Dinner in Jamerica

One of my best memories of growing up is eating dinner as a family. Each person had his own chair, and my sister and I took turns saying grace over the food before all four of us telling about what we'd done that day. I've lived alone quite a bit over the last twenty years or so, and I have often missed that kind of connection that springs up between people when they share food.

But several months ago, while teaching English for Lingua Espresso,I met someone who has become my closest friend, and we share lots of teasing and stories and sometimes arguments over food. For example, take what I like to call "The First Battle of the Cherry Pits." Cherries came into season a few weeks ago, and I bought a bag for us as a treat. I adore cherries, and we never had them where I lived growing up. Washington, on the other hand, is cherry paradise. My friend is Japanese, and when we're at home, we generally eat sitting on the floor at a folding table. "Hey," I said as we were gobbling cherries, "want to see me eat a cherry Arkansas-style?" I plucked the cherry, discarded the stem, sucked away the fruit part, and spit the cherry neatly a few feet past him. "Ha!" he said, pulling over a small trash can and putting it an even distance between us. He chewed, aimed, and missed. I laughed . . . which is when, sadly, I discovered that my friend has quite a competitive streak. Because after much spitting and laughing on my part and spitting and yelling on his part, I won 4 to 2. He sulked for days :-)

But we share many other foods quite happily . . . okay, not always happily. Since my friend is Japanese, I was introduced to many Japanese foods for the first time. Take miso soup, or as I like to call it, "woodfish soup" because the dried bonito he shaves into it looks like wood to me. The first time he gave it to me, I thought I had gone to heaven, and as I watched tofu and sea vegetables swirling up in the steamy liquid, I thought "here is the future, and it's better than reading tea leaves!" Of course, when I said that, he just shook his head and said "Crazy white woman." "Shut up!" I replied, because I can be good at sulking too when I choose :-)

I'm also crazy about kimpira; add lotus root to the mix, and I might fight even fight you for it. I enjoy a good sake quite a bit and eat a lot of nutty brown steamed rice, but I do have my limits. I used to be a huge cook, and I'll try most anything once, but umeboshi plums make my whole body pucker up and natto makes me nauseous (so of course he has to stir the nasty foaming stringy stuff right in front of me).

I cook for us as well. He loves my lasagna (seasoned tofu instead of ricotta cheese)and my Mom's famous cornflake chicken. He even likes my baked cheese grits, a Southern specialty. But what he really loves is Mexican chicken casserole and . . . chips. That's right, chips. I always serve them as a taste/texture contrast with that dish. Little did I know, he would be salivating for them, dreaming about them, ranting over chat that he's developed an American obsession for Tostitos, and it's all my fault. I haven't come up with a food he hates yet, though he has accused me of eating more than my fair share of the raspberry yogurt (Who is he kidding? He drinks the stuff with a straw, practically!)

A few days ago, we went to Seattle's International District (the "ID") to stock up on rice and meats. I marveled over chicken feet that were as big as my hand and asked again if I could get a pet sea cucumber and keep it in his bathtub (he said no; sigh). I bought catfish among other things to cook for our supper. This was an interesting choice for both of us. Arkansas LOVES catfish, fileted, battered and fried and served with hushpuppies and onion rings and ketchup. This Chinese-style catfish was sort of sliced horizontally with tail intact, skin on, definitely not deboned. The Japanese on the other hand, eat most anything that comes out of the water, especially fish, but NOT catfish. So we were both a little puzzled as to exactly what to do with it. But, I broiled it with salt, pepper and olive oil, served it with curried chunks of sweet potatoes, and he deftly dissected it with chopsticks: joint effort, very good meal. Okay, not as good as the 200-plus potstickers we made last month . . . but that's another story :-)