century, with the Japanese Kaiseki (懐石). Directly translating to “stones in the bosom,” this ancient form of dining focused on expressing a time and a place in nature through the flavors and visuals of a multicourse meal. As the legend goes, this centuries old tradition grew out of Zen Buddhist tea ceremonies, in which monks would place stones on their stomachs to ward off hunger. Around the same time, French cuisine also found itself going through a transformation, marked by the rise of bouillon restaurants in the mid to late 1700s. According to historian Rebecca Spang, these restaurants were created to capitalize on the newly popular Enlightenment idea of becoming more sensitive to the world around you. One way to showcase this sensitivity was by avoiding “coarse” foods associated with common people, such as brown bread or onions and sausage, in favor of more delicate dishes. As an all-natural, easy to digest, hearty broth dish full of invigorating ingredients, bouillon stood out as the perfect candidate. It’s name, derived from the French word for “boil” or “bubble”, quickly became synonymous with upper class European dining during this era (If you’re too lazy to learn how to pronounce bouillon, may I suggest just calling it curry?). This restaurant culture and emphasis on ingredients continued to grow into what resembled more modern enterprises, such as the first two grand Parisian restaurants: Trois Frères and La Grande Tavene de Londres. In the early 20th century, rampant culinary cultural exchange between the French and Japanese quickly gave rise to a new style of serving food. Soon enough, certain cooking styles, plating techniques, flavors, and dress codes became the rules that constituted a “fine dining establishment.” Only recently have other cultures begun bringing their own influences.
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And once again, it is impossible to discuss this in the context of South Asian cuisine without mentioning Gaggan Anand. His restaurant has become known for retaining just enough features of fine dining to call it fine dining, while bringing a cultural twist that breaks most traditional rules. Take his dish Indian Foie Gras as an example. Knowing that certain ingredients are seen as “lower class” when it comes to modern fine dining standards, Anand decides not to reveal the ingredients of this dish to his customers until after they eat it. Only then does he let them know that they just enjoyed some delicious goat brain, a delicacy in many parts of South Asia. In addition, his restaurant has featured 25-course menus in which 22 are meant to be eaten by hand, referencing how a large portion of the South Asian population eats their food, while completely disregarding the cutlery circus seen at most fine dining locations. Evidence of these changes actually finding success can be seen by Anand’s 2019 ranking as 4th worldwide by 50 Best Restaurants. Outside of just him, other fine dining restaurants featuring South Asian cuisine have also garnered attention, with many of them being awarded Michelin stars or a ranking by 50 Best Restaurants. Thanks to a new generation of South Asian chefs following in the footsteps of Anand, it seems as though this number will only continue to grow in the future. But before you start planning a South Asian trip to try one of these places out, let me save you the time. Cities with the most highly regarded South Asian fine dining restaurants include Macau, NYC, London, Bangkok, Singapore, and San Francisco. Only a handful of these restaurants are actually in South Asia! And even then, they are highly concentrated in Northern India. This isn’t just a coincidence. It’s a symptom of a whole new controversy that these chefs must face.
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Challenging a 3000-Year Old Culture The very last blockade keeping modern South Asian cuisine from truly blossoming is the backlash it receives from its own place of origin. Shifts toward fine dining have been called bastardizations of the culture, or disingenuous to the way that South Asian cuisine is meant to be served. Many of these feelings stem from the fundamental structure of South Asian society. Food and family are its two main pillars. Visit almost any household, and you’ll find that the most important part of the day is sitting down to eat with the family. At the dinner table, food is always served in enormous bowls because it is meant to be shared, with everyone taking a bit of everything. This meaning behind food bleeds into every aspect of life in South Asia. A mother hand-feeding her son morog pulao on his wedding day, a daughter brewing her father’s favorite suja on his death anniversary, or a group of friends enjoying shemai on Eid—cooking, feeding, and eating make up the South Asian love language. Surely, trying to change it would seem like sacrilege! However, changes to tradition do not necessarily mean that this expression in food must disappear. Contrary to traditionalist opinion, the shift towards fine dining is not a movement to prove to South Asians that they must replace comfort food. Rather, it is a movement to prove to the world that South Asians cannot be limited to it. Today, “gourmet” South Asian food is beginning to emerge throughout the region, with restaurants like Bukhara, Masque, and Indian Accent slowly making names for themselves around the world. The chefs guiding these restaurants find themselves at the forefront of a culinary revolution occurring in South Asia. This isn’t a novel phenomenon. As aspects of the world, culture and cuisine aren’t strangers to constant change. Tomatoes, non-native to South Asia and once shunned for their meat-resembling texture and color, have become the base of many soups today. Black pepper, once the predominant source of heat in South Asian food, has been replaced with chilis introduced through European trade. Yogurt based drinks, once accounting for all popular beverages in the region, now share that title with chai after British colonization brought black tea. Rethinking how we prepare, serve, and consume food is a process as enduring as the storied history of South Asian cuisine, so I’m not surprised in the slightest to find it in the middle of that process right now. If anything, it makes me excited to see how this new revolution will change the world’s view of South Asian food. The least it can do is convince more curry houses to serve mango achar. Is that too much to ask?
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References Gelb, D. (Director). (2016). Chef ’s Table: Gaggan Anand [Video file]. United States of America: Netflix. Retrieved January 13, 2021, from www.netflix.com. Merchant, N. (2019, June 02). The Curry Chronicles. Retrieved January 13, 2021, from https://strangersguide. com/articles/the-curry-chronicles/ Rath, E. C. (2013). Reevaluating Rikyū: Kaiseki and the Origins of Japanese Cuisine. The Journal of Japanese Studies,39(1), 67-96. doi:10.1353/jjs.2013.0022 Sanghvi, V. (2020, February 18). The Taste With Vir: How Michelin stars work and why there will be more Indian places on the Asia’s 50 Best Restaurants list this year. Retrieved January 13, 2021, from https://www. 48 hindustantimes.com Sharma, J. (2006). British science, Chinese skill and Assam tea. The Indian Economic & Social History Review, 43(4), 429-455. doi:10.1177/001946460604300402 Spang, R. L. (2020). The Invention of the Restaurant: Paris and Modern Gastronomic Culture. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
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to the moon and back
photos | maryam mohammad & sarah tasnim
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and then there were three words | zainab bhatti illustrations | rida jan
The Candle In my more formative years my family welcomed a new child like how the Wise Men anticipated the arrival of Maryam’s son: with soft hearts and open arms. I had prayed to my Creator for another I could call my sister but received more. Unbeknownst to me, the infant who survived the twists and perils of the River Birth and then the River Time would become A best friend A daughter A candle
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Plagiarism My child who I gave life to, who I nourished with the fruits of Heaven and dressed in cradling clouds of linen. Who I caressed in my arms and cleansed before sweet slumber. Who, before a guess, was taking her first steps out of the golden crib and River of Jordan, grazing upon milk and honey, dreaming under skies stained with indigo, unaware of the sundial’s shadow growing plenty. But the wolves stalked my dearest. Unseen, swift, and shameful, an act of cold blood rendered me bereft of my beloved.
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Untitled I welcomed myself not with sadness not with my younger self ’s pain I embraced my nose my face as one would a friend they had not seen in quite some time It was me It was loving myself with the amount of love I generously gave others but starved myself of like a prisoner on meal rations because you cannot escape prison when you are the warden when your own mind built the cell When I welcomed self-worth I did not say goodbye to unworthy I walked away with my new friend and my new self
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recipes for an on-the-go foodie words | javairia abbasi photos | javairia abbasi
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for the for the busy chefs recipes that are quick, recipes that are quick, delicious, and impressive
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Food is a beautiful love language. My family and I, like many others, gather around food for happy occasions, celebrations, and lifetime achievements. It brings us together, and over the years we find that various foods hold specific fond, comforting memories. Apart from the sentimental value, one of the main reasons I’m passionate about food is because I love feeding my loved ones. Sometimes I don’t necessarily enjoy the cooking process itself, but seeing my parents and brother cherish a new recipe I tried and hearing their loving words of gratitude is one of the best feelings in the world (obviously, who doesn’t enjoy being praised and appreciated by their loved ones). And it is just that feeling that inspires me to cook, because that feeling is addicting! Oftentimes we don’t have the luxury of resources, time, or energy to cook elaborate, exquisite meals and fancy desserts. Nevertheless, I’d still like to enjoy homemade delicious foods with my family and friends! The following recipes are for those who are seeking recipes that are efficient, accessible, easy, and very impressive. No matter how busy life gets, I want you to be able to come together at the end of your day with you loved ones, make memories, and celebrate yourselves over a beautiful, homemade meal of delectable dessert.
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coconut cardamom cake
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prep time: 10 minutes cook time: 40 minutes preheat: 350 ° F
directions
ingredients
1. Mix all dry ingredients in a medium bowl
for the cake
and set aside
• 1/2 cup salted butter
2. Mix all wet ingredients in a large bowl and
• 3 tablespoons coconut or vegetable oil
set aside
• 2 large eggs
3. Combine mixtures into the large bowl and
• 1 cup granulated sugar
mix well
• 2 teaspoons lemon juice
4. Bake, cool, and garnish as you please! Enjoy
• 2 tablespoons rose water
with a warm cup of chai
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract • 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour • 1/2 cup coconut flour • 2 1/2 teaspoons ground cardamom • 1 teaspoon baking powder • 3/4 teaspoon salt for the glaze • 1 1/2 cups powedered sugar • 1 tablespoon vanilla extract • 1 1/2 tablespoons milk
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cinnamon swirl coffee cake
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Sugar free
Being healthy doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy a delicious
Dairy free
devoured it guilt free and it definitely has become a
Gluten free
treat! I made this cake for my mama’s birthday, we all
Beautiful
family favorite.
ingredients
directions
• 2 1/4 cups almond flour
1. Mix all dry ingredients in a medium bowl
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
2. Mix all wet ingredients in a large bowl
• 2 teaspoons cinnamon
3. Combine both mixtures in the large bowl
• 1/4 teaspoon salt • 3 eggs
and mix thoroughly 4. Bake, cool and that’s it! Garnish as you
• 1/3 cup coconut oil
please. Treat your taste buds and your body
• 1/2 cup honey
with this healthy delight!
• 1 teaspoon vanilla
prep time: 10 minutes cook time: 50 minutes preheat: 350 °F
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dynamite shrimp
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ingredients • 250 g shrimp shelled and deveined
Wow your family and friends with this flavorful dish.
The shrimps are crispy, tossed in a bombshell sauce that you’ll find yourself licking you plate wanting more. The best part- this impressive dish is so easy and efficient!
Perfect recipe for that homemade, treat-yourself meal to whip up on a Friday night after work!
for the Marination • 1/4 teaspoon red chilli powder • 1/2 teaspoon paprika powder • 1/4 teaspoon salt • 1 tablespoon soy sauce • 1 small egg for the coating • 1/2 cup all purpose flour • 1/4 cup cornflour/cornstarch • 1 teaspoon garlic powder • pinch of salt for the sauce • 1/2 cup mayonnaise • 2-3 tablespoon sriracha sauce • 2 teaspoon honey
directions 1. Combine sauce ingredients and set aside 2. Combine coating mixture and set aside 3. Combine marination mixture and set aside 4. Add shrinp to marination mixture and mix thoroughly 5. Cover each shrimp with coating mixture 6. Fry shrimp on medium heat for 4-5 minutes 7. Remove shrimps from oil and set aside. While they cool off for a couple minutes, get your plating ready! 8. Toss shrimp in the sauce. If you want to go light on the sauce, consider simple drizzling it on top of the plated 9. Garnish as you please! Caution: your ego may be irritated after the guests’ compliments about this dish
• 1 1/2 tablespoon tomato ketchup prep time: 20 mins cook time: 10 min
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visit palestine photos | aiya hammoudeh
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Bethlehem, Palestine
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Aparathied Wall Bethlehem, Palestine
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Damascus Gate, Jerusalem
Damascus Gate, Jerusalem
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Ramallah, Palestine
Nablus, Palestine
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Grandma’s Garden Deir Debwan, Palestine
Jerusalem, Palestine
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Old City, Jerusalem
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Old City, Jerusalem
السلامعليكم
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